Last Girl Ghosted(97)

My eyes adjust to the light and I see a cot, a rocking chair, a standing shelf of books, a round area rug. There’s a light source somewhere, a covered window, maybe?

The room evolves from black to a midnight blue. I shift, trying to get myself to a seated position. As I do, my gaze falls on something on the wall, down low near the ground. Words carved into the stone.

I am the storm.

Those words. At once, fierce and desperate, brave and doubting, are the exact pitch of hope. I’ve heard them before. Where? Where? It comes back to me. Mia’s Instagram, one of her inspirational memes. The Universe whispers to the warrior, “You’re not strong enough to defeat the storm.” The warrior’s reply, “I am the storm.”

Sadness is a gut punch. Tears threaten again, but I bite them back.

I am the storm, I say to myself, then say it again, I am the storm. The words infuse me with a new strength, the distant light of hope. I’m still alive. Still ready to fight. It’s something—Mia’s message through time to me. I cling to the faint glimmer it offers.

Finally, a thin sliver of light opens in the darkness, grows wider, an opening door. Then I see you fill the light, your dark form a cardboard cutout of menace. You climb down a creaking staircase.

I want to reach for you, begging, the man I thought you were. And then I think of my mother. Was that how it was for her? Always reaching for someone who was long gone, who perhaps was never there at all. Just a fantasy.

“It doesn’t have to be like this, Wren,” you say at the bottom of the stairs, voice heavy with sadness. “Can we talk? Work this out?”

The question is so innocuous as if we’ve had a minor disagreement that we need to get past. This question has earned a different response from me; that’s why I’m here, beaten, bound, and helpless. I ache with desperation now.

“Yes,” I say, too quickly. “Let’s talk.”

“Good. That’s good.” Relief. “I don’t want to hurt you anymore.”

You approach, give a disapproving shake of your head as if this all could have so easily been avoided, then lift me easily as if I am a child, carry me up the stairs into the light. I squint against it, my headache raging. Down the hall, to the bedroom, my eyes adjust. You’ve let your beard grow. Your hair is longer, wild. You look bigger; your strength is impossible. You’re barely breathing harder after carrying me up the stairs. Gently, you lay me on the bed where we made love—when? The time here has no beginning and end, no day or night; it’s a terrible warp, a carnival ride of pain.

You snap my binding with a pair of wire cutters you produce from your pocket and my arms are free, but so numb and sore I can barely move them. You leave me on the bed, and I hear the water from the shower start to run.

When you return: “Can you stand?”

You offer me a hand, and I take it to help myself back to my feet. I am wobbly, unsteady, completely naked. You’ve taken my clothes and I don’t know where they are. You help me to the bathroom.

“I’ll give you your privacy.”

What a funny thing to say. You’ve taken everything since I arrived here.

Before I can respond, you shut the door and I am alone in the bathroom that grows warm with the steam from the shower. In the mirror there’s a woman I don’t recognize, her dark hair wild, skin bruised, eyes frightened. She’s folded her shoulders in, wrapped her arms around her middle. Her ribs and collarbone press through pasty skin.

I step into the shower, let the warm water wash over me, use the bar of soap in the teak dish to clean myself slowly. It smells of coconut, reviving my senses some. But my body feels heavy, my mind cloudy, thoughts crowding, then taking flight like frightened birds. Leaning against the white tile, I summon my strength. Tonight will be the night that I escape this place, one way or another.

I am the storm.

But those are just words. My body and mind are weak.

Robin crouches in the corner of the room, and I sink down onto the gray stone floor of the shower, let the water beat on my back. We regard each other.

“How do I get out of here?” I ask her.

She whispers the answer, but I already know it.

I have to kill you. If I had done it that first night, I wouldn’t be here. If I had let Jay kill my father, they’d still be alive. Some people are predators; all they do is harm. Sometimes it’s kill or die.

The key to the dead bolt is on a ring in his pocket, Robin says.

I heard it jingling as we walked down the hall.

The gun you brought is loaded in the drawer beside the bed.

It’s just a guess. A hopeful one.

You push into the bathroom, and find me crouched on the shower floor. You enter through the steam, reach in to turn off the water, and help me from the floor. There’s a towel folded on the wooden shelf beneath the wide marble sink. You wrap it around my shoulders and lead me from the room. So strong. So gentle. Your touch sends waves of revulsion and fear through my body now.

There’s a dress on the bed, a simple black wool shift, camel cashmere wrap because you know I get cold, some lacy underwear that no doubt will fit me perfectly.

“I’m making dinner. Join me when you’re ready.”

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“Let’s make a fresh start tonight.”

“Yes.”

Your eyes linger on me as you close the door. When it’s closed, I head straight for the table by the bed. But, of course, it’s empty. I look for Robin but she’s gone. She’s out of her league here, just as I am. Neither one of us knows how, or if, I’ll survive you. Poor Robin, she’s only as strong and smart as I am. I guess I always knew that, even as a kid.