It’s odd, the things that you think when you’re alone for hours in a room filled with nothing but hopelessness and anger. Some thoughts make sense of course.
Thoughts of Mika and how he should have been there. He should have been at the bar, and I find myself wondering if he knew. If he took my notebook because he knew how much I loved my art and I’d know he had it and come after him. I find it hard to believe he wouldn’t expect me to go after it. Or else why do it? I’ve spent hours trying to determine the intentions of a psychotic asshole.
But the truth is that I wouldn’t have gone after him for any other reason. I wouldn’t have left the safety of home… if that picture hadn’t been tucked safely inside.
The thoughts of Mika and how bleak my reality is seem reasonable.
Other thoughts though… other thoughts don’t make sense.
Like the flashbacks of my mother.
I’ve been haunted by so many images of what happened the day she died for years now. But none of those keep me company as I rock on the cement floor in the corner of the cell.
It’s the sweeter things I remember that are driving me mad.
My thumb brushes against the cut on my lip, sending a sharp pain through me that reminds me this isn’t a dream.
“Aria,” I hear my mother call out for me in the memory. I was hiding in the closet, so proud that I’d hidden so well. “Ria?” Her voice changed to fear and desperation, and my smile vanished. “Ria, please!” she begged as her hushed cry from the hallway beckoned me to show myself. My fingers gripped the door of the closet just as she forced the guest room door open. I remember how her light blue dress swung around her knees. How her perfectly pinned hair didn’t come undone. Yet her voice and her bearing were nothing but distraught.
I wish I could go back to that moment. Where she was running toward me and so close. Where she’d inevitably be in reach.
“Don’t hide from me.” Her words were ragged as she pulled me into her chest. She rocked me too fast, she held me too hard before gripping my arms and making me look her in the eyes. I’ll never forget how hers watered over. “You can’t hide like that.” Her words were so pained, they came out as only a whisper.
“I’m sorry, Momma,” I tried to speak the words, so she knew I meant them. “I was only playing.”
Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes as she pulled me back into her arms and rocked me.
She whispered many things, but the one that’s stayed with me is that we don’t live in a world where we can play.
I should have known better than to run after Mika.
Every possible situation of a setup runs through my head as I bite my thumbnail and rock against the cement wall. I can’t sit. My legs beg me to run, but with nowhere to go, I simply stand and lean on the far wall across from the door. Waiting for it to open.
I was only playing myself, thinking that I could prove myself to be anything when I went to hunt down Mika. I was childish and foolish. I can hear my mother saying it now. How foolish she was, she said it all the time before she died. And foolish is what I’ve become.
I keep whispering that I’m sorry, and I know the man is watching me. Carter. That’s what the men called him.
Carter Cross. I know he can hear my whispers of despair.
I’m not saying it to him though; it’s an apology to my mother. I should have known better than to chase after the memory of her in that picture. The words are spoken as I focus on the metal drain in the corner of the room.
Between the toilet, mattress, and drain, I know this room is meant for prisoners, but also for torture and murder. One and then the other.
I’ve searched every inch; the sides of my hands are bruised from pounding against the tall steel door. There’s simply no escape. One way in, and one way out.
I should have fought harder when Jase Cross, Carter’s brother from what I overheard, held the rag to my mouth.
Stolen, drugged, and reassigned to a prison: that’s what my life has become.
The faint sounds of the camera moving drag my attention back to it. It’s the one thing in the room I wish I could destroy. There’s only one from what I can tell, and it’s in the far right corner of the room.
But the camera is encased in cement and untouchable, if throwing the metal chair was any indication. As I stare at the mattress, I wrap my arms around myself. I won’t sleep on it; there’s no way my back will ever touch it.
I suck in a deep breath, reliving the feeling of those dark eyes pinning me in place.
I know what he wants from me, but he’ll have to fight me to get it. I’ll kick him, bite him, scratch him until my nails break and bleed.
I’ll make him regret this if it’s the last thing I do.
My fingers lift slowly up to my jaw and then trail down my throat. Remembering how his gentle comfort so easily became a threat.
My heart thumps hard, once then twice as I hear the fucking camera move again.
“What are you moving it for?” I scream out like a madwoman, as loud as I can. My throat is hoarse from the screaming before, my body screaming along with me in a shuddered breath.
“I’m not fucking going anywhere!” I scream again and then wrap my arms tighter around myself as I fall to the floor on my ass and then my side. Just the way I was when that monster first found me.
The cuts on the sides of my wrists touch the dirty cement floor. I should lie on the mattress. I know I should, even as my tearstained cheeks rest on the unforgiving floor.
If, for no other reason than to have the energy to fight another day. He’s waiting me out, I think. And that’s something I can’t fight. Hours and hours have passed.
I don’t know how much time has elapsed exactly, but I know I have to sleep. I can’t stay awake forever, waiting for whatever’s next.
I’m powerless and completely at Carter’s mercy. And he’s not even here. He had me stolen from my home, then nearly left me in the kidnapper’s arms. And now that he has me, he’s left me to go crazy on my own.
That’s exactly how I feel as my heavy eyes stare at the steel door and sleep threatens to take over. When you don’t know what’s waiting for you, what you’ll have to fight, it can do that to you. It can make you feel crazy.
Another hour passes, or more. So much time escapes and all my fight has gone. In its place, only fear and exhaustion remain.
“Why are you doing this to me?” I whisper as I stare at the camera, imagining all the answers it could give me. And not a single one of them offers me comfort.
I find it hard to believe that when I first heard his voice, I was so desperate for him to take me away. The blame lays on my survival instincts. The fear of what those men would have done to me made me desperate for Carter to steal me away. My mind drifts back to that moment, and I wish I’d looked harder for a different escape.
He’s going to come back. And I need to be able to fight him. But how can I, when I don’t know when he’s coming, and I have to sleep? Eventually, I have to sleep.
I doze off once, at least once that I know of, and startle awake only to find myself aching on the floor. Forcing myself up, I try to open the door once again and then cry on the floor beneath it. I imagine him opening it in that moment, and that alone scares me to move to the farthest corner in the room.
How heartbreaking it is, that the only bit of comfort I have is knowing that when the monster comes back, I’ll be as far away from him as I can possibly be. Even if it is only ten feet.
But it’s what I needed to finally give in to sleep.
Of all the things to dream about, I dream of my mother.
And once again, I should have known better than to let my mind wander to the memory of her death.
