3.Stolen

My head feels like it’s spinning. I  think I  must have fallen

asleep. When I  come awake, we have stopped again. I t is

still daytime. The man tells the other passenger that we are

home and then whispers something else that I  can’t hear. I

still can’t see  the other passenger but can hear someone

exit the car. The man that grabbed me tells me to be quiet

and I  won’t be hurt. He says I  need to be very quiet or I  will

upset his very aggressive dogs. I  do not want to do anything

to anger him or the dogs. He seems big to me. He says he

is going to take me in the house and for me to be quiet and

not  say  a  word.  He  throws  a  blanket  over my  head  and

leads me  somewhere.  I  want  to go home. My brain  feels

less  foggy  than  it  did  before.  I   tell myself  I   am  having  a

dream and any minute  I  will wake up and my mom will be

there to hold me and tell me it was all just a bad dream. But

of course this is reality I  must survive. I  don’t ever remember

having a nightmare quite this vivid. I  was afraid of ET for a

while when  I   first  saw  the movie.  I   used  to  think  that  ET

would come to my house and be all dressed up like when

the little girl in the movie dressed him; in my dream, he was

mad  at  me  for  that  for  some  reason.  That  was  a  crazy

dream but nothing as scary as this.

When we are inside the strange house, he takes off the

blanket and instructs me to sit on the wicker sofa. He is a

very  tall man. He has very  light blue eyes and brown hair

that is thinning on the top a bit. His nose is kind of long and

his skin  is a bronze color.  I t  looks  like he spent  too much

time in the sun. He does not look like a bad guy. He looks

like a normal guy. Like any ordinary guy you would see  in

everyday life. But he is not! He couldn’t be … could he? He

shows me a black thing with metal ends that look sharp. He

calls it a “stun gun” and he says he will use it again if I  try to

get  away. He  turns  it  on  and  I   hear  the  strange  zapping

sound  I  heard before when my body would not work. The

sofa I ’m sitting on has a lot of cat hair. I  look up and I  see a

cat  sitting  on  a  washing  machine.  The  cat  looks  like  a

Himalayan Persian  tortoiseshell  and  there  is  another  one

that looks like a very fat, tabby torty. I  ask if I  can pet them.

He says  if  they come  to me,  then  I  can. One comes over

and I  give it a pet. It’s hair feels silky and real. I  think this cat

is  the  only  thing  that  feels  real  right  now;  everything  else

feels like a nightmare but this is too real to be a dream. The man says to follow him.

Reflection

Looking  back  on  that  day,  feelings  of  dread  come  to

mind.  I  was eleven  years old,  still  very much a  kid.  I  was

very  scared  and  alone.  I   didn’t  know  what  was  going  to

happen  and  if  someone  had  told  me  what  I   would  be

enduring  for  the  next  eighteen  years,  I  would  never  have

believed them. I  had no idea what was going to happen to

me. What  this man had  in mind  for me was  like a  foreign

language. I  had never been subjected to any form of sexual

abuse before, hadn’t ever heard  the words either. My only

reference to sex was what I  had seen on TV or movies and

then acted out when playing Barbies, which would be in the

form of Barbie and Ken laying in the bed together side by

side. That  is what  I   thought  “sex” was.  I  know—silly,  right?

But that is the truth. My aunt Tina says that I  asked her once

how babies were made and she explained it to me. I  do not

remember asking her  this question and  I  don’t  remember

her answer to me. Even if I  had understood or remembered

what  she  told me,  it  still would not have prepared me  for

what  Phillip  did  to  me.  No  amount  of  preparation  could

have  helped  me  understand  why  another  human  being

would do what he did  to another human being, a  little girl,

for that matter. I  still don’t get it.

4.The Secret Backyard

I follow the man. I  don’t have a choice. There is nowhere

to run. There is nowhere to hide. I  have no idea where I  am.

Everything is turned upside down. All I  can do is wait for my

mom to come and find me. I  wish I  could be back at home

right  now.  I   would  even  like  to  hear  a  criticism  from my

stepdad Carl;  anything  familiar would  be  okay. Anywhere

other  than  being  here with  this  stranger  that  has  hurt me

with  the stun gun. When we arrive at  the bathroom  in  this

stranger’s house, he closes and locks the door. The shower

is  running and  the strange man says  that he wants me  to

take my clothes off. No, I  say! Why does he want me to take

my clothes off?  I  am very self-conscious of my body. The

man says  if  I  do not do  it myself, he will do  it  for me.  I  am

too scared  to move, my body  is shaking, so  I  do what  is

easy: I  just stand there. He pulls down my pants and takes

off my shirt. I  am naked and very embarrassed. He stuffs all

my  clothes,  shoes,  and  backpack  in  a  bag. He  doesn’t

notice the tiny ring on my pinkie. I  am relieved. I  was afraid

he would take that, too. He takes off his clothes and I  try not

to  look. He asks  if  I  have ever seen a naked man before

and I  answer no. He says that’s hard to believe at my age. I

have never seen a naked man before and know that I ’m not

supposed to look. The strange man tells me to look at him. I

glance real quickly and want to start laughing in spite of my

fearfulness.  His  private  part  looks  so  funny.  In  spite  of

myself, I  smile, sometimes I  laugh when I ’m nervous; I  don’t

mean  to,  it  just comes out. The man says  to  touch  it.  I t  is

small and  squishy. The man  says  to make  it grow.  In my

mind I  think this man is crazy. This is the strangest weirdest

man on  the planet!  I  do not want  to  touch his private part,

but  the man  insists,  so  I  hold  it  in my hand.  I t  is  soft and

paler  than  the  skin  around  it. He  says  that’s  enough  and

tells me to get into the shower. I  want to resist, but the man

pushes me into the shower. He gets in the shower, too. He

tells me  to wash up and hands me  the soap.  I  want  to be

asleep  in  my  own  bed  not  here  in  the  shower  with  this

strange man. I  do as he tells me, not knowing what else to

do. He  then asks me  if  I  have ever shaved my underarms

and  vagina.  I   say no,  I  haven’t.  I   think  to myself,  this man

wants me to do the exact thing that I  have wanted to ask my

mom if I  can do, but why does he want me to do it in front of

him? My  upcoming  field  trip was  going  to  be  to  a water

park and I  had been wanting to ask my mom if it was okay if

I   could  shave  my  armpits  and  around  my  legs.  I   was

embarrassed  to be seen with all  that hair, but  I  also didn’t

know how  to ask my mom. The night before,  I   remember

going to her bedroom wanting to ask her “the question.” But

instead I  just sat there and never asked. I  wonder what my

mom would have said if I  had asked her “the question” last night.

Now  I  am with  this stranger who  is asking me strange

questions  and  all  I   can  think  about  is my mom. My mom

must be worried. Has anyone told my mom that I  was taken

by some stranger? How will she find me? The man shaves

my armpits and legs and then he says he’s going to shave

my vagina hair. Why? I  think to myself. When he’s done, he

says  I   can  get  out  of  the  shower.  I   feel  like  I   am  in  a

nightmare  that  I   have  no  control  over.  Silent  tears  start

spilling over my cheeks. They feel hot against my cold skin.

I   start  to  shiver.  I  am  so  cold.  I   try  to  stop  the  tears.  I   tell

myself  I  must be brave.  I t  feels  like my  life  is not my own

anymore.  My  whole  body  feels  heavy  and  I   just  want  to

collapse. This cannot be real, I  tell myself. I t’s only a dream.

I  will soon wake up  in my own bed. The man hands me a

towel.  I   gladly wrap myself  in  it.  I t  feels warm  and  safe.  I

want to bury my head in the towel. The feeling of safety the

towel  creates  brings  memories  of  when  my  mom  would

wrap me up after my baths—the floodgate in me opens and

my silent tears become giant sobs. The man looks like he

doesn’t know how to respond; he tells me to calm down and

be quiet,  that he  is not going  to do anything more  today.

The man takes me in his arms and offers comfort. I  do not

want comfort from this awful man, but there is no one else

here and  I   reluctantly  lean  into what comfort he gives. Up

until now I  have not cried one time. Only on the inside. Now I

feel like a rabbit being comforted by a lion. I  am so scared.

My  tears continue  to run down my cheeks;  I  can  feel  them

wet  and  warm.  They  once  again  become  silent  tears

running down my face into nothingness. The man is saying

things,  but  I ’m  not  listening.  The man  speaks  again  in  a

louder  voice,  I   become afraid  because  his  voice  is

stronger;  I  make an effort  to  listen. He says he’s going  to

take me somewhere else and that I  must be very quiet or I

will get in trouble; if I ’m quiet and a good girl, everything will

be  fine.  I   ask  him  if  I   can  put  my  clothes  back  on.  He

chuckles and says no.  I  ask him when  I  can go home. He

says he doesn’t know but he will work on it. I  say my family

doesn’t have a lot of money, but they would pay a ransom to

get me back. He looks at me and smiles and says, really? I

said he just needs to let my mom know where I  am. He just

stares at me.

I  walk in front of him down the small flight of stairs to the

downstairs porch. Once again he puts the blanket on me. I

have  nothing  on  but  the  towel  and  the  blanket  now.  My

backpack  is  gone.  My  clothes  are  gone.  My  shoes  are

gone. All I  have is the tiny butterfly ring on my pinkie that my

mom gave me. I  have nothing but this stranger and my feet

to  guide  me.  The  first  thing  I   feel  is  the  hardness  of

concrete. Then my  feet  feel  the  tickling  cold  sensation  of

wet grass. I  can’t see my feet because he is holding me by

my  neck  and my  head  can’t  go  down. But  I   can  feel  the

ground  and  I   can  hear  a  train.  I   think  to  myself  I   must

remember  that  there  is  a  train  nearby  so  that when  I   am

found  I   can  tell  whoever  finds  me  that  I   was  being  held

somewhere where I  can hear a train. The next thing my feet

feel  are  sticks  or  some  kind  of  small  branches  and  dirt.

Some are pointy and sharp, and I  can also feel rocks which

hurt  my  feet.  I   try  to  tiptoe,  but  it’s  hard  because  he  is

leading the way and walks very rapidly. The rocks pass and

now I  feel we are back on hard cold concrete. I  hear a gate

or  fence  being  pushed  open  and  closed  behind  us. We

walk a  little  further and  I  hear him  fiddling with something

that rattles and jingles. I t sounds like a lock. I  briefly wonder

where  the  other  person  from  the  car  is.  I   feel  teeny  tiny

pebbles  on  my feet. He  tells me  to watch my  step,  that  I

need  to  step  up  to  the  step  in  front  of me.  I  miss  a  little

because  I  can’t see  it, but he has my arm, so  I  don’t  fall.  I

make the step up and feel hard carpet on the bottom of my

feet now. Not the soft kind but the low-to-the-ground kind. I

hear  the door shut behind me. He  leads me a  little  further

into  this new room. Then we enter another door. He  takes

the blanket off my head, and  I  see a bunch of blankets on

the floor. Like what I  used to sleep on when we moved into

Carl’s apartment.  I t only had one bedroom, so Carl said  I

could make  a  “pallet”  in  the  living  room.  That’s  what  he

called  putting  an  egg-crate mattress with  blankets  on  the

floor. This looks like that minus the egg-crate mattress. He

says I  can sleep there. All of a sudden I  realize how tired I

am.  I   feel  like  I   can  barely  stand  up.  My  whole  body  is

shaking from head to toe. He says he will be back later and

he wants me  to stay  in here and  to be quiet. He says  the

door  is  locked  and  reminds me  of  the  dogs  outside  that

don’t  like  trespassers  and  says  to  them  I   would  be  a

trespasser. He says he has to put handcuffs on me, but that

they have fur on them so they won’t hurt too much. I  shake

my head no and say that I  won’t try to get away. He says he

has to because he doesn’t trust me yet. He says to put my

hands  behind my  back.  I   continue  to  sit  on  the  floor. He

bends down and turns my body so he can put the cuffs on

me. I  can feel the cold metal and the soft fur. I  don’t like the

way  the cuffs  feel heavy on my wrists. He helps me  to  lie

down on my side.  I t  is not comfortable  to  lay on your side

with your hands behind your back. He says he will be back

later to check on me and bring me something to eat. Then

he  is gone and  I  can hear  the  lock being put back on  the

door. The tears start again, softly at first then my silent sobs

rack my body. I  cry myself to sleep alone.

Reflection

T o this day when I  close my eyes and think back, I  can

still hear the sound of that lock. I  can hear the squeak of the

big,  thick  soundproof  door  closing  me  in.  I t  gives  me  a

strange feeling in the pit of my stomach when I  think of the

many long hours I  spent in that room all alone.

Today  I   sometimes  struggle with  feelings  of  loneliness

even when I  am not alone. I  think this feeling began in that

room  Phillip  put  me  in.  Hours  turned  into  days,  days  to

weeks, and weeks to months and then years. I  have spent a

lifetime alone, or so it seems to me sometimes.

I  have gained a lot of freedom this past year. Being with

my  family and meeting new  friends and  reuniting with old

has been a dream  come  true. People  and  animals  keep

the loneliness away. I  know the feeling of loneliness is just

in my head because I  am not alone, but it still creeps back

at times. I  do enjoy time to myself. I  love to read and write

and  spend  time  with  my  pets.  I   don’t  always  mind  the

feeling of loneliness; it has given me the time to know who I

am.  However,  my  mind  pulls  me  back  to  those  days  of

confinement  and  I   feel myself  needing  to  call  a  friend  or

make  a  plan  for  lunch—anything  to  not  be  alone.  I   am

working  through  these  feelings.  I  enjoy  life  so much more

now, and  I   try hard  to appreciate each and every day, but

deep down I  am still afraid it will be taken away.

5.Alone in a Strange Place

When  I  wake  I  am alone  in a strange place.  I  wonder

how  much  time  has  passed.  I   woke  up  crying,  which  is

strange because I’ve never had a dream scare me so much

that I’ve woken up crying before. I  realize that my nightmare

is  real. Why  is  this happening? My body  feels  tight and  it

hurts. My mind wants  to  leave and be  somewhere else.  I

struggle to gain a sitting position, but the handcuffs make it

difficult. I  finally manage awkwardly. Maybe I  should just try

to go back to sleep. My mind is worrying about all the things

I   was  supposed  to  do  that  day. What  happened  when  I

didn’t show up at school? Will I  get in trouble? Does anyone

know what  happened? Where  is my mom?  Is  she  still  at

work?  Is she  looking  for me? Did Carl see  this man  take

me?  Is  he  sending  someone  to  get me? When  can  I   go

home?  Will  this  stranger  take  me  home?  All  these

questions  go  through my mind. My head still  feels  fuzzy.  I

don’t know what  to do.  I  want  to get up and see  if  the  first

door will open so  I  can see what’s  in  the other  room. But

every time I  try to sit up I  fall back down. I  am so tired. I  turn

so  I  am now  lying on my back more, which  is a  little more

comfortable.  This  room  is  small.  My  bed  back  at  home

would  not  fit  in  this  room.  There  is  a  window  above my

makeshift  bed.  There  is  a  towel  and  blinds  covering  the

window,  so  I   can  only  see  a  little  bit  of  light.  I t  looks  like

moonlight. I  wish I  could see the moon. My mom and I  used

to  love  to sit out  front of my grandma’s house and  look at

the moon. We would debate about which moon was better,

the crescent or  the  full.  I  always voted  for  the  full and she

liked  the  crescent.  I   wonder  what  kind  of  moon  is  out

tonight. I t feels like I  have been here forever. Has it been an

hour or more? I  have no way of telling. There are tall, heavy-

looking  tables  in  two  corners of  the  tiny  room  I ’m  in. The

legs  are  covered  in  carpet.  There  is  also  some  strange-

looking  equipment  on  tables.  I   can’t  really  see  the  tops

because  the handcuffs prevent me  from getting up all  the

way. They are big and from what I  can see from this angle

have  sliding  dials  on  them.  There  is  also  a  big  pane  of

glass in the wall that separates this room from the next. The

walls are made of some kind of wood. I t looks like a lot of

different woods  all mixed  together  to  create  a  panel  that

has many colors. I  think it is called particleboard, but I ’m not

sure.  I  want  to  feel  it but  instead scrape my knuckle along

the side of it. I t is very rough and I  think I  got a splinter in my

knuckle.  I   wonder  what  will  happen  to  me.  I   can’t  get

comfortable. I  move from side to side. I  want to get up and

walk around. My  legs  feel  like  they are  falling asleep and

are getting cramps. I  lay back down and fall asleep quickly.

The  towel on  the window shows  that  the sun  is up. This

room is getting hot when I  wake the next morning; at least I

think it is morning. There is really no way to know for sure. I

feel  like  I  can’t breathe,  it’s so hot.  I  am so  thirsty and  I ’m

starting to sweat. How much time has passed? I  close my

eyes thinking, Will I  ever want to open them again? Maybe

if I  go to sleep, then when I  wake up I  will be in my own bed

and this will be just a bad dream. I  close my eyes and give

in to oblivion once again.

Reflection

He did come in that day to check on me. He brought me

fast  food  and  a  soda.  It’s  hard  to  remember  day-to-day

things after this point. I  think he came in at least once a day

to  bring me  something  to  drink  and  eat.  I   became  totally

dependent  on  him  for  everything.  He  would  take  off  the

handcuffs while he was there so I  could eat. He brought in a

bucket for me to use as a toilet. I  hated when he would put

the  cuffs  back  on  when  he  left,  so  eventually  I   looked

forward  to  seeing  him  and  getting  them  off. Even  though

they were covered in soft fur, they still bit into my wrists and

made my skin raw. I t was hot in that room and I  would sweat

buckets all day. He said he was working on getting a cooler

for  the  room and  that would make  it cooler  for me.  In  the

meantime he brought  in a  fan, which helped a  lot.  I  would

ask him every day when he was going to let me go home. I

guess  I  can kind of  figure out  the answer  to  that even  if  I

don’t remember his exact words.

He would try to make me smile with all these silly voices

he would make. He had an English accent, a Texan accent,

and an Australian accent. I  feel this was all part of his plan

to manipulate me  into being compliant with him. He used

his powers of persuasion to gain my trust. He became my

entire world.  I  depended on him  for  food, water, my  toilet.

He  was  my  only  source  of  amusement.  I   craved  human

contact  so much  by  then  that  I   actually  looked  forward  to

him coming to see me; it felt like he was bestowing a gift to

me … his presence. He was all I  knew for months. I  slept a

lot  during  this  time.  There  was  nothing  else  to  do  and

sleeping helped  to  shut off my broken heart.  I  didn’t have

any more nightmares like that first one about being taken; I

guess  I   was  living  the  ultimate  nightmare  so  my  mind

couldn’t  think  of  anything  worse.  When  I   dreamed,  I

dreamed  I  could  fly. When  I  would wake,  I  would have no

concept of time. A little light leaked through the towel on the

window,  but  other  than  that  not  much  light.  I   learned  to

gauge  the  time by Phillip’s  visits.  I   knew  it must be night

when Phillip would bring my dinner. He didn’t touch me after

that  first day  in  the bathroom until one day about a week

later …

6.The First Time

I hear the lock rattle and know he is coming to feed me.

I  am very hungry today. I  can’t remember the last time I  ate.

I ’m not sure how long I  have been in this room. I  tell myself I

should start counting days because when I  am rescued I  will

need to be able to know how long I  have been in this room. I

have no way of  keeping  track of  the days. The handcuffs

are  making  my  wrists  raw  and  make  it  hard  to  use  my

hands. I  have nothing to write on or with. He always brings

me a soda, so I  think maybe if I  can save the paper on the

straw, then I  can count the days by how many straw papers I

have, but he always  takes  the  trash  from me and puts on

the cuffs and there is no time for paper straw saving. I  try to

keep track of the days by how many times the sun sets, but

I  fall asleep so easily and sometimes when I  wake it is dark

already.  I  can see a  little  light coming  through  the window

but  not much.  I t  is  either  very  early  or  the  sun  is  setting.

When the sun is up and the wind blows, the shadow on the

towel  that  is hanging over  the window  looks  like a person

hanging  from  it.  I   have  nicknamed  this  tree  “hangman’s

tree.” One time curiosity got the better of me and I  struggled

to  get  up  with  the  handcuffs  and  finally  got  to my  feet.  I

wanted  to  see  what  was  hanging  outside  the  window.  I

grabbed a corner of  towel with my  teeth and wiggled and

maneuvered until  I   could  see out of  the window as best  I

could. There was nothing but a medium-sized tree outside

the  window,  nothing  hanging  from  it  but  its  large  gangly

branches and thick, full-size leaves. I  am relieved to see just

the tree; I  don’t know if I  can stand any more strangeness.

It’s a very strange feeling to not go to school every day. I

sometimes miss the routine I  used to have, and sometimes

it’s nice to not have to get up and go to school, too. But I  am

so bored. There  is nothing  to do  in  this place.  I  make up

stories  in my head a  lot.  I  have made up one about a boy

that has come from the stars. He flies around the world and

when  he  hears  a  child  crying  he  always  come  to

investigate. I  imagine that one day this Star Boy hears me

crying because  I  cry every single day. He  thinks my cries

are especially heart wrenching, and so he combs the earth

in search of me. When he finds me he is able to open the

window of my prison and I  take his hand and he flies me all

around the world. But in the end he always returns me to my

prison. I  wonder why this is so.

I  can hear my captor’s hollow footsteps coming from the

room beyond. He enters  the door and has a milkshake  in

his hand. At  first  I  smile at him and want him  to  think  I  am

doing well. For some reason I  think it is important for me to

be happy around him. He comes in and crouches down and

he says today will be a little different. He says I  can have the

milkshake and something  to eat after we are done. Done

with what? All of a sudden I  am not hungry anymore. I  have

this terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. I  want him to go

away. I  want to go away. I  tell him I  am not hungry. I  just want

to go home. He puts  the milkshake on a shelf and bends

down. He  says  to  take  off my  towel  and  lay  back  on  the

pallet. He takes off the cuffs and relocks them in front of me

instead of behind my back. He  then sits down next  to me

and explains what he  is going  to do. He  stands back up

and takes off all his clothes. I  do not want him to do that. I

start to cry. He takes my handcuffed hands and holds them

over my head.  I   feel  so helpless and  vulnerable.  I   feel  so

alone. He  lies on  top of me. He  is  so heavy.  I   can’t  stop

crying. He  said  he’d  be  quick  and  it would  be  better  if  I

didn’t  struggle  because  then  he  wouldn’t  have  to  get

aggressive.  I   don’t  understand  any  of  this. He  forces my

legs  open  and  inserts  the  hard  thing  between  his  legs  in

me.  I t  feels  like  I  am being  stretched apart.  I   feel  like  it’s

going  to come out of my belly.  I  am so small and he  is so

big. Why  is  he  doing  this?  Is  this  normal?  I   try  to  scoot

away.  I   try  to close my  legs. He  just  takes hold of my  legs

and shoves them further apart. He is too heavy and strong

for me. He keeps my hands above my head. I  try to think of

anything  but  what  is  happening  to  me.  Look  anywhere

except his  face.  I  can  feel  the  tears on my cheeks. He  is

making strange noises and grunting and sweating all over

me.  I   can’t  breathe  he  is  so  heavy. All  of  a  sudden  he

makes a giant grunt and puts even more of his weight on

me as he collapses.  I  cannot do anything.  I  cannot move.

He finally moves and asks if I ’m okay. He says it would be

easier on me if I  didn’t resist or struggle so much next time.

He  says  it wouldn’t  hurt  as much.  I   think  to myself,  I f  you

didn’t do it in the first place then it wouldn’t hurt at all. But I

am  too  frightened by his act  to say a  thing  in objection  to

him.  In my mind  I  am screaming NO  I  AM NOT OKAY …

GET OFF OF ME! Why are you doing  this? What does  it

mean? He said it was all over now and he gets up and says

he’s  going  to  go  get  something  to  clean  me  up.  I   am

bleeding  “down  there.”  I  am  so  scared. Am  I  dying? Why

am  I   bleeding?  He  says  it’s  okay—he  just  “popped  my

cherry.” I  don’t know what he meant. He leaves and comes

back  with  a  bucket  of  warm  water  and  a  washcloth.  He

takes  the cuffs off and says he will go  into  the next  room

and give me  some privacy  to bathe.  I  wash up and wrap

myself  in  the  clean  towel  and  then  sit  back  down  on  the

pallet on the floor. Milkshake all but forgotten.

Reflection

I  had to stay in the same place I ’d just been raped in. I

didn’t know at the time that is what it was called; the word

“rape” was not in my vocabulary. Today that makes me feel

terrible for that little naïve girl. She is still a part of me and at

times  she  comes  out  and  makes  me  feel  small  and

helpless once again. At times I  feel like I ’m still eleven years

old. But something inside that frightened little girl made her

a  survivor and  she has made me  the person  I  am  today.

That  rape  turned  out  to  be  the  first  of  many  frequent

encounters.  I   don’t  remember  if  he  came  in  every  day  to

have sex with me; all I  know is it happened more times than

I  can count. Each time it happened I  learned to “go away” in

my mind until he was  finished.  I  would make up stories  in

my head to pass the time. I t was easy for me in those early

days to escape into my dream world because I  had always

been a dreamer and had my head in the clouds a lot. I  used

to lose all track of time and it helped to keep me from going

crazy.

Knowing  my  kidnapper’s  name  was  not  something  I

wanted  to  know.  I   remember  thinking  that  I   did  not  want

know his name because  I  had heard  that once  you  know

their name, they can never let you go. During the first week

or so I  did learn that my kidnapper’s first name was Phillip. I

don’t  remember  how  I   knew;  it wasn’t  like  he  introduced

himself. He revealed it subtly without me realizing it.

I   can’t  believe  how  much  I   came  to  rely  on  him  for

everything. I  remember the heat was getting really bad and I

was  so  thankful  to  him  when  he  finally  installed  an  air-

conditioning  unit.  I t  seemed  he  had  an  answer  for

everything. Phillip  seemed like a nice guy when he wasn’t

using me for sex. I  even started enjoying his company. I  was

naïve and desperately lonely. I  was locked in a room all by

myself for days on end, and he was my only contact with the

outside world. All I  could do was survive and endure …

Hours  later  as  I   lay  staring  at  the  ceiling,  I   notice  the

forgotten milkshake has enticed  the ants  to come.  I  regret

not drinking it because now I  am so hungry my stomach is

growling at me. There is a long trail of ants that leads from

the window  to  the milkshake. Some have ventured  further

and  now  I   think  they  are  starting  to  explore me. Maybe  I

smell so bad it is attracting them. I  don’t know how long it’s

been since I  had a shower. I  haven’t had one since that first

day when he had me get in the shower with him. Since then,

the only cleanup I’ve had is with a bucket of water. The ants

make  my  skin  itch  even  worse  than  my  unclean  body

already  does  and  sometimes  they  get  in my mouth  and

leave  a  spicy  flavor  behind.  The  cuffs  make  it  near

impossible to scratch and flick them away. I  wish I  could get

in a nice hot bath and just soak all the grime away.