Page 7 of In the Light of Day

Clawing at the bed, the sheets feel rough against my hands,against my face,as a sharp pain causes me to scream, and I cry out again. The grunts of Uncle Tommy surround me as he moves against my back. Pain, all I feel ispain.

“Please,” I cry. “Help me.”

I scream out the words until my voice is all but gone. His continued assault on my body lasting for minutes, hours ... days.

“Help me,” I whisper.

Maybe somewhere, heroes do exist and he will hear me.

“Please ... help me.”

Five Years Later

Chapter 3 - Nova

Never Tear Us Apart - Smith & Myers?

“It’s almost time to come down from there, sweetie-pie,” Tom calls out from the bottom of the stairs. The pet name he uses still causes my skin to crawl. It's as though the ghost of his fingers are trailing the length of my arms, raking through the roots of my hair. I'm not sure I'll ever truly understand how much everything changed that night. How everything that brought me so much love and comfort was destroyed in seconds. The trauma of how my innocence was taken still causes pain in my chest, the shards of my heart forever shifting and slicing. Each cut only adding to my anxiety.

Today is my birthday.

Today is my twenty-third birthday.

No one has found me yet, but theyarelooking.They're Looking.

The cold steel of the bunker door rests against my shoulder and I press my hand to the same spot I do every day. The metal shining brightly from all the times I've touched it over the years, grime worn down until it almost has a mirror shine.

Maybe today is the day I get out of here. Maybe today is the day I can touch the grass outside and breathe air so fresh it will make me feel light headed.

Maybe today,my birthday, is the day I will be free.

I make my way down the stairwell. Each step heavy against the cold steel is another step away from the fading light of day. I'm allowed to sit by the door because he has the only set of keys attached firmly to his belt. He sleeps with them, showers with them, he never takes them off or leaves them lying around for me to steal. The small window in the door gives me a taste of normalcy,a taste of hope.

I stopped fighting after a while, at least physically. Those first months down here are now blank spots in my memory.

But I fought.

Aggressively.

Violently.

I fought with everything in my being to stop him fromtakingme, but every time, he took what he wanted, and I was weaker for it. I created a mental escape and ceased to exist when I saw the manic glint in his eyes. The one that told menowwas the time I needed to open the door to my sanctuary and stay there for however long I needed.

Snow was my saviour.

Snow.

The cold, soft, refuge of its feather light flakes falling from the sky would let me escape my physical hell over and over. I would picture myself lying on a field while it surrounded me like a soft blanket. What I like, or what draws me to snow for comfort, is that it's so unassuming. So beautiful and gentle as it flutters to the ground, however, snow can also be unpredictable. It can build silently around you until you're smothered. Crash into you until you suffocate. It waits patiently, sparkling in the light until it unleashes and you question how something so beautiful could cause so much destruction.

In this hell, I am snow. I will wait until it's time for me to unleash, and then there will be no stopping me. Nothing will stand in my way when the opportunity is given to me. Until then, I remain unassuming.

My family are out there looking for me and Ineedto get back to them. Lizzie will be all grown up now. I can picture her as such a confident woman, ready to get out from under the shadow of my mum and dad. They must be so worried about me. I just disappeared in the night and never returned. But I know they will move heaven and earth to find me. I'm a Davis, and despite all of the ups and downs my mother and I had, we still stick together.Family is everything. I can't give up hope that they are looking for me. That they might find me before I have the chance to get out of here.

Stepping onto the cold concrete floor I can hear my uncle scurrying around as he moves about the dank kitchen.

“Can you believe it's your birthday again? It feels like just yesterday we first came down here and could finally start our life together. It's such a special day for us to remember, isn’t it sweetie-pie,” he says, trying to be affectionate but only inciting my disgust. I wouldn't spit on him if he was on fire.

A chill runs down my spine and I see the man who took me from the world. His clothes are worn and dishevelled. With no real means to clean laundry in here, I do the best that I can with the grey water collected from the cold shower. In fact, I do most chores around the shelter. Not to give my uncle the satisfaction of having a docile housewife, as he sometimes calls me. But for something to keep me sane. I have my routine which I adhere to as best I'm able. In amongst the times I need to escape into my crystal sanctuary. It gives me a chance to occupy my hands while also searching for anything that I could use as a weapon. Every inch of this place has been explored. There are no loose screws in the walls. There is no cutlery and only two plastic plates and cups. At the start, he didn't want to risk how many different ways cutlery could be used against him as a weapon, or a tool to escape. So we never had them and eventually, there was no point in getting them. It's easier than you think to eat with your hands. Many cultures do, so we both adapted how we go about our day to day without the things we would normally use.

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