23. Delilah
DELILAH
My body ached from John’s outburst, but I was used to it at this point.
What I wasn’t used to was waking up in a strange bed that felt like I’d slept on a cloud of feathers.
It was outrageously comfortable for belonging to a kidnapper.
I’d always assumed that if I were to be kidnapped again, that I would be thrown into some kind of dark dungeon that stunk of feces and left my body shivering from lack of warmth.
But not here. This was nice as hell. Like something you would conjure up on a vision board.
I checked every crevice that I could, but there wasn’t a way out.
Not that I could find anyway. The walls were covered with a squishy black material.
Soundproof, I realized. Though, I could still make out faint sounds from the outside.
There weren’t any windows, so I couldn’t tell what time of day it was, but it was well lit from the lights above.
Warm lighting, not the blinding LED kind that John insisted we install in our house that made my retinas angry and my body buzz.
Whoever invented LEDs hated eyeballs, I was sure of it.
The chains attached to my wrists had enough length that allowed me to walk to the unfinished bathroom to use the facilities, but not long enough that I could make it to the door.
I shouldn’t have felt a sense of relief being here.
I had no reason to trust this stranger who took me from my house, but for some reason, I did.
It was the oddest sensation to feel my nervous system calm in his quiet, steady presence.
Maybe I was more fucked up than I realized.
The room was filled with every snack I could have ever wanted.
Chips, Pop-Tarts, granola, chocolate. Shelves and shelves of different beverage options and a mini fridge that had fruit, hard boiled eggs, and several salads.
The dresser had so many clothes it was overwhelming, but how I was supposed to get them on was a mystery to me, but they were beautiful all the same.
They sat stuffed to the brim in all in different styles and colors but were exactly my size.
It felt as if whoever my captor was, wanted me to have choices.
Something I’d never been given the option to have.
I had to admit, even though I was a captive here, this was probably the most thoughtful thing anyone had done for me in a really long time. How fucked up was that?
I grabbed armfuls of food and picked over stuff I hadn’t been allowed to eat in years. My eyes closed in ecstasy as the saltiness of potato chips slid over my tongue.
“God, that’s good,” I said, letting it linger there until it became a soggy mess.
Crumbs fell down the front of my chest and my brain filled with anxiety, anticipating John’s angry reaction.
But I wasn’t with him. I didn’t know where I was, but I could say that for the first time in maybe ever, I felt a sense of relief.
I should be panicking. That seemed like how someone normal would respond. Why was I reacting so calmly? I didn’t have the answers, but maybe I’d hit my head harder than I realized and my survival instincts were irreparably damaged.
I went for the Twizzlers next, twisting the peeled pieces around my fingers and devouring way more than was smart.
Then, the junk food I’d consumed in an alarming quantity suddenly hit my stomach and had me running for the bathroom.
The walls in here were nothing but wooden studs. No drywall. Whoever had taken me hadn’t gotten around to putting it up yet, which seemed odd since so much else had felt meticulously planned out just for me. And every few minutes the lights seemed to flicker.
How long had he been watching me? Did I know this person? I didn’t interact with many people. John made sure of that. Maybe they were a frequent patron to the library. Or someone I’d seen at the grocery store.
Looking at the mirror in the bathroom, I assessed my battered appearance.
My left eye was swollen and bruised, and my long blonde hair was a tangled mess.
Thankfully, there was a hairbrush in one of the drawers and I was able to start combing out the many knots.
As I did, I watched myself in the mirror, wincing with every stroke.
My scalp felt so sensitive from where John had yanked me.
The brush pulled at my roots and visions of John tangling his fingers in it assaulted my memories.
He was adamant I keep my hair long, and frequently used it as a tool to physically move me when he felt like it.
My eyes tracked my face, taking in the evidence of years of anguish that lived there now.
It was in my eyes and nestled in the corners of my mouth.
Looking at myself now, I felt so much older than my twenty-two years.
What I did see though, was a survivor looking back at me.
Which gave me hope that whatever situation I was in now, I could survive too.
In my searching of the room, I didn’t see anything that could be used as a weapon if I needed it, but maybe…
I examined the chains. They were heavy. Durable. Pulling at them had me thinking that maybe I could use them. If I got in the right position, I could do some serious damage if not kill him. No matter what his intentions were, I knew better than anyone how quickly someone could turn dangerous.
A sound coming from the door had my hackles rising immediately and I gathered my knees up against my chest. My hands held tightly to the chains. Just in case.
The man in the mask stood in the doorway holding onto a tray that had a plate of food and a single white daisy on the side.
He wore a gray hoodie that covered part of his mask, and dark washed jeans.
His hands were covered in black gloves, and he wore tennis shoes on his feet.
I couldn’t get a read on who he was, but the fact that he wanted to feed me was kind of sweet.
Unless he was just doing it to make sure I didn’t die so he could use me however he wanted.
But something in the way he handled me made me feel like that wasn’t the case.
I’d been around enough abusers to pick up the patterns.
And while, yeah, I was his captive. He hadn’t smacked me.
Hadn’t hurt me. Hadn’t made me feel unsafe. I couldn’t figure him out.
It smelled like bacon and eggs as he got closer and my mouth watered at the scent.
John didn’t allow me to have anything like that.
Since we’d gotten married, I’d been put on a strict diet.
He was obsessed with folic acid and fiber.
And so many goddamn salads with hardly any dressing.
I felt like a puppet in human clothes. Only existing around John’s wishes. Doing exactly as I was told.
The masked stranger set the plate down next to the bed. I didn’t take my eyes off him for a second, no matter how stupidly compliant my body was feeling around him, I had to keep my wits about me.
“Thank you,” I said.
He nodded, going to turn around towards the door.
“You don’t have to keep me locked up here, you know. If you let me leave, I won’t tell the police.”
He stopped and I swallowed hard, unsure of how he would respond.
He didn’t though, he kept walking away.
“So, what you’re just going to keep me in here forever? Not talking to me? How do you expect me to even change with my wrists bound like this? I can’t put on any of the shirts.”
I had a feeling that I’d just made a giant mistake. What if I pissed him off and he was another John. But he didn’t react. Maybe he was considering my words. If he wanted me to have all these options, then surely, he’d want me to use them, right? But then he started walking away again.
“Are you…” I called out, unsure of what I even wanted to ask.
He stopped walking again and turned to look at me, waiting for me to finish my thought.
“Are you not going to join me?” Oh, good one, Delilah.
Ask the masked stalker to join you for breakfast. Really smart.
Did I even want to share space with a guy that kidnapped me?
He shook his head no, and my shoulders dropped.
Was I… disappointed? Yeah, okay, I definitely hit my head harder than I thought.