Taken (SLOWLY RE-UPLOADING)

Sane

          I woke up in a small puddle of blood.

          And if you're thinking it was that special time of the month when I say that, you are completely wrong. Nice guess, though. It was only from me accidentally banging my head against the toilet and then once more, just about a mere minute later, against the footboard of the bed.

          Hashtag story of my life.

          I pushed myself up and walked over to the mirror that was attached to the closed closet door, and looked at my reflection. Honestly, I looked as awful as I felt.

          Staring at my face, I gazed at my left cheek where Dylan had slapped me and saw a raw, red hand mark. I also noticed my mascara stained cheeks and the casual clots of blood in my oily hair.

          I gasped in horror, barely even recognizing my once flawless self.

          I became so angry with everything that was happening to me, that I kept overthinking about how I was never going to be able to leave, how they may do things to me that I don't want to be done, how I would probably never see my family again, and how I would never be truly loved the way God intended me to be.

          All of the pent up anger running inside of my blood and all of the questions, concerns, and anxieties I had made me work myself up. With all of my might, without even realizing my compulsiveness, I punched the mirror. About four times.

         I glanced down at my still balled up fist and noticed cut marks from the now broken glass of the mirror all over it.

          I fell down to my knees and wept silently, practically drowning in my pool of depressing thoughts;

          Why am I even here?

          Who are these people?

          How do they know me?

          Why did they take me?

          What do they want from me so badly to take me away from my regular life?

          I had always thought things like this only happened in the movies or the shows. I was even a big fan of the show Law and Order: SVU. But I sure as hell never saw this happening in my future -- to me, out of all people!

          And just after I was getting over my depression, too.

          Might as well just be digging my own grave, I thought bitterly to myself.

          Bloody-handed, wounds open and unhealed, I ended up crying myself to sleep. I was just so exhausted with everything that was going on that I needed a break -- not physically since that had already happened enough today, but mentally and emotionally.

          I fell asleep on the cold, hard floor, shivering mostly every second.

          It's funny, though, because, in this moment, I finally understood what Cinderella went through. I had always wanted to be her because of her Prince Charming and fairytale "Happy Ending". However, looking at the situation at hand, it didn't seem that my "Prince Charming", whoever he was, was not planning on stopping by to come sweep me up off of my feet anytime soon.

*

          Bang, bang, bang

          I woke up to the sound of someone banging on the outside of the door. I looked around and only saw the cracked, blood-stained mirror. I stared down at my fist and noticed that the cuts were now just covered in dried blood.

          Now I felt bad for breaking that glass. It never did anything to me...

          Wait a second! What the heck am I saying? Oh my gosh. I am starting to go crazy! All this being kidnapping stuff is making me-

          Bang, bang, bang

          My insane train of thought was cut off by someone banging on the outside of the door. "You locked it on the outside, I cannot unlock it!" I yelled over top of it.

          The noise finally ceased and was followed by him, Dylan, unlocking the door and barging into the room. He looked around until his eyes met mine. I tore apart from his gaze and stared down at my cut up fist. Again.

          Great job, Natalie, way to make things even more awkward! My inner voice snapped at me, making me feel self-conscious. I felt my face get hot and looked down at my hands, distracting myself by twiddling my thumbs.

          I felt his gaze on me, and out of the corner of my eyes, I saw him look down at where mine were located and he looked at the mirror.

          His emerald eyes darted from me to the mirror back and forth for a while, until I broke the silence by saying, " I, uhm.. sorta.. got just a little upset?" It came out in the form of a question because I was scared if he was going to hurt me or not again.