Learning to Live, Again

Chapter Four

Niamh's POV

My Mental Diary:

"I'm cold and wet. There's freezing cold concrete under my cheek, and I can taste the blood in my mouth. My hands are tied behind my back, and so are my ankles. From my limited vantage point on the floor all I see is darkness. I'm inside, that much I know, and I think there's a window open because I can feel a cool breeze across my bloody cheek. Ponyboy really worked me over good. He likes using blunt objects the best, especially ones that make loud smacking noises.

He also loves to degrade me by undressing me. He hasn't touched me, thankfully, but I fear he might. I can't worry too much about it though. Worrying won't help me. I just need to be thankful that he seems too afraid of something, or someone, to do anything more than slap me around a bit.

I can hear voices, but they're bouncing against the walls so much I can't make out what they're saying. It sounds like the main guy, the one who questions me a lot, and someone I haven't met yet. His voice is deep and sends shivers down my spine. I'm so scared, and I can't help the tears that slip from my eyes, over my nose and cheek to pool in the puddle of water and urine that my face is currently resting in. I want to move, to sit up, to look for a way to escape, but I'm so tired. My body is beaten and broken, and I can't even breath without feeling like I'm dying. Maybe I am dying."

My thoughts drift to my boys, and I can't stop myself. I begin silently sobbing. It's been a while since I've seen them; since I've heard their voices. Heath and Dean's faces drift in front of my eyes, and I know: I can't give up. They need me. They can't be the poor boys whose mother was kidnapped and never found. With my goal in mind, I begin tugging on the rope that's tied around my wrists, paying no attention to the puddle splashing into my face. The rope digs into my wrists so much that I have to bite my cheek to keep quiet, which just adds to the metallic taste in my mouth.

I'm about to give up when I feel the rope give. Wriggling my wrists just a little more, I am able to wrench my wrist from the ropes. I have to stop myself from gasping in joy, and that's when I realize the voices have stopped. My hearts drops into my stomach when the sound of slow clapping comes from behind me. I use my hands to shove myself up, and turn. Before I can see anything, a fist connects with my face, and darkness envelopes me once more.