Page 84 of Octane

I’m surviving, but I feel dead on the inside.

I’ve lost track of how many days I’ve been back. Carissa hasn’t tried to come see me again, though I don’t blame her after what I said to her the last time we spoke. It’s for the best, because I don’t even enjoy my own company at the moment. I don’t think Daniel would have let her in anyway. He’s made it abundantly clear that my family isn’t welcome inourhomeanymore.

Daniel worked from home for a few days after we got back. He didn’t trust me enough to leave me, even with the cameras and the alarm system. Also, he needed to be here to open the door for the company he hired to retrieve my belongings from my apartment.

Watching what was left of my life get hauled back into this hell hole was painful, but I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t missed having my things surrounding me. He started going back into the office after that. He still doesn’t trust me, but I think he got tired of watching me sit on the sofa, wrapped in my blanket, doing nothing all day.

But he doesn’t realize that I’m not doingnothing. He doesn’t see how hard I’m working to keep my shit together. I’m thinking about the fact that I will never race again. Quitting so abruptly the way I did, even if I do make it out of Daniel’s grasp one day, they won’t let me back after this.

I’m struggling, battling thoughts of Jackson and all of the reasons why he hasn’t tried to make contact with me yet. Did Carissa tell him not to bother trying? Did he give up on me? I refuse to believe it, yet at the same time, I tell myself it’s true because even if he did come here, it wouldn’t change anything. It’s better this way, but that doesn’t stop the crushing pain I’m feeling inside. It threatens to pull me into a deep abyss until I drown. I wish it would just claim me already. No sense in waiting.

Being stuck inside doesn’t help.

I need to escape these four walls, even if only for just a few moments. I need to breathe in the fresh air and feel it on my skin. Maybe I’ll ask Daniel if we can go for a walk when he gets home from work. I scoff at myself. Thinking about asking him for permission to do anything is repulsive.

This is how Stockholm Syndrome begins.

He is conditioning me by cutting me off from everyone and everything I love. I’m only able to do what he allows me to, leaving me dependent on him for everything. Exactly as he’s always wanted.

Suddenly, heat radiates through my body, and I break out into a sweat. I throw the blanket off of me and stand up from the sofa. My legs feel like giving out from underneath me, but I push myself to make it to the window. The sight of people on the street below, the way they're flaunting their freedom, makes me angry.

Out of nowhere, it feels like I’ve just had an espresso and am suffering through a caffeine high. I’m restless, and I can’t stop my body from moving. I flex my hands into fists and then release them again, over and over. I’m furious, and a force that I haven’t felt before powers through me.

Shaking out my hands, I pace the room. When I get to the dining room, I grip the back of one of the chairs, trying to get ahold of myself. When I look up, I catch my reflection in the large, decorative mirror hanging on the dining room wall.

I haven’t taken a good look at myself since I was in the hotel room in Darlington. I despise the girl looking back at me.

She’s weak.

Insecure.

A coward.

She’s the woman I’ve been trying to walk away from. The opposite of the independent woman I was well on my way to becoming. Something snaps inside of me. I try to tamper the rage that I feel building, but it’s too strong to overcome. With the chair still in my clutches, I pick it up and toss it across the room, breaking the mirror into a million pieces.

Breathing hard, the tiniest smile tugs the corner of my mouth.

That felt good. I wish I had a bat.

Turning around, I stare at the entertainment center, and a thought pops into my head. I enter Daniel’s study and grab the nine-iron from his golf bag. Entering the living room again, I set my sights on the television.

“You always wanted me to learn how to play golf, Daniel.”

Holding the club like a baseball bat, I choke up on the grip. Taking a swing, I think about how I’ll never race again, and bust through the screen. My breath comes faster.

I square up again. This time, I think about Carissa no longer being a part of my life. Before I let the awful thought affect me, I wind up and take a step in the direction of my target. Just like my softball coach taught me when I was younger.

Step into the pitch for a more powerful swing.

This time, I connect with the television several times in a row before I have to stop and take a few steadying breaths. Then I think about Daddy and his role in all of this. I’m so torn. He didn’t start this, but his poor decisions made him a stepping stone in Daniel’s path to gain full control over me. Swinging again, I delight in the destruction of the screen.

This is exhilarating.

Satisfied with the state of the television, I focus on the shelves surrounding it. With each swing, I think about the many times when I didn’t like something that Daniel did or said, but I was too stupidlyin lovewith him or just too plain chicken shit to put a stop to it.

When the entertainment center finally crumbles to the floor, too busted to remain upright, I stand over it and bring the club down on its damaged fragments over and over again.

I think about Jackson.

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