Her Captor, Her Savior

Captive: Evelyn Young

I awoke around noon, my body tucked into the bed, his presence now gone. He had probably carried me upstairs after I fell asleep on his rocker. I shivered at the thought of his hands on my body.

Light trickled into my vision, illuminating my situation as I let out a yawn. I needed more answers, but first, I would need to find some sustenance.

My stomach growled loudly at me as I opened the closet in surprise. Dresses filled the racks, their colors bright and happy, a sharp contrast to the eerie feel of the house. Shoes, jewelry, and more lined the space. Were they all for me?

I finally couldn't endure my hunger any longer and headed down to find something to eat. I braced myself, reflecting on the previous day's events. Deciding my curiosity wasn't satisfied, I figured I'd have to play his game for now.

"Evelyn." A low voice echoed.
I almost jumped out of my skin as he twisted around to face me. His face displayed worry, his actions reflecting this train of thought. I made my way to the table, already set.

"I figured you'd come down soon. You haven't eaten solid food in ages."
He seemed to have forgotten my previous scare, acting like everything was normal. It wasn't.

"I want to leave." I tried to sound as confident as possible, my resolve steadfast.

Raffe seemed to stop in his tracks, pain and anger raging war on his face. A second later, gone. Replaced by an act of pity.

"You can't go. You're still sick. If you leave, I won't be able to protect you. That's not an option. You'll have to stay in this cabin with me."

Tears threatened to fall, and I had to swallow as my voice wavered, "You rescued me, and I'm grateful, but it feels to me like you're my captor. I don't need you to protect me; I need you to let me figure out who I am. I can't do it here." I reached out, praying he'd understand.

Bam. The man in front of me lost it, his hand sweeping the kitchen counter, pancake mix spilling over the floor, as he hunched over the sink. I felt fear rise up in my throat, replacing my hopelessness.
Who was this man?

He seemed to have picked up on my fright and started apologizing.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He walked over to me. "I didn't mean to frighten you."

He tried to grab my hand, retreating as I pulled away.

"I messed it up, didn't I? I always do this! Let my anger get the best of me."

I almost felt sorry for him; he seemed so lost. I stood up, my appetite taking the place of my common sense. I opened the fridge, disappointed at the lack of variety and the bottles of beer lining the edge. At least there were sandwiches.

He stared at me, intense brown eyes following my every movement. I finished my food as quickly as possible, walking out to the living room in a hurry.

He followed me, his jaw hanging open as if to say something, pondering his words. "I just have two rules: Don't go outside without me, and never, ever, go into my study." Then he left me to be alone, my mind racing. What did I get myself stuck in? If he wasn't going to help, I would just have to figure the truth out for myself.

---

Only two percent of prisoners escape successfully. I was not one of them.

It was late at night, and a plan was forming. It was simple, but there was no way to account for all the things that could go wrong.

My room's interior consisted of a bed, a closet, and a rusty old window. Waiting till the absence of creaking floorboards signaled Raffe's retirement, I strode from my bed to the window.

The moon was hiding, but for a tiny speck in the sky, concealing my movements.

Gazing out at the two-story drop I was about to climb, I decided I'd need some proper wear. Changing out of my snowy nightgown, I pulled on some pants and a T-shirt. I stayed barefoot, hoping it would help me grip.

With one last glance over my shoulder, I started pushing the window open, which, to my horror, let out a loud groan of disagreement.

Flinching, I heaved myself over the edge, gulping as alarm bells flooded my brain.

I shook my head, reminding myself that I had a life to go back to, away from this confinement. I didn't know the plans he had for me, but I wasn't going to sit tight like a bird in a cage.
I coached myself on, my bravery resolving.

"Come on, self. You can do this."

I lowered myself over the edge, trying to maneuver like a professional rock climber. That's when it all went wrong.

I reached for a better hold on the old frame, but my hand met a sharp, undone spike, the metal slicing my palm as I winced. I tried to steady myself, but it was too late. My balance faltered, and I fell, flapping like a shot bird.

"Dang it," I cursed, landing on the hard ground with a sickening thud.

My ankle buckled under my weight, and I cried out, tears bubbling in my eyes. Great, I must have twisted it. Pain shoots through my body, and I know my escape attempt is all for nothing. I couldn't walk, so running away was out of the question.

A voice behind me made me turn, and I stared at the figure on the steps. His voice was calm and steady, and his face revealed a hint of dismay.

"I was wondering what all the racket was about. I should have known."

A small flashlight pierced the heavy blanket of night, lighting my crumbled figure on fire.

He strode over, kneeling beside my fallen figure. Biting my lip, I tried to wipe away any signs of weakness as I accidentally smeared crimson all over my pants.

"Don't touch me," I threaten, raising my good hand out in a feeble attempt to stop him.

"You're hurt."

He said this so matter of factly, ignoring my words as he reached for my hand. His motion was so gentle I found myself entranced.

"You might need stitches; it looks pretty deep." He stated, radiating worry.

The next thing I knew, he scooped me up as if I weighed nothing to him, ignoring my feeble protests. Carrying me inside, he walked up the stairs and back to my room. There, he placed me on the corner of my bed, disappearing into the bathroom.

"Why are you doing this? Keeping me trapped here?" I asked, tracing his movements as he reached into a little cabinet. He pulled out a small box.

"I'm sorry if you're hurting; I never meant for this to happen." He motioned at my injured figure, continuing, "But you have to stop running. You'll only hurt yourself more."

In all these riddles, I wanted something more straightforward.

"At least answer me this: you say you're protecting me, but from what?"

He looked up at me, shadows playing on his face, a haunted look as he turned and fixated on my cut.

Finishing off bandaging it, he finally replied, "From others...and yourself. I can't tell you everything, but you'll just have to trust me on this."

His words were heavy and troubled. He got up, washed his hands, and headed for the door. As he turned to say goodnight, I asked softly, "Will you ever let me go?"

He reached for the nob, gripping it, and replied, "One day. But not yet."
Then he left, tension hanging in the air, more questions swirling in my brain than before.