Muted

Chapter 30

After a few days of putting together a well thought out plan, I was one hundred percent positive we were going to get out of this house... but there was a tiny hiccup that I still haven't figured out how to get rid of—and that was: how do I wake Angie and Dillon up?

I needed to figure out something. Something that would cue their brain to remember me and remember where they are. We needed to leave now.

Being in this house for what felt like a little over a month, I can slowly feel myself losing my sanity. I could feel the Stockholm syndrome trying to sneak its way into my head. It was a constant game of reminding myself to stay grounded. I've even carved the reminder into the bedroom floor with the knife I stole quite a few times.

My biggest fear as of now was that I'd never be me again outside these walls. That I'd succumb to the torture and trust my kidnappers.

It was getting to the point where I started to believe I'd have to leave Angie and Dillon behind, but that would only add to more problems with me attempting to escape.

I sat in the corner of my unwelcoming room itching at my skin. I refused to bathe since I got here so I can remind myself that if I give into any form of care, that I was also giving into them. I was thinking about anything and everything. I needed to know how to wake Dillon and Angie up.

I knew for a fact that I had to wake Dillon up first because there wasn't many things that would help me wake Angie up since we barely knew each other.

I couldn't use the abandoned subway station and subway cart because I wasn't allowed outside. I couldn't use my Cinderella vinyl that he got me because it was home. And obviously I couldn't use my phone because it was now broken, and only who knows where.

I sat thinking and thinking, over and over again. As I was ready to give up for good, I remembered something that might help. And I could only cross my fingers at this point.

I waited for hours and hours until I knew one hundred percent that Dillon's parents had left. They always left around four, and they were obviously dumb enough to leave a clock in my room so I could time it.

I quickly stood up from where I had been sitting for hours and rushed over into the upstairs bathroom and started rummaging through his mother's makeup. It took a few hours of concentration and controlling my shaky hands before I had an adorable scarecrow for a face.

I grabbed a wash cloth and wet it thoroughly so I can be prepared to wash it off, just in case. With my wash cloth in hand, I rushed downstairs to find the one and only—Dillon.

Once I finally found the boy, I instinctively and quickly tapped him on the shoulder. He whipped his head around with the slight fear that came with the brainwashing, and his eyes landed on me.

He looked at me very confused and questioned, "Is it Halloween?"

I looked him in the eyes with lost hope, practically begging him to remember anything. He sat there, studying me like a hawk. His eyes worked their way around every nook and cranny of my face, top to bottom. He shook his head like he was still lost at what I was trying to do.

I wanted to cry. I wanted to sit on the floor and ball my eyes out, I was so frustrated. He gave me a look that said "I'm sorry?"

With little to no hope, I felt a tear drop and I looked down at my feet. I felt like a disappointment. I hiccuped as I cried. I could feel myself hyperventilating, nothing but fear, anger, frustration, and sadness leaving my body all at once, telling me, "It's time to give up."

Dillon must've not known what to do because he softly grabbed my shoulder and made me look him in the eye, "Hey it's okay. Shh... stop crying."

I shook my head no and could feel my mouth trying to form words. I could feel me mouthing the words, "Please remember me." But no sound came out. My body violently shook. I just wanted to die.

I didn't want to stay here, imprisoned for the rest of my life. Dillon kept trying to get me under control, and I just couldn't take it anymore.

Before I knew it, I felt my mouth trying to form words again. Only this time, I felt my throat vibrating—indicating that something actually came out, "I hate you, Dillon."

I didn't mean what I said. I just hated this Dillon. The one that could barely even remember my name anymore. The Dillon that was so brainwashed that he didn't even know my face.

But judging by the look on his face, he knew my voice. A voice he's only ever heard once. A voice that had said these exact words to him in the past.

He looked at me, deadpanned with realization. With memory. Clearly hurt by my words. His eyes were slowly getting watery and his face turning ever so slightly red. He violently shook his head while saying, "No, you don't. You don't hate me Riley. Please don't tell me you hate me."

I looked at him and sighed with relief. I felt so much weight come off my shoulders with finally figuring out how to wake him up. I inhaled sharply with more tears falling from my eyes before jumping at him and latching my arms around him. I held him tightly and he held me tighter.

Upon waking him up, I just knew that we were all definitely getting out of here.

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