Forgiven

Chapter Six - Leave Me Alone - Kate

I woke to the light humming noise of the very familiar heater in the Jeep. I was laid across the back seats, someone's hoodie covering me partly. I looked to the passenger seat, Ryan was mumbling to himself, drunk out of his mind, the person driving was none other than Ronan. Just act like you're still sleeping, and he won't talk to you. I thought, then a more comical thought, Or I could unlock my door and just jump out of the car and hope I live. I snickered at my own comment, crap really me? Ronan's eyes moved to look in the mirror, they locked into mine. "Kate," He paused, then he seemed to remember something, "Nevermind. Ryan? Ryan! Damn it. Kate, do you know the address to Ryan's house?" I thought for a second, my thoughts still hazy. "Forget I asked, you're probably still not feeling well."
"I think it's," I paused for a few minutes, "eighteen ninety three Golden Coast Apartment Drive." Ronan raised an eyebrow. I wanted to respond, but I stopped myself. He's the one who tortured me for so long, I'm not going to become chatty with my killer. Well, I thought to myself, technically he didn't attempt to kill me, his father did. He stitched up my throat. "Ronan." His eyes had, once again, a worried look in them. He hummed in response, "Thank you." Now he looked shocked, I sat up, looking out of the window. Unconsciously my hand moved to the spot his hand had touched mine earlier. I couldn't look at him. Something in me wanted to forgive him, to get to know him. The larger part of me knew that was a stupid idea and should avoid him at all costs. Ten minutes passed in silence, we were still trying to get to the apartment duplex. Curse city traffic.
"Why." Was all he said after ten minutes. His voice was slightly hollow, he must not have been completely here in the present. Half of him was somewhere else.
"Why what?" I told myself no idle chat with Ronan, and now I'm carrying out idle chit chat with Ronan. I'm unbelievable sometimes, why don't I listen to myself when I need to the most?
"You thanked me. Why?" Still his voice hollow, I looked away from the window, I looked in the mirror to see his eyes. They, too, were not completely in the here and now. He was looking straight ahead at the road, no expression.
"Yes I did. I want your mind to be completely here when I say why. Let me know when you're good." My words caught in my throat. The memory of what had happened that day, resurfising.

. . .

The chains wrapped around my ankles, the chair I was sitting in was bolted into the concrete floor. Only one window, that I only had to assume wasn't big enough for a person to slip out of, even if I were to unchain and untie myself, was on the wall adjacent to me. My, once new, grey, graphic T-shirt, is now worn, dirty, and torn. My jeans were now ripped and had a few holes in them. My blood was spattered across the beam the chair was sat next to, there were dry pools of blood on the floor. From the position of my chair, I was facing the steps, to the left of the steps were typical basement things: Storage boxes, shelves of canned food, a freezer. To the right of the steps were the assortment of knives, saws, pliers, vises, and other tools I don't know the names of. I have no idea what's behind me. All day, everyday I fall in and out of sleep, every noise wakes me back up with quite a startle.
The house was quiet so He must be working, thankfully he's gone. Now I can get some rest. I fell asleep for a few minutes, there's no clock down here so I don't know what time of the day it is exactly, I just know if it's day or night. At least I have a window. Footsteps, heavier than usual, were speed walking across the house, they stopped in front of the door leading to the basement. I heard a deeper, gruffer voice curse a few colorful words, then a man descended. This man was not Him, a small part of me thought he was here to save me. A second look at his face told me that was a long shot. He was about side feet tall, as to my captors  six foot five stature. He had a lighter brown, almost dirty blonde hair from what I could tell in the basements lighting, I couldn't tell what his eye color was. The man searched the room for a weapon of some sorts, he didn't have to look long before he found His stash. This brown headed man picked up a large seven inch knife. Next thing I know he's striding towards me, knife poised for the kill.
He spoke, his voice very angry, "You made my son weak!" When he said weak, spit flew from his mouth, landing on my face. The man was not like Him, he wouldn't hesitate to kill me. He slit my throat, the blade slicing my skin like it was soft butter. The pain shot all the way through my body, blossoming at the source of the wound. He wasn't satisfied with how shallow the cut must have been, "Damn it, I'll just try again." he mumbled to himself. My blood was flowing, a beautiful red waterfall, down the front of my shirt, my shirt soaking up as much as it could. The rest rushed onto the floor. Before he could cut my throat further, He rushed down the stairs. His pitch black hair rough, his black irises staring this other man down. The build of Him is much more toned, not to mention younger than this other man. The man who was holding the knife looked up, "Son. You're weak. She's made you weak. I have to kill her." He smiled weakly, a small chuckle escaped Him. He launched at his father, relentlessly he punched him in the face, in the ribs. His father wrestled out from under Him, he went up the stairs, his footsteps went out through a door. I think he left the house.
He walked over to me, sweat rolling down his face. I was now choking on my own blood, the taste of copper and iron rising in the back of my mouth. The pain in my lungs from suffocating, unfathomable it hurt so much, just let me die, I thought. Even though death was approaching me slowly, I was at peace, no more Him. No more waiting to see what sort of torture was in store for me that day, or how many times he'd cut, or tear skin. I was prepared to let myself fall into the darkness of death. He started holding my throat, putting pressure, but not too much. He scanned the room, he mumbled, "Shit, it's upstairs." He left, pulling his phone out of his pocket while climbing the stairs three at a time. "Yes, hello. I have," The rest of the sentence faded out into a low rushing noise. My vision was starting to tunnel, this is it. This is how I'm going to die. I love you mom, love you dad. No tears streamed down my face, they'd all been wasted on pain; a calmness started taking the place of every emotion and any physical feeling I had left. My vision completely dissipated, but oddly enough, I could still hear. He said, his voice rough from crying, I think, "Come back Kate, you're not going to die yet. It's not your time. Ugh come on! Thank God. This is going to hurt a little, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. For eve-..." I went deaf. Other than my brain and thoughts racing, people on the outside looking at me would think I was dead. I can't move, or talk, hear, see, or feel anything. My sense of smell even faded from me. My brain, though, was still very much alive, fighting for life. My heart wanted to give out, my brain wouldn't let that happen.
Seconds, it felt like, passed, it was as if I were sleeping, time was irrelevant. My eyes ever so slightly cracked open, blinding, fluorescent lights greeting me. "She's alive! My baby's alive! Doctor!" A familiar voice yelled with so much happiness, I couldn't quite place the voice to anyone I knew. My eyes slowly adjusted and once they did, I opened my eyes fully. I had feeling again, I had a sense of smell, taste; I could hear things. I'm not dead, how am I not dead? I moved my head to my right side, something tight in the middle of my throat pulling at skin, it doesn't hurt, no, I knew real pain, this was more of an irritation. I tried to speak, but the words came out mumbled, something in the back of my throat tickled, causing me to cough. The slight irritation, burned a little. Again the voice I couldn't quite place spoke, "Oh no darling, she needs water," the voice told someone, "Go get her some water Hank, please."
Then another voice, a lower tone, "I don't know if she can even drink water? I'll go ask a doctor." This voice sounded exasperated in a way that wasn't at me, but at the doctor for not being here yet.
The familiar woman's voice started speaking again, "Hey Kate, it's been a year since you've been home." Finally the person who the voice belonged to stood above me to where I could see her. My brain was working slow from the pain meds I was hooked up to, but finally recognition sparked.
I tried once more to speak, "Ma-uh-m?" The word mom came out sloppy and butchered. Ugh, of course I can't speak normally. My hand moved to touch my neck, a neat row of stitches lined a good portion of my throat. Finally the doctor walked in. He came with a cup of water. A smile appeared on my face, for a simple cup of water, my mouth felt full of cotton. My smile must not have been very friendly because my mom looked to, who I now recognized as my father, she looked horrified.
"What has he done to you, my baby girl." My mom sounded sympathetic, even now, surviving death's grasp just barely, I didn't want anyone's sympathy.
"That's not our daughter, she looks like an animal." This started an epic verbal war between my parents, finally my father came to a solution, "Look Mary, we're not financially stable to support her, even if we wanted to."
"You mean if you wanted to, I want our daughter to come home." My moms voice was dripping with venom.
"Mary, we're not getting into it again. We can send her to my sisters. She has a boy that lives with them, he's in college, but I'm sure she'll," My dad pointed at me, "Get along just fine with him. Then when we're able to support her, she can come back home."
I watched them fight over and over again about me and where I'd go. Sipping on my water I didn't care I was just happy to be in a hospital bed and out of that hard wooden chair, away from the blood stained basement, out of His grasp.