OnlyUs

This Is My Chance

It's so dark. 
I can't tell what time it is anymore, and I've lost count of the days I've been here.
I made it to ten before the drugs knocking me out rendered me incapable of keeping track of any form of time.
Chris scares me.
He keeps me chained to this bed. He's made me soil myself because he can't trust a 'lying slut' as if I could run.
I'm dehydrated and I'm starving.
I think I've eaten three times, and I've been given maybe a gallon or two of water for however long I've been here. All I know is that it isn't enough.
If he's going to kill me, I wish he'd just do it already.
What else can I do?
I've screamed for help each time I know that he's gone. I'll do that every time he goes out. Someone has to hear me eventually. Or they don't.
He drugs me before he touches me, but when I wake up, I'm bloody and I hurt.
I think I have an infection, my ass hurts and he hasn't changed the sheets, so I know nothing is clean.

I close my eyes when I don't hear him. This means it's either night time and he's asleep, he's gone out for something which he has to do under serious cover, just in case, or so he says. I don't know how anyone would even know that he's the one who has me. Maybe it's morning and he's just still asleep.
If I'm lucky, his Cheeto habit got to him and he went into cardiac arrest and died.
I doubt it.


I flinch as the door finally bangs open, some long period of time in the dark later. All I know is that I pissed myself again.
"Hi sweetheart" he coos at me, "It's shower time okay? We're gonna get you all cleaned up. I think today is the day that you deserve to be let off the chains! Aren't you so excited?" Chris's voice is sugar sweet and it makes me want to vomit. I hate him.

Still, I nod in response, forcing a tiny smile. He doesn't like me to speak unless he tells me he wants an answer. Usually, he'd prefer I shut up and do as I'm told.
I'm weak as he unchains my wrists and legs, and I nearly pass out when he pulls me out of the bed. My vision goes spotty as the blood starts flooding where it's meant to. He glares at me as I stumble forward, I know because I watch his every move. I refuse to look away from him.
"Keep yourself up, you're not fucking retarded." Chris snaps.
"I'm sorry." I whisper.
I let him drag me to the little bathroom down here. The one with no door.
The shower has no curtain. There's no privacy.
"This is your special bathroom! There's no way for you to get out, but I'm going to watch you anyway. The only water is cold. Go shower, you're filthy."

'It's your fault I'm filthy', I think to myself as I turn the shower on. Despite the temperature, the water feels so good. I turn my face up towards the shower head, open my mouth and chug some of it down, not caring in the slightest as I hear him chuckle at my desperation for water. He's cruel. He's sick and he's cruel. I have to keep my wits about me, though. I can't give up. I can't stop thinking for myself. I cannot let him win. Even if he kills me, he won't kill me with mental control over me. He won't. I'll die as my own person, with my own thoughts. No Stockholm Syndrome, no guilt for not doing my job for him, no guilt for not letting him win.
He will not take me and that is a promise I have to keep reminding myself of.

He drags me out of the shower once I've washed myself, it didn't last long enough. I felt like a fish literally out of water. I need to go back.
He dries me off with a towel and hands me the skimpiest pair of black women's underwear I've ever seen. They've got a lace front and lace waistband. Torn in one spot. Just like in his fantasy. I remember.
"I tore these last night when we made love. Just like I always wanted." Chris seems so in love, the look on his face is terrifying.
So at some point, he'd dressed me in these underwear, ripped them and had his way with me and I can't remember one single bit of it.
I'm not sure if that's good or bad.
Still, I take the underwear and I put them on.
"Good boy." Chris coos. I want to vomit. I hate him.
He hands me a t shirt with holes all over it. Again, just like his fantasy.
"I just finished cutting the holes and making it perfect...It's incredible. Put it on, put it on!" He's excited, like a child saying 'come on, mom! Let's go!' A million times over and over. 
I put the shirt on but don't look in the mirror. I keep my eyes unfocused, but my peripheral vision is set on him. Always on him.

"Wash."
He sets a bucket of water in front of me on the table he's stood me behind, filled with soapy water and dirty dishes. Am I not allowed in the kitchen if he's watching me? 
No. Stupid question. Of course he won't let me anywhere in the house. He can't even trust me to piss by myself. 
I watch him set up a video camera in front of me. 
"I don't have a sponge." I whisper.
Chris slaps me hard across the face, "Shut the fuck up and be fucking patient." He sounds angry, so I do as I'm told and shut my mouth.
Chris hands me four rings, "Two on each hand. One on your left ring finger."
I do as I'm told and I feel disgusting. The only ring that should ever be on that finger is one from Jack. My engagement ring or my wedding ring, both if he proposes to me.
Except now, I'll never see him again. He'll put a ring on someone else's finger when I fade from his life with time and he moves on. When he realizes that I'm not ever coming back and he finds someone else to fill the void I left him with, to fix the pain I've caused him. 

I'm lost in thought which earns me another slap to the face, it stings and I want to cry but I can't. I refuse.
"Wash." He instructs, handing me a wet sponge.
I watch him set the camera, and I assume it's zoomed in on my hands.
Pervert.
I wash the dishes one by one, slowly to hopefully give him what he wants.
"Say my name...Talk to me like I just came home from work and you're doing the dishes with dinner in the oven, the kids at soccer practice..." His tone is weirdly sweet, not that fake sweet he was giving me before. He's lost in his own fantasy, his own delusion. 

"Welcome back honey, I'm just finishing the dishes. I've got your favorite in the oven! The kids are still at soccer practice. I'm going to go pick them up soon and we can have dinner as a family." I coo at him, smiling as I scrub.
Again, I want to vomit. There's nothing in my stomach to throw up though.

I repeat each line he gives me in my best acting that I possibly can. I hate myself. If I ever wanted to die, it's now. It's in this moment, in this basement. I will my body to drop dead and it's not listening. I feel betrayed and I want nothing more than to just be done.

Again, I don't know what time it is or what day, but I wake up again.
This time in clean sheets, and I'm unchained. I guess I did good with whatever I did. 
Last I remember, he was kissing me, calling me a good little wife.

He isn't here, but there's a plate of food in front of me along with a glass of water.
The first thing I do is devour the two pieces of bread in front of me, then gulp down half the water. Eat the vegetables, the pieces of chicken and finish the water. The process took me about two minutes and I'm still hungry. I want more, but I know better than to ask.

"Good boy" I hear around me. I can't pinpoint where, and I can't see him.
"I'm upstairs my beautiful love. I can see you. I set up cameras and a two way monitor...Just so I can watch you all the time. You're so pretty when you sleep especially."

I'm beyond creeped out, so I don't say a word.
I want to die.


________


"I don't know what to do Jenna...I don't. It's been three weeks. Almost a month. I've searched everywhere for him...Everywhere, and the police have no leads, each tip goes nowhere...Each sighting of this creep goes fucking nowhere and they still haven't been able to track exactly where this Chris guy is. God knows if it even is him, Jenna! It could be anyone!" Jack paces his and Alex's living room. He's a wreck. He hasn't showered in two weeks, he's hardly eating and he's been wearing Alex's hoodie and pajama pants each night.
Jenna sighs "I know Jack...I know...But we can't stop okay?"
Jack turns to face her, "They said they're going to start looking at this as a fucking homicide case soon! They're going to look for a body rather than my Alex! A body, Jenna!" He yells, and he doesn't mean to, but he can't help it.
"Breathe. Please breathe. His family is hanging posters all around the state, they're going into Pennsylvania, all the way into New York. People will see Alex. They will know something. Someone has to know something." Jenna takes another stack of missing person's flyers with a photo of Alex and a photo of Chris pulled from Alex's OnlyFans account, with as much information on it that they could possibly find. 

Jack grabs the keys "I'm going out looking again." 
Jenna takes the keys back, "You're taking a shower, changing your clothes and taking a nap." 
Jack shakes his head, "I can't Jenna. What fucking part of that are you not grasping? I can't just not look for him. I can't. I can't. I'll sleep in my car." He argues, reaching for the keys.
Jenna glares, "No! You aren't. You're going to take a god damn shower, change your fucking clothes and take a god damn nap! You're going to kill yourself if you keep it up like this! I know you miss him! We all do! I know you want to find him! We all do! We're all doing the best that we can, and you are no use to him if you kill yourself in the process! He is still alive, waiting for someone to find him, okay? I know he is." Jenna sounds serious and Jack isn't having any of it.
"HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT HE'S ALIVE JENNA? HOW. BECAUSE IT'S BEEN WEEKS WITH NO SIGHTINGS, DEAD ENDS AND THE POLICE GETTING READY TO TURN THIS OVER TO THE FUCKING HOMICIDE DIVISION. HOW DO YOU KNOW?!" 
Jenna grabs Jack's hands and squeezes them tight, "He is alive Jack. He's strong. He can hold his own. Have faith in him. We will find him. We will bring him home, and we will never, ever let him go ever again." She pulls Jack in for a hug. He stinks, and he's sweaty, and the fact that he hasn't been eating is evident, especially around his ribs, but she needs that hug just as much as he does.

Jack gives up after a moment and does as he's told. Jenna is right. 
If he's got a prayer of finding Alex, he has to get himself together. He can't fall apart when Alex needs him most. Even if all they find is a body, he has to be able to tell Alex, wherever he may be now, that he did his absolute best.

______


I think I'm starting to go insane.
I don't dream anymore.
I used to dream about Jack a lot, and Jenna too and all of the fun things we should be doing right now, and now I don't dream at all. If I do, I don't remember any of the dreams. 
I don't think I can dream these days. When you have no hope, everything that mattered sort of goes away.
Jack seems like a distant memory right now, as much as I know I feel for him, I also can't feel for him at the same time. My brain wants him. My heart wants him. He's constantly on my mind, but the way that my brain processes that is by thinking of him as a distant memory, a long lost love. Meant to be, but couldn't be. I think it makes coping just a little bit easier.

"Six weeks you've been here, and you're useless." Chris complains as he slides me a plate of dinner. At least he's feeding me lately. Once a day at dinnertime. He says if I eat more than that, I'll get fat and he won't want me anymore.
That makes me want to break out of here and raid his entire fridge, eat every fat and carbohydrate filled food I can get my hands on, get morbidly obese just to make myself ugly to him. At least then he'll either let me go or kill me.


I don't really understand how I'm useless, I do everything he asks me to, I only speak when I'm given permission to and I haven't tried to fight him.
Maybe he wants me to fight.
I don't have it in me.
I didn't fight when he first took me because the second I figured out who he was, I figured my best chance at survival would be to please him.
I'm not fighting now because I just don't have the energy. I don't get fed enough. I don't get enough water, and I'm positive that whatever he's drugging me with is slowly killing me. I don't think he gives it enough time to leave my system before he knocks me out again.
I'm just so tired. 
Chris hand't even drugged me yet today, and here I am sitting up in this bed falling asleep while he's chewing me out about something.
I get grabbed by the back of my neck and it hurts, badly. He throws me against the floor, "Didn't you fucking hear me?!" He screams.
I shake my head, "No, I'm sorry! I'm sorry. I didn't hear you."
I hear a crunch and then I feel it. I look and he's got his steel toed boot stomped down onto my arm. 
My blood curdling scream gives it away that he's clearly hurt me, but he laughs. I thought he cared so much about me. That he loves me so much. 
Apparently not.
"That's what you get for not listening."
He grabs a fistful of my hair, but that doesn't hurt nearly as bad as my left arm that's now just hanging loosely, bent awkwardly at my forearm, so I don't scream.
That changes the second he's forcing my arms up in the air, chains clasped around my wrists. He shoves me face forward against the wall. My arm is killing me and I can't stop. I don't think I've ever screamed so much in my life, my brain doesn't want to register my own shrieks and has me wondering who it is that's screaming?
My brain has been living in denial lately.
I feel his hands grab my hips and squeeze, but the focus is on my arm. I want to die. I want to chop it off.
I'm not even sure if I'm screaming anymore.

I must be, because the next thing I know, my mouth is being duct taped.
I close my eyes and will myself to shut up, because I'm terrified of what this psychopath is going to do to me next. There isn't a whole lot more that he can do to me that I haven't been begging for. Beat me unconscious. Give me a brain bleed. Cut me or stab me, make me bleed out. Something. Anything. Please. 

Except this.
This is worse.
I haven't felt it before this, and my brain goes fuzzy as I feel the sharp pain searing through my body through my bottom.
I hear the low groans he's making as I hear our skin slapping together.
The pain in my arm fades into the background as I focus on the pain on my ass. What's burning? I feel his hand slap down on my bare skin, and it finally registers that he's hitting my ass as he forces himself in and out of me.
"I want to hear you, you filthy whore." Chris speaks, and I can't tell if his tone is icy or if it's just demanding. I don't really care.
I don't make any noise.
Maybe he'll finally kill me. 
I get hit again, harder. 
I grunt a little in response, and I fight back every single urge to lose my shit about my arm, it feels like it's about to fall off completely. I fight every urge to let out any pained sounds over being hit. I won't let him win. Not while he's fucking raping me and I can finally feel it.

I never wanted to feel it.
It didn't mean much to me when I was unconscious.
It meant everything now that I'm awake.
I can hear each sickening noise coming from his mouth.
I can hear the dangerous slaps of our bare skin as our bodies meet.
I can feel his heat, and the bruises forming on my hips from his tight hold.
I can feel his breath on my skin as he leans down to press kisses to the back of my neck, likely trying to suck up so I'll give him what he wants. I can't, though. He's raping me.
I can't act through this.
I can't. I won't.

Trying to keep myself together is so hard. 
I won't let him win.
I won't let him win.
I won't let him win.
I won't let him win.

I can't. 

I can't die like this.
I can't die destroyed and ruined.

I hear a sharp crack and it takes my vision going blurry before I realize he's bashed my head against the wall.
He wasn't inside of me anymore, he's standing at my side staring at me.
He's angry.
I made no noise apart from the initial screaming over my arm.
He doesn't like that.

"What is it going to take for you to love me and want me too?!" He screams at me.
I don't answer him. I just stare right back at him. I'm positive my eyes are dead. I feel dead. He earns no emotion from me. I've shut my own emotions off. If I don't allow myself to feel anything for myself and my family back home, I won't allow myself to feel jack shit for him or the situation I'm in with him either. 
I refuse.

"Answer me!" He screams again, spit shooting out of his mouth, landing on the side of my face.
I stay silent.
Chris unchains me and drops me to the floor. All of my dignity that I thought I had left is long gone, all hope I have is done and gone. 

"Do you want to see your family?" He asks, and this intrigues me.
"My family?"
Chris nods, "Yeah, your family. Your friends Jenna and Jack, and your mom and dad and sisters. They're all over the news. If I let you see them, will you please just be with me?" He's pleading now. I like it. Good. Plead, fucker. Beg me for something you'll still never get. Piece of shit.

I nod, "Please." 

To my surprise, this wasn't a trick.
He drags a little TV downstairs and sets it up. He chains me to the bed, though. He turns it on and begins wrapping my arm. I chew on a pillow to muffle the screams.
He creates a makeshift sling for me out of a pillowcase that he cuts and ties over my shoulder.
At least he's fixing me. He could leave my arm just dangling there, leaving me to fend for myself.
He presses soft kisses to my shoulder as he puts on Channel 13.

"Please, if anyone knows anything, this is Alexander Gaskarth, he's been missing for six weeks now," I don't listen as I see Jenna, standing next to Jack who's just sobbing next to my mom, he's wearing one of my jackets, and if I'm seeing right, one of my shirts, giving all of my information from my age, to my height and weight, "We miss him dearly. Please, if you have him, give him back to us. If you've seen him or you know who has him, think about if it was your family. Please. We need him back." Jenna is always good at keeping herself together. I know that's why she's the one speaking for me.

Jack steps forward, he's a wreck and I can tell that he's not taking care of himself.
I want to reach into that screen, pull myself out the other end to him and hold him. Tell him I'm going to be okay. Tell him how much I love him.
Maybe if I think it enough, he'll be able to feel it. 
"Alex, if you're out there and you can hear this, I miss you so much. I love you. We all love you so much. Please come home." He sniffles and steps back again, turning his back to the camera to hug onto my mom.
My mom looks towards the camera, "My baby...I love you. Please, bring my son home." That's all she can say. I can see it in her eyes that she has about as much hope as I have. Next to none.
I don't blame her. She's always been a bit of a pessimist, just like me.

Has it really been six weeks? Have I really been trapped here for almost two months in this endless cycle of acting, drug induced sleep, unconscious rape where he's doing god knows what to my body, starvation, dehydration, sometimes a shower, sometimes not...Almost two months?
That can't be. I know I've lost track of time, but I've lost this much of my life in this basement?

This is when it comes flooding to me. This is when I start to sob. 
This is when my body shakes, where everything I've eaten threatens to come up, this is when my brain snaps into gear and is screaming at me to fight. Screaming at me to get the fuck out of here.
But I can't.
I can't, and the weakness in my body as he holds me close, rocking me against his wide build to comfort me, as if I could ever be comforted at all, let alone by him, tells me so.

"Shhhh baby...My sweet baby. It's okay. It's just me and you now...We don't need them..." Chris, this monster coos.
I shake my head and try to push myself away, "No! I want to go home! I want to go home! Please, please let me go! I'll lie and say I ran away to be with you! I'll be with you! Please!" It's a cheap trick, and it's not a very good one. I'm lying to him and he knows it.
Chris glares, "That is not an option, honey." He says through gritted teeth.
I turn to face him, "Please! If you love me, please!" I sob, I'm weak. This is pathetic and I know it. It's beneath me and I know it, but I'll do anything.
I want to go home.
I have to go home.
I need to go home.
Even if I go home dead, at least they'll have me and can bury me and say goodbye to me. At least they'll have me back one way or another.

Chris sighs, he must be suddenly feeling loving, because he's holding me and kissing my temple, "What if I start letting you upstairs? We can cuddle and watch movies...A little more freedom for you." He smiles.
I'm in no place to argue any progress, so I fake a smile and nod, "That would be great." I whisper. No it wouldn't. Not at all. 

Still, it's not awful.
I start re-counting the days.
Give or take, I've been missing for a total of seven weeks and three days. Like I said, give or take.
Chris is being nicer though, now that he's let me at least leave the basement as long as he's watching me. He lets me cook meals. Maybe my mental breakdown and the fact that he's trapped in the delusion that he's in love with me has him feeling soft. That's not counting when I made him mad and he raped me again in the shower. That's what I'm going to call it. It is what it is and I'm not hiding behind it. He rapes me each time he gets mad at me, and this time, he keeps me awake for it. 
He keeps me chained to the refrigerator, the chain just long enough for me to reach the sink and the stove, and he keeps all knives or sharp objects away from me unless I need them. I use them. He takes them back. 
At least I'm getting more than dinner, though.
Maybe if I'm nice enough to him, kiss his ass enough, make him trust me, I can make a break for it. I've heard of it happening before to other people in my situation, why can't it happen to me?

I finish cooking and Chris unchains me, leading me to the living room where he wants to eat and watch a movie with me.
He chains me to the foot of the sofa. When he walks away, I try to move it. I can't. It's an old, heavy one that looks like it came straight out of the 1970's. The weight it has makes me think it's one of those pull out bed sofas. Not that it matters. 
Maybe it will if the police ever find me and ask about the house and what I know about it, which isn't much.

The news is on again. He keeps it on most days.
They keep a track of how long I've been missing. Jack is always on, always saying things to me and only me.
"Alex, come home. I miss you."
"Alex, come home. I need you."
"Alex, come home. Don't leave me forever."
Somehow, Chris keeps referring to Jack as my friend. I play along. If he knows Jack is my boyfriend, he might get really mad.
Jack and I aren't overly affectionate in public, so I can understand why he wouldn't make the connection during the stalking. We mainly stay in the bedroom at home and keep the curtains closed always, so Chris wouldn't have seen us like that either.
Or maybe he has seen and he's playing me, he's waiting to punish me the worst for having a boyfriend. For "cheating" on him, I'm sure he'd say. 

I glance up out of the curtains on the front window that faces the street. The ceiling fan is on and they're flying loosely around with each wave of cool air.
There's a woman standing on the sidewalk staring at me, her irritated dog tugging on the leash to continue their walk.
This is is my chance.
I mouth 'help me' over and over again. I think she gets it.
She nodded at me at least before walking away.
Please, lady, help me.
I look at my surroundings, everything that I can see outside. I think I'm on Mulberry Street. I had a friend who lived down this street and I remember the yellow house with the lavender trim on the corner.