“I guess so…” Gotcha.
“You guess? I thought that you wanted your mom to be with you.”
“Yes… Yes! Don’t get me wrong, I’ve missed her so much, but now… Now that she’s with me, there are so many things that aren’t working. We were different before I was taken, and even more so now. And I can’t help stressing up thinking about how I expose her. I feel unsafe everywhere I go because of all I’ve been through…” She’s starting to sound more determined. “Now that I’ve met the devil…” I can see her reflection in the glass. She’s looking straight at me. I pay no mind to it— I’m not easily offended, so I keep fixing dinner. “I feel that she could be another victim. I think about it every day. I also believe it was unwise of me to accept her suggestion to live together, but what is done, is done.” I let her talk; I can see that she needs this. The way she’s talking to me right now, it feels good. I don’t detect any kind of hostility towards me, as if I wasn’t the one who tortured her. Right now, I’m not the devil. “And when we are together…” She stops.
“What? What happens when you are together?” I insist, hoping that she doesn’t notice I’m enjoying this. I turn around to give the impression that I’m only starting to pay attention.
“The thing is… Sometimes she’s a stranger to me, and she talks about stuff I don’t care about. I struggle so much trying not to abruptly end the conversations we have. Most of the time she doesn’t notice, but when she does, it’s really awkward. I don’t know how to explain it, it’s very hard to do.” She’s sitting on a chair with her legs crossed; that tells me she’s not being completely honest. She waves her hands around as she speaks, which indicates she tells the truth; and she’s still wrapped in the towel. I guess she still needs the cocoon to feel safe.
“I understand…” Everything she’s describing is expected in people who went through a traumatic experience involving kidnapping. Not fitting in, difficulties connecting with others, loss of interest in common conversation topics, all of it is completely normal behavior. To not experience at least three of the many signs of post-traumatic stress would indicate something very wrong. Experiences like that will change you, priorities will shift, senses will recalibrate, a new perspective will appear, a new idea about society will be born— if you sum all that, you get an awakening of the soul.
The entire world treats us differently, like somehow it changed. But the truth is, the world didn’t change— we did. We are no longer interested in superficial bullshit, we don’t feel like the rest of the people anymore, we don’t get offended by stupid things; but we do get frustrated by reality.
I set the table and serve the food. I sit down and start eating from my bowl right away. She’s not eating. She probably thinks I’ve poisoned her bowl, so I eat a little from it. Slowly and without taking her eyes off me, she starts eating. When the first spoonful of veggies with chicken enters her mouth, I can see her pupils dilate and hear her stomach growl asking her to swallow, fast. She starts devouring the rest of the chicken soup like an animal.
I like it.
“How did you do it?” She says with her mouth full. I take pleasure in seeing her eat like that. I fantasized with this moment for so long.
“How did I do what?” I’m getting good at playing the fool.
“This meal. I’ve been struggling to eat pretty much anything. My body rejects everything again and again, but this…” she stares at her bowl, “this is the first time my body doesn’t puke immediately after I swallow.”
“We have known each other for a long time. I think I know what your body needs, or at the very least I know what your body lacks; after all, I followed your diet closely for the past three years.” She looks at me with the eyes of a little girl who’s about to cry. It takes all my strength not to go around the table and wrap her with my arms and make her mine.
Mine to look after.
Mine to protect.
Mine to worship.
She can eat without a problem because her body remembers that I was the only one authorized to feed her. With time, she will understand that I’m her only option from now on. The only thing I fear is that I might become a drug for her. I want her to be stronger. The road from this point forward will not be easy.
Welcome to the freak show, Sarah. There’s no need to worry— I’ll be your guide.
Chapter Thirteen
Fall back now, Sarah!
Sarah
The minute I finish my meal, I start feeling sleepy, drowsy. For a second, the thought about being drugged crosses my mind. But he had plenty of chances to do that before, like the coffee, for example. I can’t stop yawning so hard that my jaw could dislocate. I’m slowly lowering my guard, but I don’t want him to notice.
“You need to get some shut-eye.” That’s not a question, it’s a statement, more like an order. He takes the bowls, stacks them and puts them in the sink.
“I don’t get it, I slept the entire afternoon. This is not normal…” I stand up and start to move in an attempt to wake up. I stretch my arms pretending not to care too much about it while stealing looks at him, searching for a sign from him that will reveal his plan to drug me. But he does nothing of the sort— he just walks towards me… normally.
I have the luxury of being able to observe him with abundant bright light, good and not scary. His clothes changed, just like his spirit. He’s wearing a pair of faded worn-out jeans and a tight black tee, so tight that I can see the humps in the cloth from the bulky abs underneath. He’s drying his hands with a rag. It’s very weird to notice this, but he’s being very thorough, drying finger by finger very energetically.
“Your body is finally relaxing, Sarah. That’s why you feel like that.” He stops in front of me. “Your muscles were tense for three years, and now they’re finally loosening up. Chances are that you’re going to sleep for hours and hours until every fiber in your body relaxes…” He chuckles. “You were also extremely tense just moments ago. Don’t worry, you will get used to my presence eventually.”
His gaze feels warmer now. He looks a lot more relaxed with after-dinner Sarah than with the one who came in from the storm. And who can blame him, I’m pretty sure I looked like Samara from the movie “The Ring.” He’s close enough to me and I can feel the heat coming from his body, suffocating and consuming me. He’s observing me with prowling eyes. I should not allow him to be this close to me, but his scent— oh, God, his scent is intoxicating. He smells like leather and shampoo. I’m drawn by his natural glow like a bug towards the light. For a moment my thoughts are clouded, and I can’t think clearly; my eyes shut and I lose myself. I have to get the hell out of here before I make a mistake.
A big mistake.
“Just to be clear here, are we talking about the same dude who tortured you for, like, three years?”Life is asking me this damn good question, but I opt to ignore her because I don’t want to go down that road.
“I should get going,” I whisper in an attempt to get away from him fast, only to trip with a chair like a drunk college girl. He manages to grab my arm and stop the fall before my face meets the floor.
