Page 28 of Trapped: Until The Darkest Of Night

Back in the RV, I lie down on the floor in front of the open footboard of the double bed. The space is narrow, so I can only lie on my side, but I want to be near Lou.

According to the calculations I did based on her estimated weight, I need to give her the next dose of narcotics around 7 a.m. Also, I should put her on the toilet. I set the alarm on my watch for a quarter to seven, giving me enough time to prepare the mixture.

As I wait for sleep, I look at her profile and the long soft hair that flows like gold to the bottom of the box. I’m hyper and exhausted at the same time. I don’t want to fall asleep, I just want to look at her. All the time, all the time. At this moment, I am the happiest person in the world. For a brief moment, it’s like the boy in the dungeon is smiling inside me.

I set Lou on the bed and have her drink the mixture before she’s fully awake. She murmurs unintelligible words between the individual sips. Once, she chokes and coughs horribly, so I pat her on the back and watch her carefully as she calms down. She tries to hold her head up, but her chin keeps dropping to her chest. At one point, she manages and looks at me a little enraptured.

“WhereamI?” She’s trying to brush a strand of hair from her forehead, but halfway up, her arm drops weakly back onto the mattress.

I tuck the strand behind her ear, telling myself that it’s for her own good because her hair will definitely tickle her.

“I took you to be with me forever,” I say simply, letting my fingers rest on her hair for a moment. “I won’t hurt you, Lou. Never, I swear.”

She giggles like it’s a joke.

The sound gets under my skin. It’s a good thing she won’t remember anything later. “Do you need to use the bathroom?”

“You-want-to-put-me-on-there?”

“Sure, where else?” I don’t even wait for her answer, but carry her like a sack of flour over my shoulder into the tiny restroom. She doesn’t fight back. Inside, I set her on her feet and support her with one arm while I pull down her sweaty shorts.

I stare convulsively at her stomach and push the panties down her hips.

“Hey…” Her protest turns into a chuckle. She wants to hold on to me, but I push her onto the toilet seat.

“You’re good to go!” I consider turning around, but I have to hold her or she’ll fall off the toilet onto me. I support her shoulders, her head tilts forward, and her nose presses into my stomach. Shortly thereafter, a soft splashing sounds and I am grateful that these ugly methods also eliminate inhibitions. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be willing to pee in front of me.

I stare at the wall, motionless.

“Done,” she mumbles, turning her head so her cheek rests against my hoodie. The next moment, her arms close around my waist, powerless.

Her touch freezes me like a bronze statue. A chill runs through me, colder than ice.

You do not deserve this! You’re just dirt! Just dirt and dust!

Lou snuggles her cheek against my stomach and her hands find my lower back.

I breathe against the guilty feeling that her innocent touch triggers in me. Something in me breaks open, and in the blink of an eye, everything dark within me grows even blacker.

I can’t allow this, she’s half naked, and when the drugs wear off, she’s going to hate me. But her warmth is as good as it is bad, making everything worse at the same time. And the longer I feel it, the more I long for it. Something inside me softens, something that felt like steel before. Somewhere deep inside me is a place that needs to be held. In this way. Nothing more, that’s enough. Why does it hurt so much? Maybe because I don’t remember closeness because beatings were the only thing my body experienced and that’s all I can give.

With the odd ache in my chest, I pull out of the embrace, dress Lou again, and carry her back to the bed.

After that, I have an iced coffee for a quick caffeine boost and grab a muffin from the cupboard before sitting on the edge of the bed next to her to watch her fall asleep. The confusion about my reactions remains and the tiny soft spot inside me is still there as if Lou’s touch had grown new skin on a scarred area.

For the first time, I am scared.

What if she’ll never forgive me for this? Not in a year, not in five? What if I can’t avoid touching her? Or go berserk and hurt her? When the part of me I can’t control hurts her? Then what?

Chapter

Eight

The third day with Lou is as calm and uneventful as the second. After leaving Spokane, I turn off the highway onto one of the nameless roads and cross the border into British Columbia, Canada. There are no manned border crossings in these lonely stretches of land, but I know there are hidden sensors and cameras on some interurban roads, even in dense forests or trails. To be on the safe side, I wear a baseball cap pulled low over my forehead and exchange license plates again after crossing the border.

I’m driving around the greater Vancouver area on a provincial highway. Nobody stops me, there are no controls, not even later on the interstates. It’s almost too easy. I stop and check on Lou as often as I can. Most of the time I leave the flap open.

When I have to fill up shortly before Hazelton, the Canadian edition of the Daily News grabs my attention as I am ready to pay. I get hot and cold. A picture of Lou is emblazoned on the front page. I recognize it immediately: it’s the photo that Avery took of Lou. She posted this snapshot way before my time, but I still recall what she wrote underneath it: Thanks, Avy, for this great photo *beam*! You are the best!

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