Taken by fate

Chpater 4

Seconds turned to minutes, minutes to hours, all passing by, my life nothing more than this small concrete cell along with the chains that kept me bound. I had fallen asleep but if I dreamed I had no memory of any.
You haven't come back down since. The empty scrunched up bottle was gone, of course it was. You wouldn't leave anything down here unless you meant to.
Gurgling.
If you were telling the truth then I haven't had any food in over a day, maybe closer to two. A grilled cheese sandwich, that had been the last thing I had to eat. My lunch from the day before I woke up here, planning on grabbing breakfast from the school's cafeteria.
Too tired to eat dinner after all the homework I had to finish, wishing that I could have just taken regular classes like all my friends. AP classes looked better on a college resume not to mention the credits I received. All of them made fun of me for lugging around all the extra paperwork. Amara was the only exception because she knew why college was so important to me.
My mother had gotten lucky meeting my dad, he made just enough to cover all the bills giving my mom time to work on her art.
Sometimes when she would sell pieces she would actually bring home more money than him. When there were no buyers, money was tight. My dad worked hard to make sure both of us were provided for. He was overworked though he would never admit that.
Sometimes he would work longer hours, there were times when I wouldn't see him for days, my dad only coming home to sleep for a few hours before heading straight back to his job.
Art was my mom's full time job, never knowing when inspiration would present itself. Unfinished pieces lingering in her studio, waiting to be completed . Honestly I couldn't tell which one of them worked harder. My mom would spend hours on end sometimes refusing to eat or sleep until a certain piece was done.
They didn't know that I knew they were struggling.
In fact I was glad to know the truth even though I knew with all my being that my parents loved each other, there was still that thought somewhere deep in my sub-conscience that my dad was having an affair.
A valid analysis but completely and utterly wrong all the same because he was faithful and the way they looked at each other, there was no faking how they felt.
One day I just happened upon the late notice letter crammed into one of the kitchen drawers when I was on the prowl for a chip clip. Reading through the first line that had been requesting a mortgage payment. Curious, I looked up at the date thinking that this was an older letter.
The date was from a month prior.
Relieved that I had found out the truth but pained because that also set out a whole new set of problems.
All the things I had asked for. New clothes for school, new shoes, movie tickets, money to eat out with friends and every time my parents gave me money without hesitation.
Shoving the letter back into the drawer making a promise to myself not to ask for anything unless I absolutely needed it. Amara was the first and only person I called, needing to talk to someone knowing that she could be trusted with this secret.
Now I was regretting my decision to skip dinner, granted I had work to do, but I could have at least heated up some of the leftovers that were in the fridge. Now I would have to rely on you to bring me food. If you brought any at all.
That could just be another part of your plan, starving me, making me weaker and easier to control.
Yanking on the chain, running along the length that I could reach searching for a weak link. No luck. Twisting the piece attached to the collar wasn't working either.
When I was in the center of the room the chain had more slack, straining against my esophagus when I tried to move closer to the stairs.
Restless.
Unable to stay still for too long. Pacing the floor chain in hand, passing the steel back and forth feelings the weight each time. Imaging the circus that I went to when I was nine.
A guy had closed himself into a glass box, hands and legs bound by chains and locks. Even added one through the hing on the inside of the closed lid. Water began filling the tank, at first I had thought that he was going to drown, water filling fast, so many locks to undo. On the edge of my seat as he picked each one, starting with his wrists then his feet, holding his breath as he worked on the chain around his waist holding him down, then with a flourish he undid the one at the top bowing to the crown as he pushed himself out of the top.
There were no locks on my chains yet I envisioned slipping out of them the same way. Imagining the collar slipping off my neck hearing the clink as the metal hit the ground. Then running up to the top of the steps waiting for that feeling of freedom but I wasn't that good. In the end the collar was still on, I was still trapped in this basement, and time was the water that would drown me if I didn't get out fast enough.
Soon, telling myself for the thousandth time. They will find me and I would get to go home and you would be in jail where you belonged.
Pressure on my bladder needing to pee. Holding it in since I woke last. Eyeing the buckets as if snakes were slithering out of them. With nothing besides the fact that the idea of peeing in a bucket was totally unsanitary.
Giving in to my needs, choosing the one that looked more yellow, squatting over the top, hiking up my gown to make sure that none of my pee got onto the silk. Using the bathroom in a bucket was bad enough, I didn't need to carry around the stench with me.
After I finished; hovering over the bucket another minute to air dry, not having anything to wipe myself clean.
That's going to suck when I have to...
Too grossed out to finish the thought.
Turning over the green bucket so the bottom was now the top, using the round flat bottom as a seat. Hoping that this position was going to be more comfortable then sitting on the floor. Refusing still, to acknowledge the bed turning my attention towards my nails. They were uneven, broken, jagged.
Looking at them now you wouldn't have guessed that I knew what a nail file was. Nails that were all cut to the same length and shape, destroyed. At first I was going to try and fix them, starting to pick at the rougher edges then I thought better of it. If I needed to, these nails would scratch you a lot more than before, possibly break through your skin.
Scrapping them across the top of my leg one at a time testing to see how sharp they were. Smiling when one came close to breaking through skin without much force.
Using them on you would probably only work at pissing you off but I liked having them just in case. Besides, they were as close to a weapon as I was going to get.
Hair hanging over my shoulder seeing the knots, carefully brushing through the strands working out the tangles. Even with my hair cut into layers combined with all the products that I used, my hair always turned into a rat's nest. With the length going down to my waist it was taking time to fully work my way to the end. A distraction I appreciated.
Only half way done when I heard the door open. Instead of freezing in place like I had done the last two times I continued working, pulling individual strands focusing on them rather than on you and what you would do.
Hearing the door open, looking up to see nothing.
Questions rolled through my head as I tried to refocus on the knot.
Why did you leave so fast?
Did you already decide that you were tired of me?
Were you going to get something to restrain me more?
Hands shaking, unable to get a grip as the tangles slipped through my fingers. Nails digging into my palm, the pain forcing my mind to focus on something else. Wood swinging open, closing shut, footsteps steadily moving downstairs.
Stay calm, don't let him see how scared I am.
"Figured you must be hungry so I made you a sandwich. Did you want me to take a bite out of it first before you eat cuz I don't mind. Smoked the brisket myself. Brought you another water too.
Pulling another knot towards my face working strand by strand, ignoring the sweet smell of cooked meat, mouth watering.
"Come on, I know you're hungry."
Boots. Same ones you had on before, coming closer.
Just focus on the knots. Get them out. Just...
You knelt down to me, so close.
Focus, don't show my fear.
Stomach clenching as it let out a soft growl. Silently cursing.
"Are you going to pretend you're not hungry cuz I think your stomach disagrees?" Soft chuckle bouncing off the walls, deep, rich, airy.
"Here this might help."
A brush. Dark blue with wide black bristles. Why would you bring me a brush? Hair catching in my nails, eyes going back to the mess.
"So you don't want the  brush and you're not taking the food. What is it that you do want?"
"To go home." Point blank. That's exactly what I wanted, to get out of here, to go back to the way things were before you grabbed me.
"She speaks. So tell me why is it every time I come down here you're about as far away from the bed as you can get? I promise it's more comfortable than that bucket."
You had completely ignored my words and there was no way I was going to answer you. To give you exactly what you wanted, besides you already knew why, you just wanted to hear the words come from my mouth. I wasn't going to give you that satisfaction.
Pressure on my thigh as your fingers grazed over the angry red lines that had puffed up from where I ran my nails. Moving faster than I knew possible, jumping back from the bucket knocking the other one over in the process spilling the contents all over the floor.
Two walls keeping me in place, my only choice was to pass you. You could grab me easily, scrunching further into the corner. 
Palms pushing against the cold concrete, breaths coming out heavy and sharp, legs shaking. You were still crouched in the same place, head turned down taking in the mess I had just made.
Your hair, dark brown, cut short and thick. Light glistening across the waves, elbows resting on your knees. Crouched down like that you didn't look so big, one look at the veins bulging from your arms said otherwise.
As you stood my attention went back down to my feet. Why did I do that? Stupid, stupid, stupid.
You started walking towards me.
"Don't!" I cried, gasping for air. "Don't hurt me! PLEASE!"
Surprisingly you stopped.
"I didn't." "I didn't mean to." Shaking my head, eyes closed. Desperately wanting to avoid your wraith, waiting to be hit.
When I opened my eyes you were gone.
Wanting to get as far away from the mess as I could, half walking half stumbling to the side closest to the stairs. Hiding in their shadow. No doubt you were going to hurt me over this. Probably upstairs grabbing a knife to cut me with, liking how the red lines looked on my leg.
Back resting against the wall, arms limp at my sides, head arched back pleading with whoever that was listening to get me out of this place alive.
Loud noises above me, door pulling shut. Sloshing sounds as you came  back down pausing at the bottom scanning the room until your eyes landed on me.
A bucket in one hand, a long stick resting inside, a towel bunched in the other. Watching as you went over to the mess, wringing out the mop before you began to wipe up my stale piss.
Working quietly and quickly, using the towel to fix the buckets, putting them back into place. Dropping the cloth down using your foot to scoot around the fabric, soaking up the remaining liquid.
With your back turned I had the courage to look at you, study your movements.
Were you mad?
Angry that I made a mess?
Frustrated because I jumped away from your touch?
Fully expecting you to lash out at me, to yell at me for being a klutz and you haven't done either.
Yet.
Reminding myself that you still could.
"Accidents happen. Don't worry about it. See, like nothing even happened." No hint of anger in your voice, actually you had sounded a bit amused or was I making that up.
All the same I looked over at the corner. The only sign that anything had happened was the mop bucket which you were now carting away, soaked towel hanging from the side.
Staying in place until I heard the lock click into place. Using the chain to help pull myself up walking along the steps staring up. Feeling as if I had evaded a major meltdown, thanking whoever it was that was watching over me. Knowing that could have gone a lot worse.
Turning my sight away from the door, needing to walk in order to relieve all of the pent up adrenaline that was left in my system, noticing the sandwich on the bed. Sitting there beside the water and the brush.
Looking back and forth between the door and the stuff. Had you meant to leave this down here? Or did you forget about them more attuned to cleaning the spill?
Whatever it was, I didn't care. Grabbing the plate with both my hands taking in the smell of barbecue, stomach grumbling in anticipation.
Shoving a bite into my mouth pushing past all thoughts that it might be drugged, eating what I could before you came back down.
Soggy, the bread fell apart but that didn't slow me down. Seasonings rolling across my taste buds, meat tender, melting as I chewed. One thing I had to admit was that this was good, amazing actually.
Fully aware that it could be from the fact that I was so hungry that persuaded that decision. Either way the entire sandwich was gone in six bites. Picking up the water, unscrewing the lid draining half in one long gulp. Then thinking better placing the lid back on saving the rest for later.
My hopes of using the plate against you were pointless, made of paper, flimsy. At least I wasn't hungry anymore, even had water and a brush. Placing the empty plate to my side, trading it for the hard plastic. Eyeing the whole thing over, no hair in the bristles, no scuff marks or scratches, the brush was new. No other girl had used it before me.
You had seen me messing with my hair. Is this what you went back up to get? Was this some sort of gift? Is that why you left it down here?
Travel sized, short handle, too small to really be useful at knocking someone out. Unless I got really close, I wasn't strong enough to knock you out.
Chunking the brush back onto the bed watching as it bounced once before settling, leaving it behind as I paced the floor. Getting bored and changing directions, walking in circles.
I liked moving, if I was moving I was doing something.
Anything was better than doing nothing.
Soon.
They will be here soon.
Then I will be back with my parents giving them the biggest hug ever not letting go as we all cried from happiness and relief.
You would be behind bars, unable to reach me.
Soon.