Those 7 years: Missing One Shot Chapter

4

The night was endless. I shivered uncontrollably in the small shed, my bare skin prickling against the cold, damp floor. Hours seemed to drag by in the darkness, each minute stretching into what felt like an eternity. I fought to stay awake, not out of any particular bravery but because the thought of slipping into unconsciousness only to wake up in this nightmare again was too much to bear.

Eventually, exhaustion overtook me, and I fell into a restless sleep, my body curling into itself for whatever warmth I could find. The concrete floor was unforgiving, and the dirt that clung to my skin only added to my discomfort. When I woke, it was to the dim light of early morning filtering through the cracks in the shed's walls. The chill had intensified overnight, making my teeth chatter as I tried to move.

It was then that I noticed something different. The door to the small shed was slightly ajar, the lock had been removed, and the ropes that had bound me were gone. My heart leapt at the sight, a flicker of hope igniting in the pit of my stomach. I took a deep breath and cautiously pushed myself up from the floor, wincing at the stiffness in my limbs.

I glanced around the shed, taking in my surroundings with a mix of relief and apprehension. The interior was not as harsh as I had imagined. It was small but not entirely barren. There was a corner set up as a bathroom, with a makeshift toilet and a small sink, although the water was likely cold. Adjacent to that was a tiny kitchen area, equipped with basic amenities—an old stove, a small refrigerator, and a few dusty pots and pans.

In the center of the room was a blanket, folded neatly in a corner. I moved toward it slowly, my bare feet feeling the chill of the concrete beneath me. The blanket was worn but thick, and I wrapped it around myself with a sigh of relief. The warmth it provided was a small but precious comfort against the cold air that permeated the shed.

As I tried to make myself comfortable, I heard the sound of footsteps approaching. My heart raced again, fear gripping me as I tightened the blanket around my shoulders. The door creaked open, and the men from the previous night entered. They were carrying a few items—a small stack of clothes, a tray of food, and a couple of basic pieces of furniture.

"Good morning," one of them said with a twisted smile. "We see you've made yourself cozy. That's good."

He set down the tray of food and the clothes on a small table near the kitchen area. The other man placed the furniture—a simple wooden chair and a small, old-fashioned television—beside the table.

I stared at them, confusion and anxiety swirling in my mind. The sight of the food was both comforting and alarming. I was starving, but the reality of the situation made me wary. I was still a prisoner, after all, and I didn't want to show them any sign of weakness.

"Here's the deal," the man continued, his tone becoming more businesslike. "You've been cooperative so far, and that's good. As long as you keep up the good behavior, you'll continue to earn little perks like these. More furniture, better food, clean clothes—things that will make your stay here more comfortable."

I blinked at him, trying to process what he was saying. The idea of earning something for good behavior felt surreal, almost like a twisted game they were playing. But there was a part of me that clung to this glimmer of hope, a chance to make my situation a bit more bearable.

"That's right," the man said, reading the confusion on my face. "The more you cooperate, the better things will be for you. We're not monsters—we're just here to make sure you understand how serious this situation is."

I nodded, trying to keep my emotions in check. They watched me for a moment, their expressions unreadable, before turning and leaving the shed. The door shut with a definitive click, but I could hear the sound of their footsteps fading away.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. The blanket was warm, and the food on the tray looked simple but nourishing. There was a small container of water, too. I decided to take it one step at a time.

I moved to the bathroom, taking advantage of the opportunity to freshen up. The cold water was shocking, but it helped to clear my head and wake me up fully. I found a pair of simple, clean clothes in the stack—sweatpants and a shirt that were a bit too big, but they were better than nothing. I dressed quickly, feeling slightly more human.

Back in the main room, I sat down at the small table, the chair surprisingly sturdy. I tried the food—a few pieces of bread, some fruit, and a small portion of cooked meat. It was plain but satisfying. I ate slowly, savoring every bite, and tried to focus on the small victories.

The television sat quietly in the corner, its screen dark, but the presence of it was a reminder that they weren't entirely ignoring my comfort. It was a small, strange semblance of normalcy in this chaotic situation.

The rest of the day was spent trying to make the best of my situation. I cleaned the kitchen area as best as I could with the limited supplies available. I rearranged the furniture slightly, making the space feel a bit more livable. I spent some time in the bathroom, washing away the grime of the previous night.

As the day wore on, I kept my mind occupied with small tasks and tried not to dwell too much on the fear and uncertainty that gnawed at me. The hope of earning more comforts kept me going, pushing me to stay positive and cooperative. Every small act of kindness toward myself felt like a victory, a way to keep the darkness at bay.

I knew I had to stay strong and keep my wits about me. The small comforts they provided were just that—small comforts. The real fight was within, the struggle to maintain hope and resilience despite the dire circumstances.

Travis was out there somewhere, fighting to find me. I had to believe that, had to hold onto that hope. It was the only thing keeping me sane in this confined space, this prison that felt like a nightmare from which I couldn't wake.

As night began to fall again, I curled up with the blanket, trying to find some rest. The soft hum of the small television provided a faint, comforting background noise. I closed my eyes, clinging to the hope that tomorrow would bring new possibilities, a new chance to escape this nightmare.