I had never met a child who didn’tlove chicken tenders and potatoes. Mine was no exception to that rule. Whenever we would go anywhere in New York City to eat, if it wasn’t spaghetti or pizza, it was chicken and fries. This seemed to be the closest to that.
“And you’ll be having?” I was asked by the server.
I glanced down at the menu and while so many selections looked good, I could already feel my stomach churning at the thought of eating. I knew I had to eat something if for no other reason than to keep my strength up. The last thing I needed during a great escape was to be weakened by hunger and low blood sugar.
“I’ll take the chicken Caesar salad,” I mumbled.
Cillian had never been one to turn down a meal, as were most boys his age. I could still remember hearing my mother complaining about the student meals and how they were going to eat her out of house and home. Our food arrived not long after, and I could see my mother once more as she clucked her tongue and shook her head at his selection alone.
Cillian had ordered a burger, a fish and chip basket, and a half order of wings. I doubted that he had an inch of fat on his entire body, so I wasn’t sure where he put it all, but he’d scarfed most of it down before I even had a chance to push what was left of my salad toward the center of the table.
Ciara had eaten one of the three chicken tenders because she seemed to enjoy the fish sticks on his plate more. Watching the two of them share their meals together and laugh pierced my chest. The moment I had decided to keep our child and not go through with an abortion, these type of scenes were what I had imagined between us.
“It’s not real,” I mumbled.
“What isn’t real?” Cillian asked, and I nervously bit down on my bottom lip once I realized I had said that loud enough for him to hear.
“Nothing. It’s not important.”
His expression gave off ‘whatever’ vibes, but he quickly dismissed me and ordered a bread pudding, apple crumble, and Ciara’s favorite type of cake– chocolate –to go before settling the tab and escorting us outside.
The skies had darkened considerably since we had been inside, and I doubted it was due to the time of day. I saw a few pedestrians on the streets with umbrellas, and that made me think a storm was looming. “May we go back to your place. Ciara’s scared of thunderstorms, and I think one is coming.”
“Like mother. Like daughter,” he said, and as I glanced at Cillian, he was staring down at me. Our eyes met, and it was as if we were thinking the same thing for once. He must’ve felt what I did in that moment, because he turned abruptly. “Sure, let’s go.”
He said nothing else to me, and I said nothing else to him all the way back to his place. I said that as if it was more than a twenty-minute or so drive, but every second with him felt like an eternity. The panic over being this close to him once more wasfucking with me, and I kept reminding myself that I needed to hold everything together.
I helped Ciara put her things away in her closet and dresser before we took a seat on her window bench. This type of bedroom was so different than the two and a half walled one she had in our loft, and I knew as she got older, she would welcome the privacy this girly oasis would provide.
Only, this is temporary.
Everything in life was, which was a lesson Cillian and his family goons had me learn much sooner than I had ever thought I would. Every girl dreamed of getting married and having children, and both of those things were ones I’d never been able to share with my mother or sister. I didn’t have my twin as my maid of honor, or the honor of walking down the aisle toward my future husband on my mother’s arm. And I never got to see the look of pure joy on their faces when they met Ciara for the very first time.
I’d been robbed of what should’ve been such irreplaceable memories by the man who now kept us captive. Imprisoned felt like the perfect word, and not something I just threw out there as a result of an overactive imagination. Cillian had armed men nearby, and ones he kept in constant contact with. I almost wondered if his powerful grandfather even knew we were here, and if not, if that was why he seemed more paranoid than even me at times.
“Mommy, I’m tired,” Ciara finally said.
I could see the slight redness of her eyes from her constant rubbing of them, and I smiled down at her. After arriving back here, nighttime did set in just as the storm arrived. Frequent cloud to ground lightning raced across the darkened skies, and the thunder roared even louder above us as we had no additional units and nothing keeping us from Mother Nature’s fury other than the roof itself.
“Let’s go ahead and do our nighttime routine first,” I said to her.
A half hour later, Ciara had taken her bath, brushed her teeth and hair, and was now in one of the nightgowns Cillian had bought her earlier as she lay in my arms in her bed. Her long hair was still damp against my chest, but the moisture I felt on my cheeks as tears rolled down them bothered me more.
I clutched my daughter against me as she fell into a deep slumber. At home in New York, this would’ve been when I slowly untangled myself from her and went downstairs to wind down myself. I could even do that here and go to my own room, but the very thought of leaving my daughter tonight wasn’t one I would even entertain.
Once sure she was knocked out completely, I reached to the side of me and turned off the light, encasing the room in darkness, except for the brief moments of light caused by the vicious lightning outside. It wasn’t long before I forced myself to go to sleep. When I woke up several hours later, it was fully light outside. I stretched my long legs and rolled over, expecting to feel Ciara, but felt nothing but a small warm spot on the cool sheets.
I bolted upright in bed and had hoped to have seen her on the window bench, which seemed to be her favorite thing about this room. It was empty. Quickly sitting up, I checked the bathroom, my own room with the unslept in bed, and finally the open living room and kitchen combination. The place was completely empty.
“Ciara,” I called out, only to be greeted by silence. “Ciara!” I said a bit more loudly.
I moved to my purse which had my cell phone and after opening the lock screen, I paused as I had no idea what to call. Back home, it would be 9-1-1. Panic filled me as I had no idea what it was here in Ireland, and really anything to give themother than my daughter being missing. She was with Cillian. I knew that for sure, and as I paced back and forth, the minutes ticked by.
This was what I’d been so afraid of. Had Cillian abducted our daughter? With no other alternatives coming to mind, I got as far as typing in 9-1- when the front door opened and my daughter came rushing through. I’d never been more relieved, yet more pissed off about anything in my entire life. I dropped my cell phone onto the carpet and pulled my daughter into my arms.
“Where have you been?”
“Getting donuts, Mommy. I even got your favorite kind,” she said.
