My stomach is in knots as I wake up. I'm still curled up on my side, and my breathing quickens in fear. Cautiously, I begin to turn onto my back and realize I'm alone in his bed. I exhale in relief. There is no confrontation yet. I can hear noises coming from down the hall. I can't stay here. It's not safe. I feel much more secure in my closed off room. Quietly slipping out of bed, I tiptoe across the wooden floor, trying to ignore the pain from my jaw.
Peeking around the corner, I don't see anyone in the hall. My heart is pounding, and I can feel the adrenaline pulsing through my body. As quickly and as quietly as I can manage, I rush down the hallway and try to turn into my room. Suddenly, a familiar voice causes me to stop in my tracks.
"I see you're up," he says softly. I try to hide the fear lurking just beneath the surface. Everything in me is screaming not to turn around. Everything in me says to just run into your room and shut the door. But, somewhere inside me, there is something that tells me to turn around. And that tiny, minuscule being overrules everything else inside. Slowly, I turn to face the kitchen. I can see him setting two plates of food onto the table.
The harsh face from the first night here has vanished. I don't understand what's happening. Every day my brain won't let me forget the maliciousness of the human standing in front of me. But, recently that anger and cruelty are gone. I'm just unsure of which was the mask.
"I made food. You don't have to eat any. You can take it to your room if you want," he says kindly, clearly trying to gain my trust. I don't let the sense of gentleness coat over my apprehension. I stay planted where I am, and he turns to go turn the burner off. This is my chance. I can cleanly go into my room without him realizing what happened. But my feet remain rooted to the floor.
After placing the now dirty pan into the sink, he heads over the table and pulls out a chair. Moving around to the other side, he takes a seat, leaving the pulled out chair as a motion for me to sit. He doesn't look up as if making this a casual ordeal. While he begins his meal like he's not holding a young woman hostage, I'm fighting an internal battle.
The survival mode in my brain screams at me to run no matter how much the food is calling for me. The part of me unwilling to see the bad in anyone urges me to sit and join him. I mean how bad could it end? I push that thought away. The answer is: bad. Very bad. Somewhere in a middle ground, something tells me to just go for it, but never let my guard down. I don't know which one to listen to.
Suddenly, I feel my feet moving beneath me. My brain can't catch up to my body, and I have no idea what urged me to move. But, I'm moving towards him. Of all the places my feet could carry me, they decided to go to him. My mind is still numb as I lower myself onto the edge of the pulled out chair. I look down at the scrambled eggs and spinach in front of me. He doesn't look up, trying to seem casual, but I can tell he's watching through his peripheral vision.
My hand shakes a little as I pick up the metal fork. I slowly bring a bite of food to my mouth and swallow the nutrients gratefully. I exhale a little, trying to calm myself ever so slightly. Suddenly, he looks up from his plate and reaches out towards me. Trepidation slams itself into my brain, and I jump up from the table immediately, already headed away from the situation. I look back as his hand wraps around the glass of water in front of him. He looks up at me with wide eyes.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. Just wanted a drink," he says softly. My heart is still racing from the sudden change in mood. He sets the cup back down, holding his hands up a little as a sign of surrender. My eyes still scan the room wildly, unsure of my next approach. He slowly stands up but backs away from me. "I'll be right back. You should finish eating," he says. I see him head down the hallway as I rotate through the room to keep the same spacing between us.
Knowing there isn't much time left, I rush back over to the table and begin scarfing down the food. I continue glancing up to the direction he went, making sure I'm prepared when he comes back. Shoveling the remains of the food into my mouth, I hear him shout from down the hallway. "Hey! I'm comin' back. Just by the way," he says, making his way to the table. "I didn't want to startle you again."
He walks around the furniture, setting a small item onto the wood. I look down and see a capsule laying next to my glass of water. My mind flashes back to a random afternoon with Liza.
"Hey, my cramps are so bad right now. Got any Advil?" she asks. I giggle a little.
"Ugh, that's the worst. Here."
I smile a little to myself. It's strange how the littlest, most insignificant memories can seem to haunt you. It's a remembrance of when things were normal. I look back up at him, the smile wiping from my face. "I'm still really sorry about the other night," he says solemnly. "This might help."
I study the pill a little bit, making sure it's the real deal. I'm very wary of taking the wrong medication. It seems like a normal aspirin, so I pick it up between my fingers and place it on my tongue. Swallowing a gulp of water, it slides down my hoarse throat, and I look forward to the relief of pain from my jaw.
"So, I was just gonna tidy up a little today. Do you wanna take another bath? But, you have to promise not to repeat... last time," he says, looking a little hurt from the memory. I nod a little, looking for any excuse to escape this situation. He gets up to go set everything up. I shudder a little, a draft of wind coming from the vent below us. I can't for the life of me figure out what change of heart he had.
I hear him walking back and forth between rooms, gathering things he suspects I'd want. The water turns on, and, shortly after, he returns to the kitchen. "Ok. It's ready when you are," he says, giving a tight-lipped smile. Walking around, he grabs the dishes off the table and turns his back to take them to the sink. I take this moment to turn and scurry down the hall. I slip into the now steamy bathroom and shut the door behind. I get a queasy feeling in my stomach as I actually lock the door this time. I doubt I'll ever leave a bathroom door unlocked again.
Turning around, I see a fresh towel hanging on a hook. Bottles of shampoo and conditioner line the rim of the tub, and a tube of face wash sits on the sink counter. The toilet lid is down with clean clothes resting on it. Even though I locked the door, I'm still apprehensive as I strip down and get into the bath. Washing myself off, I try to imagine I'm back home, and none of this is real. I pretend this is just a normal occasion as I sporadically treat myself to a "spa".
Once finished, I get out and dry off. Picking up the clothes off the toilet, I slide on underwear, a bra, and a pair of spandex. Looking back over, I pick up an unfamiliar sweatshirt. Furrowing my brow, I slip it on over my wet hair and step back into the hallway. Still curious about the unfamiliar article of clothing, I walk slowly out to the main living area.
"Oh, that's mine. It's pretty comfortable, so I let you use it," he says, reading the questioning on my face. He wanted to give me his sweatshirt? How am I supposed to take that?
AN: hey just wondering. would you guys be interested in seeing a small drawing of my vision of the house? or would you rather keep the idea you have? just curious
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She's Gone
Fanfiction"'David, Gabbie can't be next,' I said, my voice breaking. He pulled me into his chest, and I broke down sobbing. 'She's not safe,' I wailed. He stroked my hair, knowing there was nothing he could say."
