reticent

48

• LORENZO •

My daughter has been gone for over two weeks.

     We search the cabin we were led to, and I go down the stairs as my sons check the bedrooms.

     I walk toward the open metal door, entering a small, cold room that looks like a cell.

     My eyes go immediately to the carvings on the wall.

DAD
TAKING US TO IRELAND
IN AN RV
-A

• AMALIA •

I wake up, immediately wishing I hadn't.

Nathan is holding me. His arms are wrapped around my waist and his chin is resting on the top of my head. I inhale a wary breath, and his eyes crack open.

He smiles at me. "You're awake."

"Yeah." I whisper. Part of me is grateful for the drug he keeps giving me—it takes me away from everything. Even when I wake up, I don't remember stuff that happens afterwards for at least a few hours.

He kisses my cheek. I make my lips tick up at the corners as I sit up.

"I didn't mean to wake you." I whisper.

"It's fine." He mutters. "Go get me a drink from the fridge, would you?"

"Okay." I say, turning on the bed. My feet find the cold, wooden floor, and I walk onto it, then out of the small room. The kitchen is right outside the door, so I quickly grab a water from the fridge and take a small sip of it before walking back into the room. I pass it to him.

I sit beside him again, wrapping the quilt around me. He glances at me before setting the water on the side and laying back down.

I look at the handcuffs. He watches me for a moment before turning away. "Go to sleep."

"Nathan." I whisper. "Please take them off."

"No." He says.

"I can't sleep with them on."

I don't know if it's the drug making me so foolish or if I just feel like testing his short temper, but I find that I can't shut myself up.

"Come on, what do you think I'd do? There's nowhere for me to go!"

"Shut up." He mumbles. "Go to fucking sleep!"

"Please!"

He sits up, grabs a familiar syringe and then tugs me closer to him. I don't protest when he stabs me with it for the second time today. It makes everything a little bit better.

•

They're trying to make me feel small. It's working.

Jess pushes the breakfast plate I made for her off the table. "Whoops," she says, smirking, "my bad. Amalia, be a doll and clean it up."