Home is not a Place

4• Clinging On

   VANESSA

That man was right when he said it was going to be a long night.

   I can't breathe.

   The air in my lungs have flattened until I can feel the sides of my abdomen scraping together at a horrible rhythm. My whole body trembles, and freezing cold water spills over the rag held at my mouth and nose. My head is forced to remain still in a leaned back position, and I'm too weak to break free of this man's horrendous grip.

   My eyes roll into the back of my head and for a second I swear I see a white light—but the man forcing water down my throat finally lets me go and lets me breathe.

   I choke on air, spew water, and shake uncontrollably. I've never been water boarded before until tonight. I've watched spy movies, and I always thought that if I had ever been kidnapped and tortured, I'd be able to withstand the pain. That my torturers would never get anything from me, but I'm weaker than I thought.

   I've said nothing, but I feel like I've died three times and have miraculously come back to life.

   Yeah, that's right. They've waterboarded me three times.

   My lungs are cold, but they burn in a way that I didn't even know was possible. My throat feels as if it has been scratched continuously from the inside out. I swear my insides are filled with blood. The amount of agony is unbearable, but they don't believe me when I say that I didn't steal their manifest.

    My whole body is drenched in the water that they'd spilled over me. Both men don't seem to give a single damn about me, and they look like they're having a normal day as they roll their eyes at me. "Tell us the truth already. Where is our manifest?"

   "Up my ass and around the corner." I say shortly with as much strength as I can muster. Then, in a more serious tone that takes a lot of effort to get out, I continue. "I swear I don't know what manifest you're talking about. I don't have it. I would've told you by now if I did steal it because this hurts like hell."

   The man with the mustache—the leader of the two—moves toward me with that awful rag in his hand and I flinch back. "Please. I promise I know nothing. If I did steal it, why would I go back to that house? That would be dumb of me, wouldn't you think?"

   The more submissive man turns to the other. "Oh, shit. She's right."

   I attempt to swallow, but when I try it feels as if I am trying to swallow a rock. "Please believe me. I swear to you I don't know anything."

   The one only feet from me shakes his head. "I still don't believe you. You're involved in this."

   He storms toward me and shoves the rag against my mouth. He plugs my nose, and then he rears my head back, making me cry out in fear.

   Oh, god. I can't go through this again.

   Tears spill over the sides of my eyes as I whimper. Through the already wet rag, I wail. "I'll do anything! Please don't! I'll do anything..."

   The man hesitates, and horrible seconds pass where I believe that at any moment, icy water will flood straight into my throat and then to my lungs where I will choke and choke until nothing but pain and darkness fills my mind.

   But then, he takes the rag off and lets me go, allowing me to get out of that uncomfortable position.

    I remain silent as I watch the man move to where he is in front of me. His cruel eyes inspect me for a moment before he says, "You're telling the truth, aren't you?"