Page 73 of Searching for Hope

Hesitantly, I move over to the mirror, catching the first proper glimpse of myself I have in ages. My reflection isn’t mottled. There are no cracks distorting my image. Gingerly, I lift my fingers to my face, testing that what I see in the mirror is true.

My cheekbones and jawline are sharply defined to the point it looks as though I’m sick. My hair is matted and greasy and thin. The hollows under my eyes are dark, almost blue. I’m pale to the point of gray.

I look nothing like the girl I used to be.

I hold back tears as I step away from the mirror. I don’t want to look anymore. I don’t want to see the person they’ve made me become.

All I see is a ghost.

I step under the water as soon as it gushes from the showerhead. I don’t care that it’s cold. I let it flow over me, lifting my face to the stream as it warms. The water that circles the drain is stained with the dirt that runs from my body. I don’t think about what might come, or what I saw in the mirror. I put it all out of my mind and stay still in the moment, relishing what pleasure I can.

But then he barges in and ruins it all. “He just pulled up.” He rubs his hands together then reaches inside the shower to turn the water off. “Hurry up.”

His excitement manifests as fear in the pit of my stomach. I have no idea who ‘he’ is. No idea why he excites my captor. No idea what’s going to happen to me.

Am I to be a gift?

Am I to be handed over like an exchange of property?

The fear turns to panic hammering in my chest. I feel powerless. Weak. Unable to control the rising terror that’s now frozen my limbs.

“Come on.” He grabs me by the arm and yanks me out of the glass cubicle. I stumble, slipping on the wet surface. He starts to dry me, rubbing the towel all over my body. But unlike other times, there’s nothing sexual in his actions. He doesn’t even notice me. His eyes keep darting to the closed door as though he expects someone to barge inside at any moment. Someone he’s excited to see.

“This is going to change everything,” he says. “You’ll see.” He pulls me back into the bedroom and opens the wardrobe door pulling out a long deep red gown. He holds it against my body. “Perfect.”

From where we’re standing, I can see his bedside cabinet. There’s a picture on it. A family. A young family. The son has a head of blonde curls. The wife’s smile is wide and carefree. But it’s the man I recognize.

The father of my child.

I swallow. “You’re Aaron’s son?”

A smile plays at the corners of my captor’s mouth. “Surprise.” He winks.

I shake my head and take a step back. “No.” Tears prick at the corners of my eyes. “He wouldn’t do this. He loved me. There’s no way. No way that he…” I slump to the bed, unable to finish the sentence.

My captor throws back his head in laughter. “Is that what you think? You were nothing more than a whore to him. A pathetic girl who threw herself at him in the hope she’d get something out of it. And you did, didn’t you?”

I take another step back. “No. It isn’t possible. He wouldn’t do this to me.”

“Just like he wouldn’t try to take your daughter away?”

“I never even met you.”

“But I met you. I came home early from school one day. I didn’t think anyone else was home but as I walked inside, I could feel there was something different in the air. I could smell it. I saw you on the sofa with him. You were riding him like the fucking whore you are.” He comes closer, shoving his face in mine. “In our fucking house. My mother’s fucking house.” Taking a deep breath, he crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m the one who told my mother. I’m the one who had to see the pain and devastation wash over her. That’s why he broke it off with you. You were nothing to him.”

“I don’t understand—”

“Of course you don’t. How could you? You know nothing about family. You allowed your own kid to be taken.”

“No.” I shake my head. “She wasn’t taken. She wasn’t with me when I—”

“That’s not what the police report said. According to the police, she was taken at the same time as you. Probably sold. A kid. A baby. And it’s all your fault. My father’s been looking for her ever since. He’s been desperate to find her but he never has.” He smiles again. It creeps slowly up his face, transforming into something sinister. “He thought you were dead though. He never bothered looking for you, but I found you. Well,” he adds, “with a little help anyway.”

“I don’t understand.” My head hurts. I can’t make sense of what he’s telling me. Ette was fine. She was with the nanny and Jericho back at the hotel. There is no way he would have allowed her to be—

I can’t even think of it. I can’t bear the thought of her alone, of her cold and starving and—I block off my thoughts. I can’t allow myself to go there.

“What are you going to do with me?”

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