Astray

12 / Ready

Four days passed.

Felix tried to maintain his steadfast insistence that Emerson needed to ask politely for what she wanted—her punishment for the foolish escape attempt, as he reminded her—but each day he became less and less strict about it. He knew that weaning off the punishment wasn't what his father would want him to do, but keeping up with it was becoming tiresome; he had to wait for Emerson to put aside her stubborn self and ask for whatever it was she clearly needed, then undo her chain, wait for her to eat or shower or use the bathroom, and redo the chain again. He rationalized that as long as she was being quiet and respectful, she was learning. Anyways, the "punishment" was more for show; after all, he had hit her. That might've done the trick itself.

Because Felix had to go into work most days and couldn't be there to undo Emerson's wrist restraint constantly, she was allowed to roam around the bedroom and into the bathroom, though there was nothing interesting to be found in either place.

After two days of utter boredom, Felix agreed to give Emerson some entertainment; a way to pass the time she spent chained up in the room, but nothing that could lead to another godforsaken colored pencil incident. As a compromise, he provided her with a large stack of classic novels. She had read most of them already—The Great Gatsby, To Kill a Mockingbird, The Grapes of Wrath, and a few more—but nevertheless she was grateful to have different fictional worlds to escape to.

Emerson seemed much more timid than she had been the week before. Felix wasn't too surprised, nor was he disheartened by her subdued nature. In fact, he was relieved; she was clearly mourning the fact that she hadn't escaped, and she needed to understand that she wouldn't ever escape. The more she came to accept her new reality, the better.

Nights were the hardest. Whereas Felix might have weaned off his "ask for everything" punishment, he was firm in enforcing the rule that Emerson would sleep next to him every night, whether she fought or not.

He continued to keep one of her wrists chained during the night, knowing that otherwise she would likely try to sneak out of bed. The nighttime routine was established quickly and Felix didn't stray from it: once they were in bed, he wrapped an arm snugly around her waist, gave her a soft kiss on the forehead or cheek, and wished her goodnight. During the night, his hands would sometimes wander up Emerson's arms or down to her stomach or lower back, but he didn't touch her anywhere else. Though she didn't want to, Emerson soon grew used to feeling his hands on her, holding her all night long.

On the evening of the third night after her escape attempt, as she lay under her captor's arm, Emerson found herself unable to help but blurt out a question that had been plaguing her for weeks.

"Felix?" She said quietly, staring up at the stars through the skylight, barely noticing the feeling of his fingers gently running through her hair. "Are my parents looking for me?"

Felix didn't answer right away. He knew the answer: they weren't. It wasn't because they didn't love her, because although her parents surely missed her, they had no reason to believe that their daughter had been kidnapped. On the day she had gone missing, "Emerson" had emptied her bank account, quit her jobs with a few convincing emails, and sent a long text to her parents about needing to find herself for the foreseeable future. From an outsider perspective, it seemed obvious that the infamously rebellious Emerson had simply run off into the world. Emerson herself didn't know this, of course, and for some reason, Felix decided not to tell her.

"I don't know, baby," he replied finally, with a convincing sigh. "But you don't need to be thinking about that."

Emerson was quiet as she blinked back her tears. They must be looking for me, she thought to herself. They have to be.