Saved

Saved (Prologue)

Faith's POV

..seven..eight..nine..ten.

Everyday I'd pace this room, and everyday I hope that by some miracle it would get bigger. Unfortunately for me, it doesn't. It stays the same; a 10 foot by 10 foot room, perfectly square with walls that contain some indented soundproof cushion. The space is small but it accommodates my small frame of a body. How tall I am, I haven't a clue. My light brown hair falls to my waist and gets tied up in an elastic I was able to retrieve from a roll of magazines I was generously given. I don't know the shape of my nose or remember the color of my eyes.

But there are some things that I know for sure. I know that against one corner of the room lies my bed. Nothing fancy; a single bed, with white bed sheets and a white comforter. At least I assume they were white. They're covered all over in stains from things I don't know. A small shelf, bed high rests beside it with 3 tattered old books and a lamp on top that if I focus enough at night, I can see my hand in front of my face while I lay on my squeaky bed and contemplate life. There's also a small stand up shower with a toilet and sink in the corner diagonally from my bed and a small table and make shift kitchen that only consists of a counter with a worn toaster oven and hot plate. A basically broken mini fridge acts as some source of coolness to keep what food I do receive a bit colder than room temperature so I don't quite die, which is starting to be a shame. I have a small stand with clothes enough to last me 3 days before I have to wash everything by hand in the crummy sink. My only source of light is the shatter-proof glass ceiling that is laying above me as my body lies on a dusty old carpet staring up at what trees I can see making the sun sparkle through like glitter.

How do I know it's shatter-proof?

I tried to throw my once usable microwave at it in an attempt to shatter it, with no such luck. I've tried everything to break the glass or even make a crack in it but nothing seems to work. Being stuck in here for 14 year's, really makes you try everything possible to get out, until you finally just accept that you'll never be free.

I was 9 when I was kidnapped. I was asleep in the back of my mom's car when it happened. When we were finally thrown in this room, in this prison, in this suffocating box, she told me that he grabbed her as she was entering her car. It was late and we needed milk at home and she just didn't want to wait till morning and how she was so stupid but now she said she knew that milk was something that could always wait until morning. The unnamed man didn't know I was in the car until he arrived wherever he had tried to take her, to take us. Mom only stayed for a few days before he arrived and took her away from me. I remember screaming what felt like years for her to come back. I'm still waking up screaming for her to come back to me. I scream until I choke on my sobs and realize it's not a dream, it's a nightmare that I keep waking up to and I go back to sleep hoping the next time I wake up, I'm not living a nightmare any more.

The man from when I was 9 still visits me. Once a week, on a Monday night, the metal trap door opens and he comes in. He brings a small brown bag of food and things I leave for him on a scrap piece of paper and a chewed down broken pencil. I don't know what purpose I have to him, but what I do know is that this is some sick and twisted game he's playing with me. I try to tell him it takes two people to play a game and that I don't want to play any more, that I want to go home wherever home is, but I haven't a clue.

I don't have anything that truly belongs to me.

All I have is my first name because everything else he took from me.

So I walk from one wall to the other every morning when I wake up and before I go to sleep in hopes that this room gets a little bit bigger or by some miracle the door flies off it's hinges as I hear the last words my mother ever told me repeat in my head.

"Be strong my angel, I love you Faith."