Wanting Winter(55)

“Of course I care; I just think we are all thinking of the worst-case scenario.”

I ignore him. “Candice call the police.”





Winter


I have lost count now how long I have been here now. The days and nights have muddled altogether. It could be months, but I wouldn’t know.

I hate it when I’m on my own as I start to over-think.

I’ve started to blame people.

Thinking about the what-ifs.

Anger starts to take over me. I’m angry with Patrick for doing this to me, I’m angry with my so-called friends for not looking for me. I am angry with the three men in my life. I am mainly angry at myself, if I just stuck to being with no one, Patrick wouldn’t have done this to me.

Something made him snap.

I have got myself into a routine: Patrick walks in and I stand in the middle of the room waiting for instructions. I know that the sooner he has done what he needs to do, the sooner it all stops and I can self-dwell again.

The door opens, and I get up from the floor, away from my spot. He storms over, his hands palming my face, his eyes looking into mine, searching for something I don’t know what. He steps back, his hands fisting his hair swearing over and over.

I don’t say anything. I just watch him have some sort of break down.

“I need to move you,” he tells me.

He brings over some bags he left near the door and empties everything on the floor. I look at some products on the floor confused.

“We are going to dye your hair.”

My hair?

I know my hair is a mess—it feels greasy and tangled—but it's my rocker look. I love my black and blue hair.

He makes me take a seat and starts putting the product in my hair, leaving in for a while before he washes it out, I see the color going down the drain. I feel now he has taken another piece of me—a piece I didn’t think was there.

He puts on another hair product in my hair before washing it out and then leaves, coming the following day to put another hair product in my hair. He does this for the next few days until he is happy with the final look. From the color going down the drain I know he has turned me into a blonde.

I am happy there is no mirror down here as I don’t want to see myself.

He says he’s going to take me somewhere else; I am just looking forward to going outside and getting some fresh air.

Away from this hellish dark place.





Trent


It has been over a week since we called the police, a fucking week, and there are no leads to where Winter is. The police went around town, to her neighbors, to her classmates but no one has seen her in almost six weeks.

Six weeks.

Six fucking weeks.

She could be someone’s slave, or worse dead.

Fuck.

Her parents came back home once the police inform them that they found a chloroform substance in her apartment.

Someone came in and drugged her and took her away.

Drake is in some sort of depression, blaming himself for not believing Candice or worrying as much as I did. He goes on about how he should have stayed with Winter that night. We have all talked about what-ifs, but now I just keep praying that she is okay.

She’s a strong person.

Walking around campus, skipping another class, I wonder where she could be. Is she even still in the country?

I am in my own thoughts when I spot Patrick down the hall. I see dark circles under his eyes; I guess he is missing and worrying about Winter just as much as the rest of us. “Patrick,” I call out. He looks up a little jumpy.

“Hey, Trent,” he says, looking back in his backpack.

“How are you holding up?” I clap his shoulder and he almost jumps out of his skin.

“Sorry, haven’t slept much lately. I’m doing okay, all things considering. I just miss seeing her around the halls—seeing her smile.” He looks to the ground.

“I know what you mean. She is full of spirit that one. I am sure they will find her soon,” I tell myself as well as him.

“I hope so,” he says half-heartedly before walking away. I lean against his locker when I spot a book on the floor that he must have dropped. Bending down and picking it up, I realize it’s a photo book. I look back up, but he’s gone. I start flipping through the photos, seeing him and Winter back in freshman year and pictures of her and Candice smiling and posing for the camera. I wish I’d known her back then also.

I touch the picture of her smiling and sigh, banging my head against the locker.

I miss her so much.

Deciding to head home, I take the album with me and once I am in my room, I lay down looking up at the ceiling, feeling defeated.

Winter is a missing person.

They say after a certain amount of time, there’s a slimmer chance of ever finding them. For the first time, tears fall down my cheeks.

Angrily I throw the album against the wall.





Winter


“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Patrick says as he squeezes a sponge in a basin of warm water. He washes my body clean and I just sit there letting him get on with it.

It’s when he shows me clothes that I almost gasp.

Clothes.

I haven’t worn clothes for so long.

You don’t realize how much you miss something so insignificant until it’s gone. You don’t ever think you won’t be allowed to wearing clothing. It’s something you expect.