Silver Lining

20. Close escapes

The fourth day

Michael went out every morning for a couple of hours and when he came back he was always drunk. I always got handcuffed to the iron loop on the wall in the room of eyes whilst he was gone.

This morning, I had a plan. It was only my third morning here, but the other two days, he left around ten o'clock. At around nine fifty, I stood in the living room, waiting for him to take me to the room of eyes and handcuff me to the wall. I had a rusty razor blade behind my back that I'd found the night before in the bathroom cupboard. He waltzed in with the handcuffs in his beefy hand. He already looked drunk. "Don't put up a fight today, alright Madison? It doesn't actually hurt you- it's just so you stay here so that we can be together. You made the right choice, being with me, and not Theo." He said Theo's name the way someone might say road kill.

I just nodded, and waited for him to get closer. He clumsily tried to put the handcuffs on my left wrist. Before he could, I whipped out the razor blade. "I don't want to be chained up. Don't do it ever again. To anyone." My voice didn't sound like mine, it sounded dangerous.

This made him angry, and he caught hold of my wrists. Although he was drunk, which made him slow and clumsy, he still had the strength. He pulled me down the hall, me trying to kick him and screaming as loudly as I could. "Oh, shut your face," he said angrily.

So there I was. Back in the room of eyes, my eyes, staring at me. I put my forehead on the cool damp wall and cried. I screamed, howled, sobbed. It didn't fix anything.
I was still stuck in the room of eyes.

And then I woke up, in my own bed with Theo breathing heavily next to me. My heart was hammering away on my ribcage and my pyjamas stuck to my clammy skin.

That's how I wished it could of ended, but life is not that perfect. It wasn't a dream, and there was still millions of little me's printed on paper surrounding me, smiling for the camera.

***

I could feel that my eye's were still red and puffy from all the crying when Michael came home. He didn't leave me in the room of eyes any longer after he got home, he uncuffed me stright away. Probabaly smart, because I can only wait too pee for so long...
I rushed to the bathroom. The toilet was disgusting and grimy, just like the rest of the house. I always squatted above it, not actually touching the seat.

I walked into the kitchen where Michael was. I could smell the alcohol on him. He drunk so much, that even on the rare occasion when he was sober, he still reeked of stale beer and whiskey. The fact that he never showered probaby didn't help, either.

"Come here," he said, slurring the words. I slowly walked towards him. Over the last three and a half days, I had learnt the hard way that it was better to just do what he said sometimes. That didn't mean that I wouldn't put up a fight when it counted, but for little things I just obeyed him. "You're so pretty, darling," he told me. "You should show a little more skin." He clumsily lifted his hand to lift up my shirt, but I quickly stepped away, dodging him. He took a slow step towards me. "Come on, don't be m-mean."

"You're really drunk," I told him. "Why don't we talk this over when you've sobered up." I wouldn't usually be so bold, but I highly doubt he would remember this.

He growled at me, like a dog, and started to come towards me. It wasn't hard to get away from him, because he was so clumsy. I had backed into a corner, wondering how I'd escape, when he passed out on the floor.

I was shocked. I stood for a moment, looking at his still body. Then I started shaking and crying, partly because I was so relieved, and partly because I just hated this so much. I wanted to leave. I sunk into the corner of the room, with my head in my hands and hot tears making trails on my dirty face.

There wasn't a lot of point trying to find an open window or door. I had tried them all a million times while Michael was asleep or in the bathroom. I hoped that he was so drunk he'd forgotten to lock the front door, but no such luck. My second stroke of genius was a phone. I walked around the kitchen and the dining room, the living room, the bedroom, and even the bathroom and laundry room. My hand hovered over the door handle of a room that he had showed me on the first day and said; "Never go in here. Trust me sweetheart, you don't want to see what's in there." Those words had burned into the matter of my brain, echoing around my head. I guessed they'd stay with me forever. But what if there is a phone or a way to escape in there? The little voice in my head argued. I shook my head. Something about the way Michael said those words told me he wasn't lying. What if there was torture instruments in there, or some other awful horror?
I didn't go in.

I had searched the whole house, and there was no phone. He didn't have a computer so that I could send an email. I was stuck.
I went and sat on the stained couch, with Michael sprawled out on the in front of me on the floor. He gave a little snore, and it was so funny I had to laugh, despite the situation. That's when I saw an outline of an iPhone in his back pocket.

Honestly, I was surprised he could afford an iPhone. I was pretty sure he was unemployed. And if he did have a job, he didn't seem to go to work very often. He spent the day getting smashed in pubs.
I knelt on the floor next to him, and hoped he wouldn't wake up. I used one finger to lift up the top of the pocket of his jeans, and used two fingers to gently pull the phone out of his pocket, and sat on the couch again.

I decided it might be safer in the bathroom if he woke up, and quitely snuck into the bathroom.
The phone was an iPhone 4, with a screen so cracked that crackle nailpolish would be jealous.
I slid the phone to unlock it, and it struck me for a second that I didn't know the password, and then I remembered the emergency call button. Thank you Apple, for having an emergency call button, you just saved my life.

No, no they didn't save my life. Michael's phone only had two percent. "Charge your fucking phone, Michael!" I said angrily, but quietly at the same time because he was in the next room, possibly gaining consciousness.

I pressed emergency call, determined to do this before the phone ran out of batteries. The person answered, and I spoke quickly. " My name is Madison Shaw and this guy named Michael Woods has kidnapped me. I don't know where he-" the phone ran out off batteries. Fuck.

Well hopefully they would know what happened to me now. That's if the call operator didn't dismiss it as a prank call.
I sat on the bathroom floor, and began to cry. I seemed to cry all the time now, and my eyes were permanently red and sore.

After a litte sob session, I figured I should go return Michael's phone before he woke up and noticed it was missing. I creeped back into the living room, and was about to put it back in his pocket when I realized that if I just put it on the bench, he wouldn't notice. He was much too drunk to wonder how his phone got from his pocket to the bench, if he even remembered that it was originally in his pocket.

Then I remembered. Remembered the day the police called us about the restraining order. Remembered how they couldn't get the restraining order. Remembered how they said there wasn't enough evidence, even though they'd finally found out where he lived. They knew where he lived. They knew where I was. If only the information that I'd given the call operator made it's way to the people who knew where Michael lived, I might be okay. Might get rescued, might see people again. I might kiss Theo again, trace my fingers over his tattoo that says keep going again. I might just mess around and be stupid with Laurel again, take Asher for a jog again, have a shower again. Might eat food other than greasy takeout again. Might have a salad. Damn, I missed salad.