The Witness

Day 3 of captivity

Have you ever looked around and wondered how the hell you wound up in the situation you are currently in? I have... many times. It all felt so surreal at first. Me, Dakota, Antonia. In the beginning, I think I was in shock. Like you never think something like this will happen to you. 

Until it does.

Day 3

She has OCD, I've officially decided. She comes into my room every few hours to clean it. I've never been a messy person myself but she makes me feel like a slob. And she doesn't just clean, she cleans. She vacuums, and changes the sheets on the bed daily, wipes everything down with disinfecting wipes, washes my clothes, even goes as far as to scrub the toilet.

Plus she has this nervous tick, at first I wasn't sure but now I am. Every time I look at her, when she can feel me staring, she subconsciously adjusts her hair. Pushing it behind her ear. Even when there is no hair to push.

We don't say anything to each other. She lets me watch tv and always brings me food at least twice a day, if not more. I have no contact with the outside world. There is this window in my room, but the dresser covers it, plus on the second night she came in and installed some alarm on it before putting up a cage around the window. In the window, she put up this tiny curtain. So I am sure from the outside it looks like a regular window, but to me, it's caged up and locked tight.

It made me feel bad for not thinking of using the window sooner. Before she locked it up. In all honesty, there have already been many chances to escape, but I haven't been able to build up the courage to take them. I hardly build up the courage to leave the bed.

I could have easily found a weapon and surprised when she walked in, barreling over her and running for escape. I could have attacked her with the blanket, putting it over her head until she stopped moving. I could have escaped when she was installing the window cage, she left the door open. But every time I think about doing it, my heart races and I can't move a muscle.

Pathetic.

I always told myself I'd never be one of those girls if something ever did happen to me. I hate horror movies because I always think those girls are so dumb, so unrealistic. Now, look at me. I'm just like those girls, a victim, a helpless damsel. I truly thought I'd be a fighter, but I can't even look her in the eyes without wanting to cry.

And she's not even a big scary monster, she's no leather face or Jason Voorhees, she's just a girl. My size, my age, I can take her. Can't I?

I watch her come into the room and set up the tv tray, she sets a plate of blueberry pancakes down on it. A small cup of syrup is placed next to the plate. I eye the food.

"Eat up." She moves to leave.

"I can't," I say.

She turns to me and like always my stomach flops around inside of me and I want to shrink away like a scared little puppy.

"Why not?" she sounds annoyed.

"I'm allergic to blueberries," I say softly.

She eyes me.

"Sorry," I say in a near whisper.

She huffs in annoyance before grabbing the plate and leaving the room, slamming the door behind her.

She comes back half an hour later with a plate of plain pancakes.

She sets it down in front of me and crosses her arms.

I pour the syrup on top and cut off a small piece before taking a bite.

"Thank you," I say softly.

She leaves silently like always.

In all honesty, it's hard to eat anything. But yesterday when I didn't eat the food she gave me she got really mad. Threw the plate across the room and nearly ripped her hair out screaming. I don't think she's good with stress. Anyway, now I have decided to eat the food no matter what just so she won't flip her shit again.

She comes back half an hour later to grab my plate and clean up.

"Have you showered?" she asks.

I shake my head no.

"Go shower, disgusting." She makes a face.

"You only give me one outfit a day and there is no soap or anything in there." I point out.

She goes to look.

I look at the door, once again left open.

She comes back too quickly and leaves without another word, locking the door behind her.

She's gone all day, longer than usual. When she comes back she has tons of bags from various places. Lots of Walmart bags, bags from clothing places, and a bag of food for me. She hands it to me before unpacking everything.

She places 10 unique outfits in front of me, they are actually cute and things I'd see myself wearing. Then she places 10 sets of pajamas in front of me. Two packs of those cheap Walmart panties. A pack of socks. A couple pairs of cheap sneakers and a pair of slippers.

Then she places a bottle of shampoo and conditioner next to that. A new toothbrush and toothpaste, and mouth wash, and a pack of those floss sticks. A hairbrush and a razor for shaving.

"No more excuses," she says before leaving me alone again.

Ten.

I move to put everything up in the empty dresser and find out there are exactly ten pairs of socks and ten panties as well. Ten. I have ten days left to live. I take a shaky breath and try to hold in my tears.

I quickly eat my food then go to take a bath.

I cry in the shower.

When I come out, my room is clean.

She was in here while I was in the shower.

I sigh and climb into bed, laying as close to the wall as possible before turning the tv on. All I've been able to watch is the news. They keep talking about me, about Antonia's murder. So far they are still looking for a man, he's 5'8 now, with dark-colored skin, possibly Hispanic.

They keep getting farther from the truth.

My captor can't be taller than 5'6, she can't weigh more than 150lbs. She has blond hair, blue eyes, Caucasian. Her name is Dakota, and she has OCD. She's a pretty good cook but has a pretty bad attitude.

And somehow I am going to have to get my act together and take her down or escape before she can kill me. I have 10 days, well 9 now.

9 days until she tries to kill me.