Page 4 of Encounter

Time turned into anabstract concept. The dismal, confined room filled with the smell of cigarette smoke and sweat became my new reality.

I heard laughter and shouting from the other rooms and listened to the men’s muted voices—they replaced my usual choice of background music. I hadn’t caught a good glimpse of any of their faces or anything else that could have told me who they were.

They all wore the same balaclava mask, and I was not going to risk it considering only one wrong look made one of them slap the glasses off my face, stepping on them. “Next time, that’ll be your head,” he told me. It instantly taught me to keep my head low.

A few times a day, someone came up with a bottle of water. Sometimes without trouble, sometimes accompanied by needless, childish violence and taunts. The pain I almost welcomed. It reminded me I was still alive, still there.

Even if it felt like nothing mattered.

Closing my eyes and locking my trembling lips together to soothe myself, I tried my hardest to think good thoughts, but a part of me was already convinced I would die.

Nobody told me anything—how much time I had left, if the situation changed...Nothing. I wasn’t even sure if someone was looking for me. I wasn’t sure about anything anymore.

Especiallywhen it came to my father.

How could he have been involved in something like this? In something that could get his son kidnapped? And if he was that sort of person, was he even going to try to get me back? Maybe this was all just a convenient opportunity to get rid of the child he never wanted. He never said it out loud, but... he didn’t have to.

Thinking about my life, my family—the depressing conclusion was that I wouldn’t be surprised if Dad left me. It wasn’t like I was ever the person he wanted me to be. Never smart enough, never social enough. Too indecisive, passive, boring. Always using the wrong tone. Spending time doing the wrong things. Paying too much attention to that piano, not enough to study. Always locked in my room, too quiet, too lazy, too—

Even if I was going to die here, by the hand of one of those thugs... I was never worth anything anyway.

There wasonething. A thought that burned through my chest, all the way to my brittle, exhausted heart. The realization that I always put off sitting down with Dad and forcing him to tell me more about Mom. So many times, I was going to—I searched for information around the house, I attempted to ask him—but never actually succeeded.

Slowly accepting my inevitable demise—I could deal withthat. I had no choice. It wouldn’t be the first time I thought about dying or not-existing, anyway. But that missed opportunity... That made me unable to hold back tears. Emotions so strong I didn’t even understand them. A strange, deep grief running to my very core was now swallowing me.

A cold, rough hand clapped me over the cheek. I gasped and looked up. “Fucking Christ. Crying like a little bitch again, huh?” The man mocked me with a high-pitched voice. “Your papa didn’t get back to us yet. He ain’t got much time left. Seems like he don’t really give a fuck about you.”

Chills ran down my spine.The three days are already nearly over?It felt like a blink—a slow, harrowing blink.

“Just so I know... how do you want it? Slow? Fast?” He chuckled. “Who am I kiddin’? You ain’t got a fucking choice.”

Paralyzed by fear and too emotionally exhausted to process half of it, I stared at him with my mouth cracked open. I knew it was a possibility but didn’t want to believe that my own father would actually let me die.No. It can’t be.

“Please!” I blurted, remembering the privilege I had and could use. “I d-don’t understand what’s going on, but whatever— Whoever is paying you, we can g-give you more.”

The man frowned under his mask and scoffed. “We? You mean your daddy who hasn’t done shit? Anyway, how ‘bout we start with the fingers?” he continued where he left off, unphased by my offer.

Blinking rapidly, I ran my eyes over the room in a feeble attempt to find a way out.This can’t be happening.I wanted it all to end. I couldn’t take it anymore. The threats, the horrible thoughts, the imagery, the hurling emotions... I was somewhat ready to just accept my fate, but not like this. Not in this horrible, slow way.

“Why so quiet?” he kept going. “Not gonna beg for your life?”

Should I?He was going to kill me anyway. If there really was no way out of that situation, begging would only serve his sadistic pleasure. I wasn’t the proudest or the bravest person, but I didn’t want to give him that. At least in my last moments, I wanted to be someone Mom would be proud of.

---