Page 53 of Searching for Hope

“Fine.” The fence rattles as he makes his way back inside. “Here.” Dragging the seat over, he sits by my bed. “If you eat something, I’ll show you my face.”

That gets a reaction. Even if it’s a slight one. I turn my head, looking at him dubiously. When the visitor had come, my captor had said he knew it was me because he recognized me. That means he knows me. And if he knows me, then it stands to reason that I know him. Or knew him at least.

I sit up and grab the bowl of stew. I shove a spoonful into my mouth and have to stop myself from moaning when the deliciousness of it hits me.

“There, I ate. Show me.”

He grips the base of his balaclava and lifts it slowly like a demented sort of striptease. His chin is smooth. His lips are pink and thin. There’s a small freckle on his left cheekbone. The line of his nose is strong and thick. The lashes that surround his blue eyes are dark. His brow is furrowed.

“Do you know who I am?” The question is spoken almost reverently. There’s an expectation as he looks at me. He’s waiting for recognition. I scan his features. His hair is thick and almost spikey.

But I have no idea who he is.

Tears prick. I’d allowed myself the smallest amount of hope. I thought if I knew who he was, I could get some answers to this nightmare.

But hope is dangerous.

Hope is pointless.

Hope is cruel.

Lying back down, I turn away from him, choosing once again to focus on the nothingness of the wall.

“You don’t, do you?” There’s disappointment in his tone. “I guess I was rather young.” He snorts. “I guess it just goes to show someone can ruin your life while having no fucking clue who you are.”

He waits for a response, but I don’t give him one. I don’t care who he thinks I am. And even if I was this person who ruined his life, I’m not that person anymore.

“Did you hear me?” he asks, leaning over the bed. “You ruined my life.” There’s such venom in his voice. As though he truly believes I deserve this.

Something surges within me. Something strange and foreign. With a quickness of motion that surprises even me, I leap from the bed, startling him as I attack. I fling myself on top of him, sending us both sprawling to the floor. Someone growls as we wrestle. It’s a sound of desperation and despair. It’s coming from me. Strength I didn’t know I possessed pulses through me as rage.

“I ruined your fucking life?” I scream, my fists flailing. There’s no method or plan to my attack. It’s pure unhinged fury. “I ruined yours?”

He wails, covering his face as I run my nails down his cheeks. The sight of blood urges me on. Untangling myself, I scramble up, positioning myself so I can kick him. I drive my foot into his side, and he cries out. I kick him again and again. I kick him until I’m out of breath and then I make a dash for the gate in the fence. He’s left it open, so I haul myself through and clamber up the steps, the scent of freedom floating in the air. I slam my hand against the door, but it doesn’t budge.

He grabs my ankle and jerks me backward, sending me sprawling down the stairs. The sharp edges dig into my ribs. I flail about, reaching for anything I can and manage to hook my fingers into something. Pulling my free foot back, I ram it into his face.

“You bitch!” he spits, his hands moving to check his nose. They come away covered in blood and I laugh before I scramble back up the steps and ram my shoulder into the door. It budges a fraction. A crack of light blinds me and I let out a sob.

My captor retreats, moving back to take a seat on my bed. “You’re not going to budge it.” He’s feeling his nose, testing to see if it’s broken.

I shove my shoulder into the door again, but it doesn’t even budge this time.

“Go ahead, keep trying. You’re only going to hurt yourself more.”

I ram the door time and time again. I ram it until the pain becomes unbearable and then I ram it again, each push accented by a wailed sob. I know it’s pointless. I know there’s no way this door is opening, but I can’t stop myself. There’s no other choice left for me. After a few more pathetic attempts, I slump to the ground, admitting defeat.

Pulling my knees to my chest, I drop my head, forming a cocoon around myself. I don’t look at him. I don’t watch to see what he’ll do to me. I don’t care.

Emotionally and physically exhausted, I fall asleep. But it’s a fitful sleep, haunted by nightmares. My mind takes me back to when I was taken, something I’d refused to think about for years.

I woke to the sun streaming in through the windows. We’d forgotten to pull the curtains the night before. My mouth was dry. My head thumped. The room was too bright.

My legs were entangled in his; the only man who’d shown me kindness in this rotten world. True kindness, not snippets of it discarded and thrown away like scraps to a dog. I half-heartedly shoved my foot against his leg, trying to rouse him but he slept too deeply. I don’t know what time he came back to the room, but he’d stayed out hours after me. He’d found a poker game.

Lifting my hand into the air, I’d stared at the thin silver band encircling my wedding finger. It was nothing fancy, nothing romantic. It was plain and simple. Practical, just like our arrangement.

It hurts to think about him. It hurts to think about everything I’ve lost. Sometimes I let myself dream of what our life could have been. Our marriage was a means to an end, but that didn’t mean we didn’t care about each other. There was love between us. Deep love. Just not the romantic kind. Until last night. It was our honeymoon after all.

---