He slams my head into the concrete floor causing the grit to puncture my face even further. The weight of his body lets up and he walks out, leaving me lying on the ground. Stars appear in my vision, and pain pulses down the side of my face. I roll on my back and hold my hand to my face in an attempt to dull the pain. I look up to the ceiling and try to control my breathing and wait for the stars to clear before I try to sit up. I focus on each breath as it flows in and out, but it doesn’t seem to calm me this time. This severity of this situation just became extremely real to me.
I may never escape my demons.
I’m giving up hope that I’ll get out of here. I’m giving up hope that I’ll see Jesse again.
I slowly sit up and use the wall as a prop so I can adjust to being upright. Everything spins at first making it hard to stay upright, but eventually, it goes away. I lean on the wall as I make my way to a bathroom better suited for a prison than a home. There isn’t a door, the toilet is stained yellow, and the water in the sink only comes out cold. The walls aren’t even finished, but there is a small cracked mirror hanging above the sink. I try not to look; I really try. I turn the cold water on trying to ignore my reflection. But I lose the battle against the mirror as I see red glistening in my peripheral vision. I look up to see the damage to my face. My cheek is red and raw-looking and my eye is swelling already. I have a cut on my forehead leaking blood in a slow trickle down to my jaw. There are fragments of rock embedded into my cheek. I take the cold water and rinse what I can. I slowly pull the grit from my face, bit by bit. Finally, I stare at the beaten and bruised young woman staring back at me. The reflection in the mirror isn’t me; it can’t be. I don’t know who she is anymore.
This is why I tried not to look.
The girl before me is as pitiful as any woman could be. Her lifeless eyes are so sunken in that it ages her at least ten years. Her face is void of any emotion. She’s a shell of someone who can’t continue to feel or live. I’ve become a shell. I haven’t really fought since right after waking up down here. I haven’t attempted to free myself. This is what happens when you fall into the same old routines. For me, it seems to be a pattern of being a helpless, dumb girl.
I’ve made a few smart comments here and there, but otherwise, I’ve simply sat in here, day in and day out, listening for the click of the lock. I haven’t bothered to find a way out. I let the fight leave me.
Wait. My eyes widen as it hits me.
The click.
I don’t remember hearing the click after he left.
I peek out of the bathroom and stare at the doorknob to the entrance of the basement like it’s magical. I creep towards the door, fearing that if I go too fast it might backfire on me. As I inch closer, my heart picks up its pace. This could be my moment—the moment I get to fight back.
Please be unlocked. Please be unlocked . . .
I bring my hand up to the door and grasp the doorknob tightly. My heart is pounding now. My palms are sweating. I close my eyes, take a deep, steadying breath through my nose, and begin turning. When I’m met with no resistance, I let out the biggest breath I’ve ever held. I almost want to cheer. The first tiny bit of hope trickles inside of me, bringing me to tears.
I’ve unnerved him. He slips when he’s upset. He’s losing his control.
I pull the door open and a low creak sounds, bringing me to a halt. My chest pulses as I wait to make sure he didn’t hear me. I listen for signs of movement or anything to tell me if he’s coming. When I’m met with continued silence, I open the door just wide enough so I can slip through the opening. There are stairs beyond the door; creaky stairs that look as old as the rest of this house. It will make it that much more difficult for me. I carefully climb them two steps at a time to avoid any unnecessary noise. As I reach the top, I flatten myself to the wall and peer around the corner of the opening. The door to the stairs is wide open, which allows me to see out into a kitchen area without coming into the light. Beyond the kitchen there’s nothing but a door. But that door has enough natural-looking light peeking out from underneath it that I’m almost positive it leads outside. I glance around the corner once more, making sure the room is clear. Once I start for the door there is no stopping or looking back. I close my eyes and suck in a deep breath, preparing myself for my next move. When I open my eyes again, I count to three in my mind. On three, I run. My eyes are solely focused on reaching that door. And I do. I reach it and grab onto the doorknob. The relief that I’m nearly out threatens to overwhelm me. I’m almost free.
I open the door and allow the warm sun to drape over me. After all this time in the dank basement the bright warmth of the sun’s rays clear some of the fog I’d gained in isolation.
But I’ve made a terrible mistake and paused too long. I hear the shuffle of his shoe before I
