Misha read to me every day, proving how much of a bookworm he was.
And I sat there, staring at the wide view outside the window for so long that I had branded the details of the snowy landscape into my mind.
Misha didn’t pressure me. Not once. He was just there, including me in what he wanted to do. Whether it was reading or doing jigsaw puzzles at the big table, then on to board games and playing cards.
After the one night when he let me come into his bed, whichwassofter than mine, a significant layer of my defenses had melted away. He was only a boy, not a man. Therefore, not a threat to be in the position to order me around. He was shorter and smaller than me, not bigger and stronger. Therefore, unable to harm me.
He was safe.
Lying in bed with him was a bigger step forward in my personal journey of believing I could be safe. With him, at least. Being near someone was the ultimate level of vulnerability. Misha showed me that I could be unharmed and unbothered in my most uncontrollable status of unconsciousness.
Nothing had happened to me. I only slept.
Since that revelation, I tried better to open up to him. To speak and practice my voice after so long of not using it at all.
When he asked me questions, I replied. When he prompted me to choose my action during my turn for a board game or games, I spoke up with the fewest words necessary. Speaking up shouldn’t have been such a challenge. It was the monumental hurdle of trusting that I wouldn’t be punished for speaking up, for daring to share my mind when it had been drilled into me that I wasn’t allowed to have a mind of my own. A change from how I had been forbidden to have opinions that could contrast with the wishes of my brother or Yusef.
With the excuse of playing simple games, I practiced my voice. But when it came time to eat, I wasn’t as strong to move past those hangups too.
I wasn’t confident to take what I wanted. I was too scared to eat too fast. Erik and Yusef used food as a means to taunt me, bribe me, tease me, and further keep me under their rule.
Misha came to the rescue again, urging me to eat more, offering competitions to see who’d finish one thing or another.
And it worked. If he could be free to choose what to eat and how to finish his meal, then I could do the same, right? Modeling myself on what he was allowed seemed like a weird start, but it worked in this stilted shift from imprisonment to being a member of the real world.
At night, when they were both in their rooms, I dared to sneak into the kitchen and eat more of what I was too nervous to have when I sat at the table with them. Every night, I tried to be braver and explore a little more of the cabin, even if it was just pacing through all the rooms or looking out other windows.
Exploring on my own like this felt right. It wasn’t too big of a space to be daunting, and it wasn’t so small that I felt trapped.
Whenever I looked outside, though, I flirted with this strange excitement of someday being out there again. To stretch my arms wide and feel the fresh air on my face.
I was too nervous to go out there, though. Until Misha suggested it.
“You could go outside and make a snowman with me,” he said.
I could?
I glanced at him, pulled from staring at the trees topped with snow in the distance.
I could.
Twisting my perspective like that required a lot of effort.
Yet, it seemed like too big of a risk.
“Is it…” I hesitated, still scared to ask anything. “Safe?” That seemed like the easiest conclusion of my worries.
“Safe?” Misha furrowed his brow. “You mean is it too cold to safely be outside?”
I shook my head.
“Or safe like bears could get us?”
I hadn’t thought about wildlife bothering us. I was more worried about another predator—like men.
“Cuz it’s fine. We wouldn’t get lost or anything either.” He’d already pulled his coat on, eager to play in the snow. After he opened the door, leaving it ajar, he darted out and sought the closest guard. I’d noticed them in the distance, always there, patrolling and nearby.
Misha took huge, leaping steps through the snow to reach one. Then he lifted his arm to get the man a high-five. Grinning widely as they did some small talk, he added a thumbs-up.
