dear diary

epilogue

I always knew this day would come, but for some reason I've convinced myself to ignore inevitability.

Because no matter how many times I slipped through his fingers, no matter how many different towns I tried to call home, this day was bound to come regardless of my efforts to avoid it.

To have hope is foolish, and to love is reckless.

I've counted the cracks on too many ceilings, and I've sat under too many shower heads to ever really convince myself that I would one day be free.

Whether it be free of the nightmares, or the man that has finally caught up to me, I'll never know. But I know now that freedom is not an option for me, and maybe it never was.

So now, I sit counting the cracks on this ceiling, itching to rip apart my cuticles but my efforts are wasted because the rope biting at my wrists prevents me from harming myself.

I'm not sure where I am, or when I got here, or if I'll ever leave.

The silence is deafening, and the dim light illuminating the portion of the ceiling I've become quite familiar with is only worsening my headache.

The last I remember is getting struck in the head with something, and then it's all black.

The room I'm in is hollowed out, but I can faintly see the outline of a door, and what I think is a closet. The lightbulb above my head is hanging naked, and it looks to be in the place of what was once a ceiling fan.

How far am I from my house? Did he take me out of town? Where is he?

I can feel carpet under my toes, and the wooden chair that's holding me feels familiar but I can't figure out why.

One of my questions is answered as the door swings open, my father walking in with an indistinguishable item in his hand, a bottle of whiskey in the other.

"I've been through hell and back to get you, girl," he seethes, his voice burning my ears as his words slur in one and out the other. "You took everything from me, and now I finally have what I've wanted for a year."

He flips a light switch next to the door, the room illuminated much better now that the single bulb is replaced by a much brighter source.

I try to speak, but I realize there's a cloth in my mouth that prevents the action.

"Do you know how good this feels? To see you sitting there, tied up and finally under my control?" He talks again, and I wish he wouldn't. "You and that bitch mother of yours thought you could out smart me. She'll get what she deserves, but right now it's you I want."

I look down to his fist, the item I couldn't see before now revealed to be a knife.

My eyes widen, and I can feel my muscles clench at the thought that he's armed.

"We're gonna have a lot of fun here, girl," he brings the half empty bottle of whiskey to his mouth, taking a large sip before setting it down on the floor and walking towards me.

"Take a look around, notice anything familiar?" I do as I'm told, looking around the room now that I can see.

It takes me a few seconds before I realize that this isn't a foreign place, and that I've been here before. This chair is familiar because I've already sat in it, and the rug beneath my feet has a large red stain that I don't take long to recognize as my blood.

This isn't a random abandoned house, or a random cell. This is my childhood home, and I'm sitting right where he stabbed me barely a year ago.

"How does it feel to be home?" His voice is harsh, but I can tell he's enjoying himself. "I'm quite happy to be here. I've been playing this moment out in my head, you know. After a year of chasing you, I'm almost going to miss it."

He walks towards me, and I try to squirm, but it's no use. My hands are bound together tightly, my feet the same.

I feel the cold metal of the knife against my arm, his hand trailing it up my skin before he runs it along the frontside of my throat, the tip of it pressing just soft enough to prevent my skin from breaking.

A silent tear leaves my eye, and I curse myself for showing weakness in front of him.

He catches my tear with the tip of the knife, before using it to slice the cloth in my mouth.

It falls from my face onto my lap, and I can feel my lips quivering as his face gets closer to mine.

"Scream and I'll kill you," he whispers, the smell of alcohol on his breath so strong I feel like breathing it in might intoxicate me.

"You'll be doing me a favor," I say, the back of his hand connecting with my cheek in a heavy handed slap that causes my head to turn.

"Do not speak to me unless you are demanded to, understood?"

I don't respond, I just stare at him. My cold eyes meet his, the brown of mine the exact same color as the brown of his.

As I take in the man before me, who was once someone I looked up to, my eyes look down to my bound hands and feet.

"You took my son from me. You took my son, my boy. You ruined my marriage, you ruined this family, and now it is your turn to be ruined," He takes another step towards me, the knife against my throat again as he finishes his threats. "Soon enough this entire carpet will be washed in your blood, girl."

While my hands may be tied behind my back, and all hope of escaping has left me, I know one thing is certain as my eyes fall to the knife he presses harder against my throat. I feel my skin break, but I don't satisfy him by showing him the pain it sends through my body. I stare him in the eye, and decide that if it takes a little blood, so be it.

I survived him before, and I don't plan on going down without a fight.