WHAT THE HELL?
Chris
Propped against the shed, I track her on my screen. All morning, she’s barely moved. She hasn’t tried to get out or shown any sign of aggression, which only makes me more certain she’s up to no good.
On the bed, knees pulled up, she picks at her fingers. When the light switches on, her whole frame stiffens before she finally swings her legs over the edge and shuffles to the chair.
Only one failed attempt. Quick study.
Out of curiosity, I let the seconds drip by until her knee starts bouncing. Not a single curse escapes her. She stays seated.
I pocket the phone and circle to the front.
She doesn’t flinch when I enter, doesn’t say anything either.
I’m not trying to make this harder than it already is, but it’s stale in here, so the door stays open.
It’s a risk, but necessary. If she bolts again, the consequences will be worse.
I bet she thinks about running the second I move behind her and give her a clear line to the exit.
Not because she thinks she’d succeed. Just out of spite.
She doesn’t, though. There’s no resistance when I take her hands to secure them to the chair. The tension in her fingers tells me what it costs her to let me.
Adjusting to the restraints, she draws in a long breath, obviously struggling to contain herself and stay calm. But again, there’s no protest.
The first aid kit is right outside. I get it, crouch, and unwind the bandages. The skin underneath is red and abraded, but better. The swelling has subsided. No evidence of inflammation. That’s a good sign.
Her eyes follow my hands as I repeat yesterday’s treatment. I know that expression. Not from here. From overseas. People trying to figure out the rules, what triggers punishment, and what earns kindness.
“You’re not gonna be able to walk properly for the next few days.” It isn’t meant as a warning. It’s the truth.
All I get in return is a barely perceptible nod, nothing more.
I slowly unwrap the sandwich I brought with me, the crinkle of paper loud in the stillness, and hold it to her mouth. Without hesitation, she bites, chews, swallows—again and again.
The repetition has a soothing effect on both of us. It’s mechanical. Her eyes never meet mine.
Everything—her care, her comfort, her survival—rests in my hands, and every bite she takes is because I allow it.
The realization hits, stirring a new kind of sensation in me, a power I’m not sure I should be exerting.
It’s pure control. She gives it up so completely now, without complaint, without question.
This is intimate, almost peaceful. I’m not far from enjoying her unspoken surrender, the reluctant admission that she needs me more than she wants to.
If this is what it takes to bring her to heel, I’m in, already looking forward to her next meal.
After she finishes, I wipe my hands and set hers free. She gathers her arms in, holding herself as I make my way out.
Her hoodie is hanging over the privacy screen, likely filling the place with that stench. It reeks of damp and bears dark stains. I step over and seize it. She explodes into motion, blindsiding me.
“NO!” The scream rips out of her, and she lunges forward, closing the distance in an instant, hands clawing for the hoodie. “YOU CAN’T TAKE IT! PLEASE!”
I try to pull back, but her fingers are locked around it.
Then—rip. It’s only a seam. Only the sleeve comes off.
But it’s enough. She stops like she’s been shot.
The piece of fabric falls from her hand.
Her knees buckle and she sinks to the ground.
At first, a gasp. Then the wreckage. Full-body sobs that shake the floorboards.
She folds in on herself, hands over her face, shoulders shaking nearly as much as they did after I pulled her out of the lake.
Standing there frozen with the torn pieces of her hoodie in my hand, my brain doesn’t compute what the hell just happened.
After everything she’s been through, the arrest, the abduction, her family's betrayal, the escape, the injuries, this goddamn shed, it’s a stupid hoodie breaking her.
She’s falling apart like it was the last anchor she had left.
I don’t get it, and that’s what makes me uneasy.
I don’t know what to say or do. So I turn, without offering any comfort, and leave her be.