The Captive

She’s trying to be strong. Not like so many times before. Honestly, this is abuse.  She has a punch-drunk sense of reason at this point.  The distance is old, the winter is long and he’s always in control.  It’s old shoe and she’s had enough this time.

Slow deliberate steps filling the hallway foreshadow another round of “training”.   Even prisoners of war might have difficulty withstanding this treatment.  She’s sure her rib is broken, but to be fair, she did ask for it.  “Discipline is a faithful navigator” he would say.  He even sounds handsome when he speaks…..maybe ruthlessly handsome she thinks, and starts to deliriously giggle to herself when a million needles stab her in the lungs.  

She’s been chained up down here for days seems like.  She’s battered, bruised, twisted; her internal organs feel like they’re shutting down.  It’s been at least a day since she’s seen him, and she’s thirsty and scared.  He taunted her repeatedly asking “why do you do this for yourself?.  I need to train you better”.   She honestly doesnt know, but she needs water, she knows that.  And everything hurts.

She’s decided one thing, she’ll take some measure of power back.  He’ll release her at some point, and she’ll turn this around.  She’ll exercise some deliverance of her own.  But she desperately needs to get away from him; that’s first.

He twists the doorknob, slowly as if for effect.  “Even his doorknob twist is handsome”, she cringes in pain again, and lowers her head.  Tears ripping free from her eyes.  He walks in, and sizes her up, then brings to her a measure of care in his eyes.  Raising her face with his finger, he says “I think you’ve had enough fancy girl.  I’m cutting you loose.”  

Panic washed over her body and saturated her mind when she gave a plaintive plea “please don’t let me go, not yet”.