Fourteen
OREN
I’ve never said any of what I told Adak out loud before.
Not even to Shelton, Huntley, or Greta. They know through moments, observation, and comments here and there that my situation isn’t ideal.
I think they’ve had suspicions for a while, especially because my father shows up almost daily to Nutter Bean to check on me.
It was difficult to talk about at first, but then suddenly the words wouldn’t stop. I couldn’t keep them in, no matter how hard I tried. Even when I thought I was oversharing, when I didn’t need to tell Adak everything , the dam had burst and things I’ve kept to myself for years just… rushed out.
Now I feel a little numb. At the same time, I feel a lot lighter than I ever remember feeling before. Someone knows. Someone believes me.
My phone rings. I glance at it, my stomach clenching into a ball. My father and brothers never call. I’d receive a text sometimes—basically demanding something from me, or passive aggressively telling me how much I suck—but my phone rarely rang.
Huntley’s name flashes across the screen, so I answer.
“Hey.”
“Thank fuck,” he says and I frown. “Where are you? Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I thought Shelton was going to talk to you. I’m sorry?—”
“He did.” Huntley pauses. “Where are you?”
My eyes flicker to Adak, who’s watching me. “I’m at Adak’s house.”
Another pause. “Who?”
“Adak Nemaczekk?”
Silence answers me on the other line, and I grin. Huntley isn’t into sports. “You say his name like I’m supposed to know it, but I’m drawing a blank. Did we go to school with him?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “No.”
“You don’t sound kidnapped.” There’s suspicion in his voice, but it’s his words that make my brows pull together and I look at Adak again.
“I… Good?”
“You haven’t been online recently, have you?”
Chills race through my body as dread clutches my chest. “No. I only have my phone and you know how much I use it.”
He huffs. “Yesterday, your father tried to stir up some shit and posted something saying that he hasn’t heard from you in a while, and you’re not answering calls or texts. He’s worried, so if someone sees you, they should reach out to him.”
I roll my eyes. Whatever.
“Today, there’s an official missing persons report posted by the EEPD that more than suggests you’ve been kidnapped.”
“Oh my god,” I say, horror filling me. “He wouldn’t really do that, would he?”
“It seems like an outright public lie that involves the police is a little… extreme and dangerous. But yeah, babe. It seems he did,” Huntley says.
“What’s wrong?” Adak asks.
I shake my head.
“You need to call the police department and tell them what’s happening,” Huntley says.
“I can’t. You know I can’t.”
“You need to or we both know this is going to end up ugly with you trapped inside that house again.”
The dread that grips me is almost physical. I can’t go back there. I nod, though Huntley can’t see it. “Okay,” I whisper.
“Call me later. I’m glad you’re safe.”
“I am now.”
He pauses, hearing what I didn’t say. “Love you boo.”
“Love you too.”
As soon as the call ends, I open the Spectrum app. It takes no scrolling to find what I’m looking for. The very first post is the one Huntley told me about from yesterday.
Jessup Prosser I haven’t heard from my son in several days. He’s not answering calls or texts. His brothers and I are very worried so if someone sees Oren Prosser, please let me know.
There are eight shares on it and a dozen comments.
Just below that is another post by my father. It’s sharing the missing person report.
Jessup Prosser
East End Police Department
MISSING PERSON
Oren Lucas Prosser, Age 24, missing since April 17, 2020, Last seen location: Nutter Bean Coffee Shop.
Oren is described as five-eight, thin, with brown hair and gray eyes. Oren was last seen leaving work and may be in trouble. There’s reason to believe that he may be the victim of abduction. If seen, please do not engage. Call EEPD with any information on where he was seen last.
The pit in my stomach feels heavier and heavier. I can’t catch my breath. “Adak?”
He moves around the table, wraps his arm around my waist, and leans over to read what’s on my screen. I lean into him, letting his body heat thaw the frost that’s gathering over my body.
“Wow,” Adak says. “The fact he’s outright lied more than once in that report…”
I nod. “Huntley—that’s who called—says I need to call the police but… I know that line’s going to go to one of his friends. And they can trace calls, can’t they?”
He doesn’t answer for a minute, but eventually nods. “Yes.”
A shiver races through me. My gut tells me if I call the police department, that they’ll force me back there. There’s no way my father will ever let me leave the house again. I might have thought I was a prisoner before, but I truly will be if that happens.
But Huntley’s right. I need to set the record straight.
I click on the little bubble that pulls up all the comments. There are a lot of giving ‘prayers’ and stating how awful it is. Promising to keep a lookout.
“What if I respond on Spectrum?” I ask.
“If that will make you feel comfortable, then go ahead.”
I know there’s a very big possibility that my father or the police department will say that someone else has forced the statement or that my account has been hacked. But bottom line, I’m not calling them. I won’t let them find me and take me back.
So I hit the original post and then share. For a second, the world gets dark and blurry at the edges as my anxiety climbs but after a deep breath, I begin typing. When I think it’s okay, I show it to Adak.
Oren Prosser I’m not missing. I finally found the strength to leave an unhealthy situation.
This report is riddled with lies. My eyes are not gray, they’re blue.
No one has texted or called me—including the police department.
I wasn’t last seen at Nutter Bean but at my father’s house where I was locked in my bedroom by my father as witnessed by my older brothers, and escaped through my window, which they didn’t realize I could fit through.
There is zero reason to even contemplate that I’ve been kidnapped other than to make sure no one talks to me before they can get their hands on me again.
Adak nods. “Is that information you feel comfortable putting into the world?”
At first, I’m not sure what he’s referring to but then I realize that I’m basically stating what I haven’t said in, well never. Not until today.
I hit post before I lose the nerve. I’ve given bare minimum information that definitely gives insight into the hell I’ve lived in.
There will be posts or comments where I’m called a liar and even though I feel like I can handle it, I know the fear that’s barely held off will surface.
While I’m feeling this moment of bravery, I copy the text and then open the ShareIt app, find the EEDP post there, and repost it to my own feed with the same post. Then I hit the publish button.
I have accounts on several apps, though all of my feeds and profiles are empty.
As soon as I got a phone, I had this feeling that I needed to claim my name and profile before someone else did.
There wasn’t any one moment or even something said that made me think this way.
It was a feeling that I couldn’t explain.
So I downloaded every social media app and created profiles, with my image as the pic.
It's a very true image. Not smiling because I rarely had a reason to smile. Looking at it now, I wonder why the picture alone wasn’t enough to make someone concerned.
Once my posts are up, I close the apps and lean my head on Adak’s shoulder. I feel good about my decision. I feel anxious, but relieved that some of my truth is out there.
Adak kisses my head. For several minutes, he holds me as I stare at the counter.
“I’m going to call Shelton,” I say.
He nods. “Good idea.” Adak kisses me again and lets me go.
His floor plan is open, so while he leaves the kitchen, I can still see him where he’s sitting a dozen feet away in the living room. He’s close. I appreciate that he’s so close.
Dialing Shelton, I wait for his answer. It’s almost immediate.
“I knew you weren’t kidnapped,” he says, but I hear the sigh of relief in his voice.
“Is that him?” Greta asks in the background.
Since Shelton doesn’t answer her, I assume he nods.
“No. I’m safe. Can you bring my things home with you tonight? I don’t think I’ll be in for a while.”
“That’s a good idea. Your father was here, belligerent as all hell, demanding I tell him where you are.
Trying to push his way into the back room.
I called the cops and of course one of his buddies showed up, which I realized right away when he relaxed as the officer walked in the door.
Before anyone could say anything, I told them I have live feed cameras streaming to my security team—entirely true—and that there are also a handful of patrons who have been recording the entire incident.
He’s disrupting the peace in my shop—privately owned—I want him removed and a restraining order placed. ”
“Oh my god,” I say, laughter bursting out of me. “What happened?”
“There was some back and forth where your father accused me of either hiding you or knowing where you were and refusing to tell him. I answered that regardless of whether either of those things were true, you’re an adult and choosing to stay away.
I had to reiterate and repeat this many times and maybe throw some shade as to the fact that he’s the reason.
The shop has seen three check-ins by patrons who have uploaded their videos once your post went live. ”
I wince. “Oh, no.”
He laughs. “Don’t worry, Oren. As long as you’re safe. That’s what matters. I’ll bring your things home and you can get them when you’re able.”
“Thank you. For everything.”
“Of course.”
I also talk to Greta for a minute before ending that call.
Then I sit at the counter and process the events of the last half an hour.
I don’t know what possesses me, since I know I should just stay offline, but I open Spectrum.
The little red dot tells me I have forty-three notifications.
But I don’t need to click on them to see because my post is the first thing that shows up in my feed.
There are ninety comments already. Ninety! In twenty-three minutes. There are over 600 reactions and twenty-nine shares. My heart races, afraid of what the comments are saying. I open them anyway and just stare.
Miley Fortin So glad you’re okay.
Tobias Finikle Good to hear you’re safe.
Mia Stark heart
All of these were from strangers! Then there’s one that makes me pause.
Melanie Olson I knew there was something going on! So relieved you’re safe, Oren.
Scrolling down a little further, I find another.
Teddy Burken I’ve always suspected your father was a wolf hiding in sheep’s clothing. Be safe, brother.
And another.
Tyler Michaels Stay as far away from your father as you can, little brother. I’m so glad you made it out.
Chills cover my body at these comments. Also, for the record, the one who called me little brother—I have no idea who that is. I’m pretty confident I know who my brothers are.
“Adak?” I say and get up, bringing my phone to him. “Look at this.” I drop next to him and he immediately shifts to bring his arm around me, bending his head close to mine to read the comments. I give him a minute before I say, “People saw.”
The knowledge of that makes me feel… relieved. I can’t explain the sensation of a weight being lifted from my shoulders. I thought I was alone. Or that maybe I had imagined it. I didn’t think anyone would ever believe me.
But people saw!
“Come here,” Adak says and pulls me onto his lap. He brushes my hair from my forehead before gripping it at the back of my head. “I had a feeling something was wrong weeks ago.”
“Really?” I ask. “I thought I was good at hiding it.”
“You were. Which is why I never said anything. Most of what I suspected was just a feeling. And observations of you. But every time I asked if you were okay, you said you were. If there was a chance I’d upset you by accusing you of being in a bad situation, I didn’t want to risk it.
I never saw any signs of physical abuse, so I knew it was something I couldn’t see.
If it was there and not just my imagination . ”
I shake my head. “I didn’t think… anyone would believe me. He’s a corrections officer. He’s a good guy. ”
He kisses me softly. “Honey, masks are easy to put on and take off. Something I think you know.”
I do know that. Although in my case, I’m not sure I know how to take the mask off.
“Victims of abuse are always riddled with the fear that no one will believe them,” Adak says. “It’s one reason abuse is such a silent problem.”
I sigh, leaning my head against Adak and dropping my eyes to the phone. A new comment looks up at me from the EEPD themselves.
East End Police Department Glad to hear you’re safe, Oren. We’d feel better if we could talk to you to be sure. Please give us a call. 555.369.2365
The voice in my head screams IT’S A TRAP, and I tense. I haven’t and won’t respond or react to any of the comments. I’m not looking for attention. The only thing I want is for it all to go away. But this one… I feel like I need to respond to it.
Chewing the inside of my lip, I type out a reply and hit send before I can rethink.
Oren Prosser I’m going to respectfully refuse your request. Based on past experiences with the EEPD, I know that my safety and best interest aren’t your priority. Friendship shouldn’t be above the law.
Responses immediately follow and we watch as I’m both sympathized with and others share their stories about why they feel the same way.
Adak wraps me tightly in his arms. “I’m so proud of you for finding your voice. Don’t ever let them take it away,” he murmurs.
I can’t explain what his words do to me. It’s not just the physical response of shivers and subsequent gooseflesh. But something inside me shifts too.
The fear is still there. Doubt. Anxiety. But there’s something new. It’s stronger, determined.
Once I was silenced. I won’t be again.