My Ruthless Kidnapper

Chapter Nine: Depression

      "Hey, you've been sleeping like forever. I almost believed you were dead." 

      Opening my eyes finally, I yawned. Steph was sitting on the armchair with her legs on the bed.

      I didn't reply to her. I only looked at her under my eyelashes.

      "You okay? Should I call your doctor? You look mildly sick." She worriedly asked.

      I still was mute at that moment. I still didn't have feelings, so I only watched Steph stand up. "Cheryl?" She narrowed her eyes and leaned over to me.  "God, Finn said the fever will loosen up, but you're still burning." She said to herself, but I heard her.

      I didn't care though, is not like I haven't seen worst days. 

Ignoring Steph—I closed my lids and turned off my meaningless reality.

      ***

      When I blinked again, I caught a glimpse of the brightness; it was the yellow sun harshly pouring into the room. I was sweating, and I could feel the weight of my body even though I was lying on the bed.

      My breathing was intense that I could hear the sound combined with the deafening silence in the atmosphere. I tilted my head to the merciful side of the room, where I was able to open my eyes. 

      I was alone. I had an IV attached to a vein around my left wrist.

      And on the end table between the two armchairs sits a stainless tray with medications.

      Panting, I forced myself up to a seating position and stared emotionlessly around the room. 

      And eventually, the reality seeped in, and the aching came knocking on every joint in my body. That's how I welcome the melancholy desperation.

      I collapsed to the breakdown that was coming, curling up and hugging myself defenseless as I surrendered to the bitter truth, to the painful cruel universe, to my unfair world. The tears came flowing through their free access, that is, my eyes. 

      I cried for hours until I became breathless with the ache in my heart. I wept until my eyes burned mercilessly. I sobbed until my throat closed entirely. 

      I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. 

      I was alone throughout that day. Steph didn't show up. I won't be surprised if he's killed her already for exposing too much. 

      The only visits I got were from the doctor who removed the IV and the man who kept bringing in and out trays of my untouched meals. 

      I didn't eat anything; I couldn't eat anything, I felt nauseating, I felt sick—only this time it was because I was actually ill and not because of a corpse in a pool of blood. 

      The images of Finn kept coming into my head, and I knew soon—I could possibly go crazy. Finn haunted me that night; I couldn't sleep, for all I could see was him pointing a gun—in my dreams, I couldn't open my eyes, for all I could see was him shoving his tongue inside my throat. I was disgusted with myself. Every inch of my skin was itching, and I suddenly wanted to clean myself up. 

      The urge to brush my teeth and take a shower in the middle of the night was irresistible. I found myself not caring about my foot or ankles and wrists, I took off the gauze and bands, and I angrily scrubbed my skin with loofah applying too much soap and all the shower gels and body wash I could find in case they might wash away my pain. 

      Unfortunately, they didn't. I was left alone with my tears mixed together with the water pouring from the shower over me. I became weak and barely responding that my legs gave up, and I slid against the wall, hugging my knees to my chest while the water dissolved from warm to cold. 

      ***

      "Hey, I turned on the television. I brought some popcorn. We can watch some episodes of the vampire diaries if you're interested?" Steph suggested when she felt the distance and tension in the air.

      "Finn wants the television off," I said to her.

      "f**k Finn, it's Saturday. We're having fun." Steph told me and turn on season three of the vampire diaries and climb over next to me, seating the bowl of popcorn in our midst.

      "Should we skip? No, we shouldn't. I love this season." Steph asked and answered herself. 

      I was unconcerned. I didn't care for the huge television playing in front of us. My mind was far gone from that room.

    It was back home. It was with my parents.

      After two episodes of nothing exciting from me, Steph paused the screen with a remote and sat it on the nightstand.

      "Hey, you okay?" She asked. Worry was evident in her eyes and tone.

      I nodded and attempted to smile, which I failed miserably. "We have many episodes to catch. Time is ticking." I said to her and darted my eyes back to the television screen.

      "Cheryl, what happened?" Steph insisted, not taking her eyes off me.

      I swallowed and chewed on my inner cheeks to avoid the tears threatening to release while I tried blinking them away. "Nothing." I shook my head, and a heavy sigh escaped from my inside sobs. 

      "You're not telling me the whole truth." She folded her legs to a meditating pose and faced me. Her face formed a frown of worries.

      "I'm just missing home." I lied along with a small smile.

      "Soon, I'm sure you will go home." The lies in her words were apparent, and she ended up diverting her eyes away from me.

      "He's going to kill me," I mumbled.

      That got her attention back. "No, that's not true." She exhales a laugh.

      "He told me, he repeated it more than once, he killed my parents, so I'm next." With a melancholy smile—a tear finally escaped from my eye, and I swallowed the lump in my throat.

      I can't see a life without my dad and mom in it. They were all I had, all I could run to for solace. Now I'm terrified to go back home to where that wrapped the whole memories from day one.

      "Cheryl, your father is like Bobby Goren from law and order. He's probably interrogating kids from that party right now, doing all those things detectives do." Steph smiled.

      "No, he's not." I shake my head and let out a small whimper.

      "He is." She assured, along with a single nod.

      "You must have no idea. Finn killed him; he told me last night." I shuddered and tried to focus on breathing.

      "No, he didn't. Cheryl, I promise you, your parents are alive and healthy and back in Arkansas." She emphasized every word.

      I stopped immediately and looked over at her. "Back in Arkansas?" I asked, panicked.

      Where am I?

      Steph sighed and huffed, clearly annoyed at herself for running her mouth, I was sure. "We're in Illinois." 

      What? 

      No! Please no.

      "You're kidding, right?" I asked again with my mouth dropped on the mattress.

      "I shouldn't tell you, but yes, you're in Illinois." She answered. Her words were beyond sincere that I felt my blood vessels loosen when I knew I had to despair completely.

      "In just short days or hours, I will be that girl on tv. The girl who slipped out for a party and got kidnapped and killed in a different state." I said faintly under my breath, but Steph heard me.

      "That's actually far from what would happen." 

      "How do you know? I'm sorry, I know you're friends with Finn or whatever his name is, but if I were blind and deaf, I'd agree with you, but no! I saw him kill people right in front of me." I snapped.

      "He's not what you think, don't judge him." She frowned and climbed off the bed.

      "He's not what I think? Are you kidding me? I saw lots of armor and weeds and some nasty things in his bedroom—which I didn't care, you know? But I shouldn't judge him?" I let out a laugh at her words, an exasperated laugh literally. "Steph, he's a murderer and a kidnapper and a torturer. I won't be surprised if you tell me he's also a human trafficker." I yelled along with a sob.

      "Yet you support him. You don't see what he really is, or you're okay with it." I disappointed snivel as tears rolled down my face.

      Steph either froze, or she chose to stay quiet.

      Until seconds or a minute later, I realized she was processing my words. She was trying to find the right thing to say, for she was baffled by my sudden outburst.

      "What did he do?" She was bewildered and angry and hurt or disappointed.

      When Steph asked, the emotion in her tone was stronger than I thought because it suddenly pushed me back into my melancholy sorrow. I began to shake uncontrollably, and my lips quivered without producing any response, but my reaction was enough to answer her question.

      "Son of a bitch." She sputtered and pulled on her scalp.

      Steph looked back at me, still emotionally confused, as she scanned me up and down. 

      She shook her head in disbelief. "I'm gonna kill him." With that, she began making her way to the door, and panic immediately struck me.

      "No! please, no, you can't. He didn't do anything, actually. I got to hit him not in the balls, but it was enough." I told her, rushing my words while I practically cried and then laughed.

      "Why?" She stared back at me with blown-out eyes.

      I knew if anyone would go through what I faced, they'd only wish to kill Finn. I do, also. But I can't, I can't risk it. There was not a single percent of winning for me. All I had was pain.

      "You have no idea the extent he can go to punish me. Please don't." I repeatedly shake my head with teary-pleading eyes. 

    He almost hurt me. It doesn't matter whether he apologized because the traumatic question was, 'what if he had hurt me?' 

    He had no single pity fiber in him. He was cruel. He was inclement. 

      I can't get Steph killed. I can't let anyone die for me. I have to accept I was kidnapped and trapped. Mentally and emotionally abused. That was my actual situation at that moment. 

      She let out a soft scoff, clearly not buying my words. "Fuck." She yelled and hit the drawers with her chucks loudly that I flinched and once again embraced the depression I was damned for, but Steph was there. I wasn't alone. She somehow cared for me.

    She was quiet at first, and then she asked. "So you kicked hard?" Her words were sudden humorous. When I lift my eyes, I find hers smirking.

    "Hard." I exhale a laugh.

    "Oh, I love Mulan-Cheryl. She deserves an academy award." She laughed out.

    Then again, I was getting better with Steph by my side. 

    I even got the feeling she might be right about my parents.