Always Okay | (Adopted By Elizabeth Olsen)

Chapter 1

Word Count: 2849

Alexis's POV

I wake up with a pounding headache so before opening my eyes I try to bring my hands to shield my face. Pulling on my arms I hear the familiar rattling of chains or more specifically handcuffs. What the hell I wonder aloud as I open my eyes to see that I'm laying in the hospital bed. And even worse I'm handcuffed to the hospital bed. What kind of sick twisted game is this.

I bet you're wondering how the hell does an eleven-year-old kid end handcuffed in their own hospital bed. Well, that's a long story, longer than probably have time for but I guess I can tell you how I ended up handcuffed to the bed.

I was successfully kidnapped at four years old. No that was not supposed to be funny but when you spend most of your days by yourself and your kidnapper, you end up with a kind of dark sense of humor. But anyway back to the story at hand -

I was successfully kidnapped at fours years old. And yes before you ask, I did try to run away multiple times but the farthest I ever made it was a few blocks. I had a horrible sense of direction and I was very young so why on earth would I know what to do. Nowhere in my pre-kindergarten class did they prepare me for what to do when you escape your kidnapper. Thinking back to it now, I wish that I wouldn't have stopped and just kept running and running blindly through the streets. I mean surely someone would've eventually stopped me concerned as to why a tattered, messy child was racing down the street. But every time I ran out that front door, he would catch me and bring me back. It was almost like he could anticipate my every move.

The worst part about failing to escape was the punishments that followed. I swear this man had no end in sight one day as he beat me senseless. I remember the day that he beat me into unconsciousness and vividly. I remember crying and begging for him to stop but he didn't hesitate. And when I came too a few days later, he told me I deserved it and I kind of believed that. It was my fault for running and I knew better than to do that. I was probably eight or nine at that time and there wasn't any reason for me to keep trying. For all, I knew whatever so-called family I had left was dead or dead to me. Grandpa was probably too old to remember me by now, I mean he had problems when I was still living with him and Elizabeth, well, Lizzie left me without ever looking back.

He - Josh - wasn't the worst all the time though. Josh was kind of like a father to me in a sick twisted way. I mean he did raise me for the majority of my life and that's what classify most people as a father. He taught me to cook, clean, and even read. When I was younger, he even took me out of the house a few times but only if I agreed to get my hair dyed. We actually still have those pictures hanging in the house somewhere. I had dirty blonde hair and was racing him around the beach like any other father-daughter duo. That was one of the few times we went out that I didn't contemplate running away. He told me he'd never leave me and that I wouldn't ever have to leave him. What's worse is that I believed him wholeheartedly.

The first nine months or so were almost perfect, we did everything together and he never laid a hand on me except to pull me in for a tight hug or cuddle as we watched the Lion King. But then things changed. I don't know what clicked within him, but after those nine-ish months, everything was different. It started off with just the yelling and screaming when I was doing something wrong but quickly escalated to kicking and punching.

Some days everything I did would set him off so he'd send me to my new room, the basement. I used to sleep in the bedroom by his room, but now he had trapped me in the basement. The walls were covered in thick material, which often made me wonder if it was soundproof because I knew our house was much larger than the space that served as my room.