Page 5 of Rami

Now, her sole purpose was survival. Her captors rarely gave her food. Her appetite had long since vanished, but she forced herself to eat whatever scraps they gave her.

Ivy clung to the sound of her mom’s voice in her head, clung to the memory of her father’s warm embrace. And then there was her sister. She closed her eyes and thanked God for the images of Gigi in her mind’s eye. Gigi’s face, a mirror image of her own, was the only thing that truly calmed her down. The only thing that gave her the determination to get through this nightmare.

But Gigi was so far away. Her laughter and her voice were already slipping from Ivy’s psyche. When the rest was gone, she’d have nothing to keep her going.

Finding out where she was being kept might help her escape, but the tinfoil on the windows and the chain around her ankle prevented her from doing that.

She pushed herself into a sitting position. The room whirled around her as if she’d woken up in the eye of a tornado. She closed her eyes and willed herself to inhale the stale, humid air. The scent of moldy food and urine—probably her captors’ and hers—hit the back of her throat. She gagged.

Get it together, Ivy. This is the longest you’ve been awake while they’re gone. Your only fucking chance.

Her arms trembled beneath her weight, but she kept them planted on the slick linoleum. The insides of her forearms stung, but she didn’t dare look at the needle marks. If she could find food and water, the drugs would leave her system quicker. Then maybe she could work on getting out of the shackle around her foot.

The swirling gradually slowed and she forced open her eyes. Empty food containers covered every surface, and dirt and garbage littered the floors. Cigarette smoke stained the peeling floral-patterned wallpaper, turning it a yucky yellow hue. Holes chewed up chunks of the drywall—a result of her male captor’s vicious temper. A critter scampered by, but she didn’t even jump. The little creatures were the only things not out to hurt her.

A centipede crawled to a pile of garbage against the wall and wiggled under a half-empty bottle of water.

Thank god.

Ivy dragged her body the two-foot distance and snatched up the bottle. She didn’t give a shit whose lips had been on it last. She quickly unscrewed the cap and downed the piss-warm liquid. There was just enough for a couple of gulps. She needed gallons more, but it would keep her alive a little while longer.

A sign from the universe not to give up.

The centipede scurried on its way as if its purpose had been to help her. A bag of chips sat on top of the pile of trash, and she snatched up the green bag and glanced inside. The smell of dill pickle made her mouth tingle, and she shoveled in a handful of crumbs. The salt burned her cracked skin, but she didn’t care.

Food meant stamina.

Stamina meant survival.

Escape.

She scanned the uneven floor of the trailer. There had to be something she could use as a weapon or to pick the lock at her ankle. Her gaze landed on a hole in the wall created by the guy’s foot during his most-recent temper tantrum. A nail was just visible.

She pushed garbage out of the way and got onto her knees. Holding her own weight made her thighs tremble, but hope was too great to quit. She dug her fingertips into the broken wall and snapped off chunk after chunk of drywall to get to the nail that stuck out from a stud in the doorway to the hall. She gripped the end and pulled.

It didn’t budge.

She was too weak. Letting out a grunt, she placed a hand on the wall for support and yanked with the other hand. The nail squeaked.

Yes, come on, come on.

She gritted her teeth and used all her strength, wiggling the nail side to side. The metal end dug into her palm, but she continued. She’d slice her hand to the bone if it meant getting free. She leaned back and pulled harder.

The nail moved more.

She gasped and her chest heaved. Her skin burned and her lungs screamed. Almost there.

Don’t give up! The insistent words in her head rang in Gigi’s voice, making a sob leak from her throat.

Ivy cried out, pushed the stabilized hand firmly against the stud, and surged backward.

Snap!

Drywall dust fluttered into the air and covered the debris on the floor. Hope blossomed its tentative petals inside her, flooding her veins with strength and confidence.

She had the weapon. All she needed now was an opportunity.

Outside, a car door slammed. She jumped. The nail burned a desperate hole in her palm. She had to hide it. Protect the little piece of victory with her life. She glanced down at her black tank top. If she shoved it in her bra, they might see it through the tight material. If she stuck it in the pocket of her shorts, they could find it there as well, though they hadn’t attempted to remove her clothes.

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