Captive

Chapter 14

Days melded together into a blur of routine. Breakfast was promptly served at eight o'clock and was followed by the required forty minutes of exercise, which happened in her cell. At nine, she was escorted to the shower facility and given fifteen minutes to attend to her personal hygiene. Then came a few hours of required reading; Doctor Spencer assigned Bridget a series of texts as part of her rehabilitation. Most of her waking day was spent exposed to some element of the horror genre. She found the novels more acceptable than the movies because she could build her own images in her mind. The books could be as vivid or as docile as she chose. Furthermore, Bridget loved to read, and despite the specific assignments with which she was stuck, she found herself escaping between the pages of each new selection. She read some of the texts in high school and college, but picking them up again after a number of years was just as exciting as the first time.

Lunch was promptly served at 12:30 every day, and then the patient was required to attend her session in the viewing room. She had good days, and she had some extremely difficult days that ended with minor burns and a foggy mind. While Bridget was slowly developing a thick skin, there were occasions when the images on the screen became too much, and she required prolonged clamp exposure. She worked extremely hard to earn her spot on the couch, but sometimes, her head forced her eyes to avert their gaze against her heart's will. The patient had several afternoons when she walked out of the room brimming with confidence. She really, truly believed that she was making some progress. However, there were other days when she wanted to give up completely and let defeat devour her last remaining ounces of hope.

Matthews was present five days each week, and Bridget learned to keep track of her days in captivity by his work schedule. The guard was off Wednesdays and Thursdays. This was the only anchor that gave Bridget some connection to the outside world. She disliked the days when he was unavailable because the officer who covered for him was about as friendly as Truitt. Her name was Hale, and she was a rotund bull-dyke who enjoyed stealing glances at Bridget while she showered. Hale rarely spoke to the patient, but she had a very hands-on approach to her work. When she escorted Bridget anywhere, the guard made sure to keep one hand on Bridget's right hipbone while the other gripped the patient's forearm. Hale led the redhead through the facility like a prized cow is paraded around an auction block. Bridget frequently told Matthews about the replacement guard's behavior in hopes that he would put a stop to it, but without witnessing the incidents for himself, there was little that he could do.

"This place is covered with video cameras!" Bridget snapped from her side of the concrete. "What do you mean you can't do anything without hard proof? You have all the proof you need if you just pull the tapes."

Matthews was sympathetic, but he also needed his job. Hale was a supervisor, and no one questioned her actions with patients. The young man replied, "Bridget, I understand you're upset, but honestly, no one's going to question her. She's been here a long time, and Doctor Spencer really believes that she is a model employee. Trust me, he will take her side over mine any day of the week."

She began to cry. "It's not fair. I don't like it when you're not here. I don't feel safe." A modern-day Thisbe, Bridget pressed her face and hands against the wall, possibly hoping that the blocks and paint between them would melt away. She wanted to be close to Matthews—she wanted him to scoop her up in his arms and whisk her away. Bridget longed to kiss him, but he kept his distance. She saw the desire in his eyes, and the flame burning in those gray beauties was one of her few motivators to get out of this wretched place.

She missed him five consecutive Wednesdays and Thursdays, which guaranteed that she had been captive in the facility for at least five and a half weeks. In that time, her fondness for him grew. The patient considered her feelings for him to have spawned from her captivity. If she were not locked up in the facility, she would have probably never met him, and her heart would not ache with yearning. She occasionally fantasized about a physical relationship with him, but most of her daydreams revolved around spending time with him in the outside world. Bridget imagined their first date, sitting at Belaluca's, chatting about nothing and learning more about each other with every spoken word. She pictured Matthews walking her to her apartment door. They would share that awkward, longing silence before he found the courage to lean down and kiss her for the first time. It would be slow, soft, and completely romantic. In her mind, she envisioned peering deep into his granite eyes as she felt his fingers gently tuck loose strands of her silky red hair behind her pallid ear. Then his fingertips would caress the side of her face before finding her chin to pull her lips to meet his. She would stand on her tip-toes to reach him. Bridget would never ask him to stay—she would look at him, smile, and whisper a reticent goodnight.