Terrorized.
And I can't remember if I locked the door.
I stare at my home in disbelief. It's in pieces all around me. Like a small tornado ripped through and somehow left me unharmed. I didn't know what to expect when he came through that door. He had been different since he found out I was pregnant. That baby was my lifeline, I knew that. But I had begun to think it was more than that, that he and I were finding our own way. I've been the good girl, reaching deep inside of him to find humanity. I thought I had, and then when I did, I started to lose myself. What part was survival and what part was me falling for my captor? I couldn't tell the difference any longer. Not when I looked into those eyes, the color of the ocean and gold flecked shells along the shore. Not with that body, lean and tanned, resting naked beside me on my bed. Not when he brought me a new record, or swam with me in the cold lake. Or when he lay beside me as I read aloud. And especially not when he shyly brought the crib he built, a gesture so thoughtful, it’s one most normal people wouldn’t extend.
I had forgotten who he was. But as I sit here, still soaked in the remnants of our child, I remember. I saw the rage. I saw glimpses of the beast who starved me and locked me in a basement.
Yet, when the door creaks open on its own, when I realize that in his fury, he marched out without locking the door behind him, I don't run. I wait. There has to be more to this. There has to be a catch. It bobs back and forth in the gentle breeze for a while, and I realize he's not coming back. Not right away. This is my chance to run. To reset things. I've lost the baby. I can leave it all behind now. Slowly, I come to my feet, wincing from the occasional cramp. Thankfully, the bleeding seems to have stopped on its own and I am not hemorrhaging. If I was, I probably wouldn't make it through the night without serious medical attention. As I approach the door, I try to remember the steps I counted every time he took me to the water. He changed the route so many times, but I think I can do this.
I grab my shoes and slide them on, peeking out before I make a run for it. I pause at the door, recalling the last time I ran. The fear and pain as he chased me through the woods. I screamed. I begged for mercy. That person seems so distant from the man I spent the recent months with. I fight that twinge of pity for him. I try not to replay the look in his eyes when he realized we had lost the baby, shiny with tears he didn't want to shed. He wanted that child. It was my lifeline, but it was his too.
I brush away the thought and take a deep breath before taking off. The adrenaline pumps my heart so fast I can hear it thudding in my ears. I've been good, and I have been rewarded. He hasn't had to punish me in so long. But this—running off while he's having a fit—I might not survive what he'd have in store for me.
Despite all the planning and counting steps, with the panic and in this black night, I am lost. But I keep running, hoping I'll see something, anything to help me regain my bearings. I push through branches, twigs, and cobwebs, fear numbing the pain, until I come across something I have only seen once before and only during the daylight hours.
It's so haunting at night, it stops me in my tracks. The abandoned obstacle course, or “playground,” as he told me. It's crawling with vines and overgrowth like jungle ruins. I remember the look on his face when I asked him about it. He was hiding something painful. This place feels hollow, void of happiness. Suddenly it becomes clear to me that if this was part of his childhood, then his was not a source of joy.
But as haunting as the tall, rotted structures are around me, this is a gift. I know where I am. It's still fresh in my mind from earlier today. I listen for sounds of him. Even though I know he can be deadly silent, I am reassured when I hear nothing. So I catch my breath and I make the final run for the lake. My refuge. My sanity. The place that I have convinced myself divides me from the rest of the world.
It takes longer than I expect to get there, but I waste no time trudging into the water, the skirt of my white dress dragging along the onyx glassy surface. Once I am waist-deep, I submerge myself and begin to swim into the black abyss. I know exactly how long it will take me to cross. I've studied it so much during our time out here. So just like the first time he let me swim out here, I go under, swimming until my lungs can't hold in another second, and rise.
Don't look back. He is my Sodom and Gomorrah. He is my sin. He is my darkest desire. The temptation is strong to mull over what I am leaving behind. A life where I am coveted. I am his world. He takes care of me. He pleasures me. I am his treasure. No one out there would ever take the risks he's taken to have me. He could have hit me tonight, but he didn't. He spared the rod. He's changing. I've changed him.