Breaking Ice

3.

When I was younger, my mom was hardly around. The most I knew about my dad was a framed photo of him in an Air Force uniform right outside of the airport in Hawaii. He was a ghost that we never spoke about in fear that even the faintest mention of him would bring misfortune and depression across the entirety of the continental US. At least, that's how it felt.

Growing up with a single parent doesn't feel strange until you get older and begin to realize that your family was...different. Not a bad or good different but a neutral one as if your family were a beautiful portrait that was slightly crooked.  Being home alone as a kid seems like such an amazing thing- you get a sweet taste of false independence. It felt like the entire world was at the tip of my fingertips. If I wanted to stuff my mouth with Pizza rolls that were too hot, I could and my mom would be none the wiser.

 My mom and I shared a studio apartment but to me, it was a mansion. Imagination is a powerful tool when you're a kid. A simple green plastic soldier is Sargeant Charleston, commander of Special Black Ops 51 or a small red car is a lightning fast racecar that is being driven by Tony Francis, the greatest driver ever to live. 

But being alone at such a young age causes you to grow up in a very specific way. You're still able to have kidlike fun but somewhere along the line, you learn how to reflect. The quietness of the house forced you to think-- think about how carpets are made or what could be causing that brown spot on the ceiling or why you said such a mean thing to Amy in class that day. You learn to critique and analyze even the slightest of things because what else is there to do once you've eaten all the PB and J and you've played MarioCart for more than four hours?

You learn how to have anxiety. Is mom going to come home? Is Amy still mad about me telling her to shut up even though I apologized? Did I accidentally leave the stove on even though I haven't touched it in days?

When you're a kid with anxiety, imagination is an escape from the all too real world of five and six-year-olds.

But once you pass through puberty, imagination seems more like your enemy. Capitalism makes you view your creativity not just as an escape but something to profit off of and if you can't make bank on your talent, then you're just not creative enough.

So how in the hell did I end up in the back trunk of a Nissan Sentra with zip ties around my wrists and feet? I knew I wasn't nearly creative enough to have this vivid of a dream, and I certainly wasn't high enough to have pulled this kind of scenario out of my ass. The darkness was beginning to consume me and I wanted to scream but just before Liam slammed the trunk door, he begged me not cause a scene.

The silence of the trunk reminded me of my childhood and a tear left my eye. God, I was so lonely.

Looking into his eyes, I had felt calm and reassured but now uncertainty was welling inside of me, threatening to explode and cause me my life. Or,  my noisemaking could expose whatever kind of human trafficking Liam is involved in. He always told me his money came from real estate but I should have known that was a bullshit response. No real estate mogul would choose to live in Taylorsville. 

But even human trafficking seems like too much excitement for this old, boring city.

They didn't put tape on my lips so perhaps this was a simulation of a kidnapping rather than a real kidnapping. I watched a movie on Netflix about it, its really a thing, I swear. 

Panic started to set in but I pushed it back-- just a little bit. The claustrophobia I never knew I had wanted me to melt my bones and somehow escape through the muffler but, bodies can't do that.

This sucks.

I considered kicking but no one from the outside or the inside would be able to hear me. I searched around for the neon green tab created specifically for kidnapping victims to escape but its absence only pushed me closer to the edge of a panic attack.

What the hell was Liam involved with? If he were in trouble, wouldn't he have told me? I could've helped, I'm not sure how,  but I'm sure that I could've done something, anything. What possible problem could he have been in that he couldn't buy himself out of anyway?

Suddenly the car jolted to a stop causing me to knock my head on the top of the trunk. I shuddered as the warm trail of blood trickled down my forehead and landed on my trembling lips. The mixture of snot and blood enticed my tongue as I whimpered and quietly cried for help.

"I'm going to die. I'm going to die right here..." I repeated to myself while rocking back and forth. Perhaps if I said it enough times, I'd accept it.

 I muttered a curse but immediately stilled myself when I heard voices.

"Liam, it doesn't matter what you feel,  this guy is a threat and you know it." A male voice boomed. He was angry. I prayed he didn't take his rage out on me.

"I'm sorry, I seem to have forgotten asking you for your shitty opinion," replied Liam. His voice rang clear as day. 

"We're taking him." Liam continued. "Do you have the gas?"

Gas? Ohmygod, it better not be carbon monoxide because that's actually...not a bad way to die.

Thanks for looking out, Liam. Even if he were a manic sociopath, seems like he's decided to give me a sweet, quick end. What are friends for?

"We can't take-"

"I have spoken. Drive." Liam's measured tone sent chills down my spine. I tried to imagine what his face would look like but my mind was blank. 

Just then, the soft pshhh sound started from the upper left corner of the trunk right on top of my ear. The air felt cool on my open cut.

Nonononononononononononononoonono. 

I didn't want to die. Not yet.

"It's okay, just breathe. Trust me, I know it's hard but Liam will keep you safe. " said a little girl who suddenly appeared next to me, huddled, in the trunk.

That's when I began screaming.