Killing Tink

Ch 33

Tink felt herself fighting the urge to scream, to run, to cry. How is it possible her parents had moved away? She'd never given a single thought to the idea that they wouldn't be in the same place where she'd left them. She mentally took inventory of all the things she'd left there and if it had even occurred to them to take her things with them. Was her guitar packed in a box and stuffed in an attic, or thrown in a box and donated with the rest of the junk they'd probably decided to get rid of?  What about her trusty rabbit Cotton that had ears so thin from rubbing you could hold them up to the light and see through them? Was he packed and taken, or discarded like she felt.

She tried to picture them somewhere, anywhere. But so much timed had passed even the shape of their faces were blurry. She wondered if the new owners of the house had kept the notches in her closed that mapped out her growth or if paint had erased it, like time had erased her memory. You aren't the kind of person who ends up on a milk carton Tink.

An emptiness settled in her chest and she embraced it. So they had moved on, and good for them. All this time the guilt of running away had been like a painful shard of glass and now she could move on, just like they had.

John placed his hands on her thighs and all thoughts of her family and things scattered. Alarms rang and her muscles twitched as she did her best to pay attention. It was a test. Everything with John was a test. She stared into his eyes unwilling to let herself jerk away with instinct. She needed to stay on his good side. He had rescued her, brought her to his own facility, risked trouble just for her. She owed him.

"It's time to work Hope. Tell me about the first night you realized the man who captured you wasn't a hero."

She remembered the promise she'd muttered while she was tied. She'd give him what he wanted if he got her out, and he did.

John's hands squeezed tightly on her thighs and the look in his eyes made her feel naked. She scanned the room wondering where the other workers were. Praying someone would pop in with a tray or question or to take her to the bathroom. Her heart beat against her breastbone and she willed herself not to blink. 

"It wasn't a single moment. Nothing usually happens in a single moment does it?  Every time he came I was relieved, and scared. I needed him to come- or there was no food, but when he did, I felt embarrassed and the pain of him. Eventually he became everything. Savior, captor, punisher. It was everything at once."

John's face muscles tightened and his grip held steady. Tink knew from the deep set creases in his face that she hadn't given him what he wanted.

"That's a great start Hope, and clinically correct in so many ways. I know you're being honest, but also generic. I want to know when you knew."

He sat back further, his hands still tightly gripping just above her knees and Tink could feel anger an anger radiating from him. She searched her memories for something easy but flashes of fists and the smell of sex and alcohol flooded her senses.

"Just tell me what you're thinking." John's voice loud and stern broke through the memory trap

She licked her lips and scanned the room for water. There was just the empty cup from the meal she'd half eaten and then shoved under her pillow. Why had she been so greedy with the drink.

"It was a dark night. I was cold, And hungry. I hadn't been there long I guess, but it was the first time he hadn't shown up. I was pacing the floor thinking of how I could get him to take me back to his house. I kept thinking about eating. I was so hungry I peeled the paper off the wall behind the little nightstand. I licked the backing, it was sweet and then I chewed it, just to get more of the sweet taste but I swallowed it whole and peeled more until my stomach gurgled and cramped."

Tears came, and without trying Tink rocked back and forth remembering the first night she was sure she would die alone. John's face softened and his lips curled slowly into what Tink hoped was a sympathetic smile but looked more like a grin you'd see on a horror poster.

"What did you do then?"

She sucked stagnant air in gulps and fought against the sobs that threatened to erase her existence and drag her back into darkness. She kept going, her voice a cracked yell that she was ashamed of.

"I begged for him. I made promises to God to change my life and make him happy whatever the cost. I curled up on the bed and I screamed knowing no one would ever hear my voice again. I made a vow that if he came back I'd get him to kill me so I never had to feel that way again. Until he came back. When he came back he brought a burger. Flat and cold and I did everything he asked to get it. I broke every vow and promise for a dollar cheeseburger and ended up on my knees.  After that I lay bleeding from his punches but still I felt better than I had because he hadn't forgotten me.'

Her sobs filled the room and her body was too tired to care about John's hands or his face anymore. Tink closed her eyes and flung her body backwards on the cot wrapping her arms around herself and turning her back to John. She could hear him breathing, hard and fast and she wished she could be sorry for making him upset but it was too much.

Her chest ached and her eyes burned and she had nothing left to give him. She lay still, listening to the legs of the hair as he dragged it back outside the cage. She cried as she listened to his shoes click back toward her across the floor and winced as he placed his hands on her hair.

"Very good Hope. I know that was hard. Bringing up memories is never easy, but keeping them buried doesn't ever allow new things to be planted. I'm going to go make you something to eat.  I won't be long, you do your best to pull yourself together. We have a big day in front of us."

His shoes clicked across the floor and the sound of the bars closing echoed in the room. Tink didn't move until the click of the bars and the click of the lock on the outer door told her that he was gone. A gust of chilly air danced across her back and a foul smell assaulted her nose and her arm flew to her face to cover it.

She tried to put what was happening into some sense. He was a doctor, he knew what he was doing. Maybe he was right, and pain had to be purged. Maybe that's why Stash couldn't love her, she'd never purged the pain of the months in the hotel before him. 

As her muscles throbbed and ached from the use of crying and rocking she hummed. Somehow this very instant felt familiar.  Her in pain and waiting for food while locked in. But this time she knew it was different. John wasn't Stash, he was there to erase Stash and she would be better. Even as she tried to convince herself the sore spots on her thighs from his tight grip throbbed. Her hand left her face and reached under the pillow and hit something firm.

Slowly, and without moving her body she pulled out the sandwich halves and ate them. He would bring more food, he liked his job, he liked her purging, for now. She'd just have to keep it that way until she figured out how to leave. Maybe when a nurse took her to the bathroom.

As she chewed and swallowed the hardened bread and thick ball of peanut butter she felt better, lighter. The magic floaty feeling was beginning again and she welcomed it. Maybe she was going mad, food somehow relaxed her and took away the world instead of fueling her body, but if that was true, she'd take it. Just for moments like this. The bed and room spun as she swallowed the last bite before the darkness came rushing in, and she embraced it.

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I don't think John is going to be happy that Hope changed his plans of the day. Maybe I'm wrong, I hope I'm wrong. 😱. This is why you shouldn't slip people drugs - well, this and so many other reasons.
* * next chapter is mature - John's coping skills are not PG.  (I'm sure you figured that out by now).  

Happy New Year everyone. 2017 was a better year because of you, and I appreciate you so much for every interactive moment. Each time we connect in any way it's a gift. Thank you.