Kidnapped

I awake suddenly. My heart pounding thousand times a minute. My palms and face sweaty. It’s just a dream. I told myself. That’s not the first time it happened to me tonight. After my return from a terrible, mind scaring kidnap, I never got much sleep. I am constantly alert for whatever comes my way. As for sleep, I never get a full’s night rest. I rolled over to check the time, 5:10. It was another busy day, again. It is always interview after interview for the girl who survived being kidnapped.

                I pulled my body out from my bed and treaded my way to the bathroom. Everyone else was still sleeping, and still not use to me being home. I think they forget I am alive. I know for fact that when the cops said they found me, they were thinking a dead body. But I am not a dead girl. But I think I should be. For a fact, I know I should be. I turned the shower water on so the water was nice and hot. I slipped my close off and stepped into the water. Sometimes when I get in the shower, I just want to wash away all the memories. All the gruesome things that happened to me the past six months. But sadly, I can’t. Maybe one day I can look back on them and not be so horrified.  I washed my long brown hair. Everyone keeps telling me to cut it, cut it all off. They think it is a reminder of my kidnapping. But, it isn’t. It’s the one thing I do understand.

                I carefully got out of the shower, trying not to wake anyone as I dried off my hair and body. I tip-toed my way back to my room. I sat on my bed, wrapped in my towel for hours till I heard a faint knock on the door.

                “Come in,” I almost whispered. I never was good with talking. Now I only talk when needed after what happened. My mom walked in with her hair did nice, and makeup perfect. Plus, with a stunning outfit.

                “You ready to get ready?” She asked in a soft voice. A voice you would use with a baby. But I wasn’t. I guys she is afraid to speak to me the same way. I just don’t understand why.

                “Yes,” I replied walking to my closet to get the outfit I picked out the night before. My mother wanted to pick it out; she wanted to do so much for me when I returned. I just wouldn’t let her. And I guess she was hurt by that. “Mother wait. Do you mind doing my hair and makeup?” I asked with wide eyes.

                “Yes dear,” she had a smile on her face so big, and I could tell her eyes were filled with tears. It’s the first time I reached out to someone. The first time I am letting someone do something for me. I slipped into my jeans and my lace tank top. I sat down as my mother worked her magic with my makeup, and then curled my hair. When I was down getting finished, I slipped into ruby red heels and joined my family down stairs.

                “Well don’t you look stunning,” my father said with I smile. I just smiled back. My little sister sat on the couch in her favorite bright yellow sun dress. My older brother ate food, like old times. “Well let’s go get this interview over with,” my father said as we walked out the door. The whole car ride all I thought about was what questions they were going to ask me today. I always seemed to get the same ones, but once in awhile I got new ones.

                We walked onto a set. Everyone welcomed us with warm smiles and tight hugs. Like they were family, but they weren’t.  A tall lady led me to a chair and told me that it would start in just a moment. I sat still with my hands crossed on my lap waiting and waiting. I was so nervous for this, even though I done it tones of times. Then finally, Opera came out.

                “Today ladies and gentlemen, we have Americas little survivor, Phoebe Jones. Welcome Phoebe,” she said with such class and sureness.

                “Thank you for having me,” I replied with a warm smile.

                “Let’s get started, so I hear you weren’t the only girl at the house,” she said with so much determination in her voice like she had to know everything about everything.

                “There were five of us. All raging from six to sixteen,” I said trying not to sound so glum.

                “So tell me, how was it with those girls living in the house with you?” she stared into my eyes waiting for me to answer

                “It wasn’t the easiest. But, I loved them all. They are actually the ones that kept me going. Since I was the second oldest, I felt the need to care for and protect them. And people ask why I did this, why not protect myself. It’s rather simple, because they reminded me of my little sister. So imaging her going through it broke my heart, so no little girl should go through that. Ever,” my voice was a little shaky. That was the most I ever talked in an interview, and I still had more questions to come.

                “Phoebe, tell us about the house you stayed in. The noises you heard, the smells you smelled,”

                “Well, it wasn’t pretty. It was old, and broken down. We never heard much for our tiny room, unless he decided to beat someone. Then we heard the agony cries from someone. And then we all would start crying, knowing the pain they were going through.  But it smelled horrible.  It always smelt like something was rotting. Sometimes it would be a rotting body. Other times, food we were force to eat,” I held back the tears, trying not to cry. Those memories still haunt me, and scare me.

                “Such horror. But I have a question everyone wants to know. The kidnapper killed all the other girls in that terrifying house, why didn’t you die?” I knew this question was coming; I had it all the time.

                “To be honest, I have that same question too. I know I should be dead, I should be with the other four girls. I would switch spots with one of them too if I could. But the day before I was found, it seemed like he knew it was going to be all over. He came to me late at night and his exact words were ‘Phoebe, I did like you. Putting yourself last to all the other girls in the house, you stood for something. The others did not.’ I thought he was going to kill me, but he didn’t,” My voice trembled has I said his words. I still remember his smoke breath all over my face. My heart racing as I thought I was going to be killed. 

                “Wow, some wonderful girl you are. Just two more questions sweetheart, why haven’t you cut your hair, to get rid of the memories?” I could tell that she knew she got through to me. But she also knew I was still scare to think about it.

                “All though there were so many horrible memories, there were the rare good times we had. Late at night we would sit around and do each other’s hair. We even taught the little one to braid my hair. And for those small amounts of time, we felt normal, and were happy,” I never told anyone those memories before, and I never plan on telling them again. I don’t like sharing them. They make me think of the sweet girls who lost their lives, as I am still roaming this earth.

                “Last question, I couldn’t help but notice the red shoes. Why the bright color?”

                “They are red because Dorothy said ‘There’s no place like home’ and clacked her red shoes together and she was home. So it reminds me that I can and will always be home again,” I finished with a smile on my face to my family. After that interview, I felt like I can relax. But I know that won’t happen for a long time now. I will still have sleepless nights. I will still be afraid to go out alone. The main thing is, I will never be normal again. I am always going to carry the burden of the girls I lost. I will always feel the guilt of watching them die. As bad as I want to go back to the happy, care free me, I am too scared. Sometimes I think I should, so the girls in heaven know I am doing alright, but in reality I am not. So I guess I have to face the truth, and never be the same again.