Page 25 of Out to Find Freedom

I made my way towards the bathroom to wash my hair. I hoped the task would keep my mind off things, even if for only a moment.

I didn’t bother removing my clothes. It was time to change them and attempt to clean them after my hair. It didn’t matter if they got wet in the process.

The usual thought crossed my mind as I stood before the small sink. I wished I had some shampoo or conditioner; even soap would have been good. However, water would do. Like it always had.

Turning on the water, I picked up the small plastic cup I’d found lying around. I filled it, leaned over the sink, and poured it over my hair, cringing from the coldness. Still, I kept at it, and it wasn’t until I was done that I realised I’d been humming to the song Ryan had sung for me.

A pang of sadness swept through me. I wanted to run to my phone to see if he had replied in the end, but I had to stay strong. Even if he had, it wouldn’t change my mind.

As I dried my hair with an old T-shirt, I glanced out the window to see the day was overcast. However, the basement remained warm no matter the weather outside, which I was grateful for in the winter months. I went over to a box and picked out fresh—to some extent—clothes. A man’s old T-shirt with some logo I’d never seen before on the front. It came down to my knees, like most of the clothes I’d salvaged from the boxes. I could wear it as a dress, but I would never want to walk around in just my underwear alone underneath. Digging deeper in the box, I pulled out a pair of cut-off leggings I’d worn only a couple of times before. Previously they had been too tight for me. Now they sat comfortably around my waist.

My body used to be in good shape, especially from working on the farm. But after years of nothing, my collarbones were visible and my ribs stood out. While I had pretty much two solid meals a day, the calories didn’t seem to do their part. I didn’t understand how I’d gotten so thin.

In the clear space in front of the bed, I placed a blanket and laid it out flat. Standing on it, I sank to the floor, lying down.

I pulled my body up. Well, tried to. I got halfway—grunting and panting—before dropping back. I’d been slack on my exercises, having felt weakened, but I had to do them.

I dropped an arm over my face, only to feel the hard ridges of my scars. I pulled my arm back enough to stare at the raised lines. I ran my fingers over them. More scars lined my thighs, stopping just above my knees. I trailed my fingers to my chest and felt the ones there.

There were fewer than on my arms and thighs, but enough to be noticeable.

I let my arms fall to the floor and stared up at the roof.

Footsteps banged from above, meaning someone had just come home or gotten out of bed or stood from the couch to go into the kitchen. Since the kitchen was right above where I was, the footsteps sounded louder, so I knew it was their destination.

Lifting a hand, I stuck my middle finger up at the roof.

Fuck them.

Fuck what they do.

Fuck how they are.

Fucking fuck them.

A laugh escaped me, but it cut off into a sob.

Fuck me.

Fuck my life.

Was my hope worth having?

If I didn’t have Harriet to think of, I would walk up those stairs, bang on the door, and punch whoever answered it in the face. Then they might kill me.

Then again, I didn’t have it in me to do it.

I was weak, not only in body but in mind.

The one good thing I had, I’d pushed away. It had to be done though. At least I could give a person something in my miserable existence.

Safety. As long as I did what I was told… and I would for them.

Chapter Nine

Warden

It’d been nearly fucking two weeks without a word from Emmie. I didn’t know if I should worry or what. Knew she’d said she wouldn’t text anymore, but what was the reason for it? I’d sent text after text without an answer to any of my random questions. In the last couple of days, I’d even begged for her to tell me she was all right. Shit, I’d called once or twice as well, but the phone had been switched off, and since her number came from one of those fucking apps that the police and private investigators hated because it wasn’t traceable, I was shit out of luck finding the location of it.

---