On the eighth day of my abduction, the man bought me a pretty dress.
He threw it beside me, looking down at me as I sat cross-legged near the edge of the bed. He had told me to sit there specifically, because he said he had a present to give to me in accordance to my upstanding behaviour. He thought that he was finally beginning to break me—to get through to me. I was only trying to earn his trust. And apparently it was working despite my selective outbursts.
I had no motives other than self-gain. My kidnapper was keeping me on too tight of a leash; restricting my liberty by choking it out of me. I had little right outside of the bedroom or bathroom.
In the mornings when he would leave, he’d wake me up and let me use the washroom while he grabbed my preprepared breakfast from downstairs
