And then she’s gone, leaving me in the thick silence. Before my strength can give out completely, I carefully throw my broken leg over the rim, cautiously easing myself beneath the water. I breathe through the hot temperature, hissing when itseeps into my open wounds. The sting is brutal for the first minute or so, but eventually, I find some comfort in it—at least enough to relax.
Water drops from the faucet fall into the full tub, matching the struggling beat of my heart. It becomes harder to breathe when the once-clear liquid muddies with blood and gore, turning a disgusting shade of brown. Again, I’m surrounded and swimming in the evidence of violence, Clara’s and my own. When I can feel the tempo in my throat, closing my airways, I sag my head back and rest it against the edge of the porcelain.
Here, I pretend I’m safe—that I’m back on my uncle’s farm, bathing in the same basins the cows drink out of. I pretend I can feel them all around me, watching me with their big, black eyes. Funny enough, that’s what I miss the most—the comfort of creatures that actually loved me.
When the tears swell, growing heavy enough on my lashes to fall, I sink beneath the murky water.
Now, I don’t have to feel it.
Now, I can’t pretend.
When I emerge, limping from the bathroom, a skimpy towel wrapped around my waist, I find Clara on her knees, banging violently on the door. Beside her, my clothes are folded, my knife resting on top. I would be lying to myself if I said that didn’t bring me a sense of happiness, a relief—a sudden burst of rage and determination.
With tear-burned vision and unbearable pain in every section of my body, I stagger to my belongings, throwing everything on as quickly as I can to tuck the blade against me. When the cold, crusted metal presses against my skin, I can breathe a little easier.
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to get someone's attention!” she snaps. “Hello! Hello! Please! We need food! First aid! Please! Someone!Anyone!” I watch her struggle with the confinement, yanking, banging, and beating on the knob until she spends all her energy.
When she exhales her final, exhausted “Please,” I step forward, knife in hand. “Back up,” I command, falling into the space beside her. Sticking the tip of the blade inside the keyhole, I work on shimmying the lock open. You have to be careful and listen for the soft click, but Clara interrupts my silence.
“What are you doing?”
Isn’t it obvious? “I’m going to get us out of here.”
I expect to feel her excitement and adrenaline, but instead, terror consumes her. “No!” she shouts, yanking on my hand to drag us both onto the floor. She pulls hard enough to pop my shoulder, jostling the fragmented pieces of bone.
Augh!“Fuck! Clara!” I roar, writhing in pain on the floor. “What the fuck?!”
“You can’t try to break us out of here!”
“Why the fuck not?!” I shout, panting, while my arm begins to fall numb. When some of the feeling comes back with little pinpricks and violent throbbing, I move toward the door, only to be thrown back to the ground. “Clara! What the fuck?!”
“You can’t try to leave, Cade!”
“Why the fuck not?!”
“Because they’ll kill you!” she cries. Real cries. Not just tears fall down her swollen face, but sobs that rack her entire body. “They’ll kill you, and then I’ll be alone! I’ll be stuck here alone with men who can’t wait to hurt me! At least with you here, I’ll…”have a piece of home.She sees the understanding enter my eyes and pleads even softer. “Please, Cade… don’t give them a reason to take you away. I won’t survive it.”
Other than the animals, Clara is the closest thing I have to family. She’s the only one who’s ever really cared. So when sheimplores me to stop—when she begs me to stay—there’s nothing I can say but “Okay.”
For days—three, four, I don’t know—Clara and I rot in this room. Water was no issue. We resorted to drinking straight from the tub. It worked, so we didn’t give a shit, but eventually the hunger started gnawing away at us. After tearing the room apart, Clara found a rotten packet of peanuts beneath the bar. They were old and shriveled, some of them fuzzy and green with mold. Still, we devoured all we could. After that, I found that eating the fibers from the carpet wasn’t so bad. At least when our stomachs started to swell, we weren’t hungry anymore.
“Cade?” Clara whispers. Exhaustion, starvation, and the poor ability to heal leave us weak, barely able to keep our eyes open.
“Yeah?”
“I don’t want to die here.”
Lying beside her on the thin mattress, I look at her and mumble, “You won’t. I promise.”
After
25 Months Later
May 1994
CADE
