Spearmint

8. Julia

June 2018

It had been three weeks since he kidnapped her, everything was going pretty smooth. They had their eggs and bacon for breakfast upstairs every morning and she waited patiently in the kitchen as he went to feed the pigs. The urge to escape grew everyday, it was almost like a hole that slowly grew bigger as the days wore on.

When he was finished feeding the pigs he would come in and watch her clean up the kitchen from breakfast. When she was finished he would take her back down to the cellar. He would sometimes allow her to get a shower but other days he would just make her go back to the cellar, he would leave the door open and they would watch each other clean or do laundry. Sometimes if he was in an especially good mood he would come in and kiss her all over her face and express his undying love for her.

She couldn't help the conflicting feelings, the stockholm syndrome bubbled up sometimes. She didn't love him back nor did she enjoy the cellar, she enjoyed not having to work and having someone love her. Nobody had ever loved her. Her foster parents never told her, but it wasn't their job to love her; it was their job to teach her how to be an adult. That's what they told her anyways.

In the evenings she would curl up to his side as they watched a movie, it was most times a romance movie but it was entertainment nonetheless.

He hadn't assaulted her since that day he pushed her to the ground and kicked her until she cried. He was gentle and Julia hoped he would stay that way. It would be easier to escape when he trusted her.

*

It was dinner time, he had spent all day out working on the farm, or that's what he said at least. Apparently he ran his own under the table business selling pig manure to local farmers as well as sold some fruits and vegetables from his garden. She didn't remember seeing a garden but according to Muse it was at the side of the house.

She watched as he rang out his hands while he sat on the bed as he furrowed his brows and unfurrowed them several times. His icy blue eyes were clouded over and she could tell that he had something on his mind.

She picked up the two plates she made of chicken and gravy smothered mashed potatoes.

"Muse," she called, he didn't acknowledge her. "Muse," she tried again. He still didn't respond, his eyes were glued to a spot on the cement floor. "Muse, dinner," she carried the plates to the table, she set them down hard so he would hear. His head snapped up, his eyes cleared and darkened.

"What?" he asked, his voice harsh.

Julia's legs started to wobble, she felt a lump start to form in her throat. "Dinner is ready," she forced a smile as she motioned with her hand to the table. He looked at the table, his mouth slightly agape before he pushed himself up. He smoothed out his shirt before he made his way to the table and into his seat. Julia waited until he picked up his fork before she sat in her seat. The room was filled with an awkward silence, the tension was so thick that you could cut it with a knife.

The lump in Julia's throat grew, she cleared her throat as quietly as she could before speaking, "Muse?"

"Yes?" he kept his eyes on his plate.

"May I speak?"

He shrugged his shoulders, "sure, why not?" his voice was laced with sarcasm.

"Is everything alright?" She tried to sound genuine.

"Why is it everytime you open your mouth it's a goddamn question?" he slammed his hand on the table and his head snapped up to look at her straight into her eyes. She flinched, her heart sped up and she swore if her hands perspired anymore that her fork would slip right out of her grasp.