To Breathe Again

Chapter 42 - A Familiar Face

Why am I cold? The guys must've left early for work, letting me sleep in. God, I love them so much. I should do something special for them. But wait—why can't I move my hands? And why does everything hurt?

The memories come crashing back, and reality hits me like a cold wave. I'm not at the cabin. Fear grips my chest as I take a deep breath, terrified of what I'll see when I open my eyes. But I have no choice. Slowly, I flutter my eyes open. The room around me is a suffocating darkness.

I'm lying on my stomach, the rough surface beneath me feels like a cot. It smells musty, filthy, and gritty against my bare skin where my shirt has ridden up. My hands are tied behind my back, and these ropes—these are not like Grant's soft ropes. No, these dig into my skin with every tiny movement, raw and biting, like cheap, frayed plastic cord. My shoes are gone, but at least I'm still wearing the rest of my clothes.

I try to stay still; moving only makes the pain worse. My head pounds like someone's hammering behind my eyes, and each slight tug on the ropes sends searing pain through my wrists. Still, I manage to move my head enough to scan the room. It's too dark to see much. The space seems small, the only light a faint, sickly sliver slipping under the door.

Hours pass, maybe more. Time is blurred by the frustration building inside me. My hair keeps falling in my face, I'm sweating from the lack of air circulation, I'm starving, thirsty, and my body is screaming for relief. I need to pee. But worst of all? I'm just... done. I'm so tired—tired of life, tired of the pain, tired of all the tears.

If someone's planning to kill me, I almost want to beg them to hurry up. There's nothing left to hold onto. Tony is gone. My daughter—well, she wants nothing to do with me anymore.

And my guys... oh, my guys. At least I had a moment with them, a small slice of happiness. It hasn't been long, so I doubt they'll take too long to move on. Someone stronger, more beautiful, confident—someone not broken—will sweep into their lives and make them forget I ever existed. That's fine. I want them to be happy.

Grant should be with someone who loves hunting and fishing as much as he does, someone who can appreciate the sound of the wind through the trees and the splash of bass against lily pads at night. Trent deserves someone who'll push him to work harder but keep him grounded when the pressure of his security world gets too much. And Sammy? He needs a girl who can appreciate his soft humor and playful side, someone who'll laugh with him and be silly.

I can't give them any of that. I'm too worn down. Too broken. I'm so tired of reaching for happiness only to have it yanked away like some cruel joke. I just need rest.

More time drips by, and my imagination spirals out of control. Did she leave me here to die of thirst? Starvation? Did she sell me to some nightmare that hasn't started yet? Am I alone in this hellhole, or are there other women trapped here with me?

I've already soiled myself, lying in my own filth now. No one's come. No noise, no movement, just the crushing silence and the faint sliver of light beneath the door. I want to sleep, but every passing second quickens my heartbeat. I have no fight left. I'm sure that psycho is plotting a million ways to tear me apart, but if she wanted me dead, why am I still breathing? I don't understand.

Breathing is getting harder, my shoulders and wrists screaming from the way I've been tied. My skin must be raw by now, the ropes cutting deeper with every twitch. My wrists are bound to something on the floor, probably under the cot. The rope runs down the wall; I tried pulling on it, but there's barely any give. Every slight movement makes the ropes bite deeper, keeping me from sitting up at all.

Occasionally, I think I hear muffled voices. A man and a woman. She sounds furious, yelling at him. There's screaming, then a man's voice roaring back, doors slamming. My heart slams against my ribs, hoping, praying that one of them is here to save me. Have my guys found me? Are they dealing with that psychotic woman and coming to rescue me?

I want to call out, but something tells me to wait. I hear a thud outside the door and strain to see through the crack. Shadows shift. Someone's out there. But something feels wrong. If it were my guys, they'd be calling my name, wouldn't they? Or maybe they're hiding from someone. No. Grant wouldn't hide. He'd charge in, ready to rip through anything in his way.

Maybe they didn't come. Maybe they're relieved to be rid of me and all my baggage. I felt that way when my baby brother died—not happy, but relieved that I didn't have to worry anymore if he was back on drugs, drinking, hurting someone. I knew he was at peace, no more suffering. Maybe they feel that way about me.

The shadows move away, and I'm left alone again. Minutes? Hours? Days? I can't tell anymore. My arms are numb unless I move, then the pain explodes through them. I close my eyes, trying to escape, but all I find are old, bitter memories.

FLASHBACK

"Mic! Frank said you need to stir the soup," my little brother, Dustin, bursts into my room without knocking.

"Dustin! First, Knock! God, you drive me crazy!" He just grins, trying to make me madder. "Second, you stir it. I'm trying to finish my homework."

He walks off, and I try to focus on my math. I like math, but homework is the worst—hours of it every night. Seven classes, all with assignments that could take me up to four hours. By the time I'm done, it's time to eat, bathe, and sleep, just to start all over again the next day.

Suddenly, the door slams open, and Frank, my step-dad, storms in. He doesn't say a word, just grabs me by the arm and starts swinging his belt, screaming at me to do what I'm told when I'm told. By the time he's finished, I'm a sobbing mess on the floor, red welts covering my body. Dustin avoids me the rest of the day, too scared and guilty to face me. He didn't know that telling Frank would lead to this.

The next day, I went to school in my cheer uniform, bruises on display. Everyone saw, but no one said a word. Small towns—they know everything but never interfere. The bus driver asked my grandma, who lied, saying I fell.

I snap back to the present with a gasp, the door banging open. Light floods the room, silhouetting a tall figure in the doorway. My heart races as the figure steps in, blocking the light. I can barely see, but the energy coming off them feels dangerous, predatory.

Not one of my guys.

Terror claws at my chest as the figure approaches, kneeling beside me. Recognition hits, and I breathe a quiet, shaky word.

"You?"

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Well Michelle got herself into a pretty bad situation.  I hope you all are enjoying to story so far!  I'd love to know if you like it.  Thanks!!!