The next time I woke up, I was in a bed. My head was killing me; my eyes were burning too badly. I could barely move. Nothing was clicking. I didn’t understand where I was, I couldn’t understand why I wasn’t in my own bad. My body felt numb, and I just lay there, listening to the world that I been stolen away too.
When I finally opened my eyes, I checked for my clothes. They were still on me. My socks, leggings, dress, underwear . . . the gang was all here. Slowly, I got up, with my head pounding and my stomach growling. The walls were logged, and the floor was wooden.
Even the bed I was in had a headboard made out of logs. I looked around the room analyzing it. The room was small but seemed cozy. There was a table next to the bed, with my glasses resting on top, waiting for me. I put them on, and vision became clear. There wasn’t much to the room.
On the wall was a medium size canvas painting of a doe. It looked like the one I saw on the side of the road. The doorknob twisted. I quickly dove back under the blankets, looking for something to grab onto. I closed my eyes, not ready to see him, not ready to speak and fight.
I heard his footsteps come closer to me, closer to the bed, leading to my body, watching me. I waited for him to take off the blanket and do whatever he wanted. I was shaking.
But he left. I waited for what felt like forever in that bed. I slowly opened my eyes. I wanted to crawl up in a ball, act like a turtle, trying to find shelter within. But I slowly got up and I found my shoes next to the bed. I slowly opened the door, peeking before I opened it farther. I looked down the hallway. I couldn’t see him anywhere, and I didn’t want to wait around for him.
I made myself move and ran as hard as my, what my mother called them, boney legs would let me. When I came out to the living room, and he was there, was putting wood into the fireplace. We stared at each other, both in disbelief. “Tavi?” he asked, questioning my next move. I scanned the living room and found the front door in the kitchen.
Sprinting for it, struggling for a split second with opening the door, and then swung it wide open and I ran as hard as an out of shape 15-year-old could. I jumped off the porch with him screaming my name. The ground was covered in snow. My boots were crunching with each hard step I took. I didn’t dare look back. I knew I had to escape. My lungs were in overdrive, but they could only give me so much air.
“Tavi!” he screamed again. It was just about to get dark outside, and I didn’t know where the next town was, or if there was even a town to go to. I was struggling for air. The snow was falling harder and harder. I couldn’t make it.
Even if I did out run him, I would die out in the woods. I didn’t realize how many trees surrounded the house. It seems like it was going to go on forever and ever. Giving in and accepting my fate, I fell into the snow, making my face burn. My body felt so numb, so powerless until he picked up it like I was just a feather, and started to carry me back.
I couldn’t catch my breath. I knew it was a panic attack that had been building up since the second he had looked at me at the café. I tried to get my lungs together. I needed them to be on my side, work for me.
The snow fell on us, covering our tracks as if we never existed as if we were nothing.
He dropped me on the couch, and I crawled away. He went back to the front door, shutting and locking it. I crawled off the couch, trying to get as much space as possible between us. He walked towards me, careful with his steps, treating me like I was a wild animal. “Get . . . Get away from me!” I screamed at him. “Don’t get any closer!”
My chest felt so tight. “I need you to calm down,” he said. “Are you okay?”
I was shaking. My breaths were short and sounded more like hiccups. “Get . . . Get away from me now!”
“I need you to come here,” he said, holding out his hand. When I didn’t take it, he grabbed my arm hard and pulled me to the couch. I kicked and screamed, but he was like a mountain and I was nothing but an ant. He threw me back on the couch and held my arms down. “I need you to count to ten. I need you to calm down.”
I tried to break my arms free from his grip. I almost had it free, but he used his other hand. My arms were hurting. “No!” I screamed at him. I was shaking.
“Tavi!” he screamed at me. “I need you to stop. Count to ten. Look at me.”
I finally looked at his hairy face. What else could I do? He was looking right at me. So I counted, just like he told me.
One.
Two.
Three.
He was staring hard at me. Eyes burning through me.
Four.
Five.
Six.
I have seen his face somewhere before, I just had to think.
Seven.
Eight.
I was so scared of him. Tears wouldn’t stop coming.
Nine.
I forgot how to breathe.
“Ten.”
“Good job, kitten.” He let go of me. I just stared at him as he got up, returned to the fire as if nothing happened. He was built like a bear. I wouldn’t know, though, I’ve never seen one. When I was a kid, my parents took us to the Denver Zoo, but I didn’t get to see one. Not till now. “You shouldn’t have done that, kitten. That’s your first and only warning.”
I didn’t say anything. I was trying to remember how to breathe. In and out, or was it out and in? Did it matter? I was wondering how many seconds I even had left to worrying about how to breathe.
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