Turn for the Worst

Chapter 47

There must be a way to get out of here! Emma thinks to herself.

She stares into what seems like infinite forest surrounding them on all sides. Arthur had told her that they were far enough away that no one would find them. There was no chance of calling or contacting the police. She didn't know where she was. She was a princess imprisoned in a tower, literally. She spent most of her time in what no one could call a room, it was filthy, small and damp with only a bed, nightstand, and a broken clock.

At least Arthur was not tying her up anymore. She was free to roam about the house, cleaning mostly, but also cooking for him. She wasn't sure where he was getting the food, but it was fresh enough. Many times, when she was at the stove, she wished that she had some poison or anything that might allow her to grab the keys and escape. She thought about knockout drugs or rat poison, but clearly, her captor knew better than to leave anything lethal within her reach. He kept the weapons out in his car or on him at all times and any painkillers or knock-out drugs were also kept away from her. There had to be a way to escape. She needed to get out of here before the worst could happen.

Emma's stomach suddenly turns violently again and her head begins to throb.

Not again! She thinks. She bolts to the bathroom and vomits in the toilet. It's an intense bout of sickness as Emma begins to sweat and her body is shaking afterward.

This better not be what... she says, propping her arms up against the bowl. She gazes downwards, trying to put the thought out of her mind, but it keeps coming back up.

She squeezes her eyes shut tightly, to stop the tears from falling.

I can't think about this! I can't give him what he wants!

Her heart pounds against her chest in agony and anxiety. She doesn't know how long she's been in captivity. Too long for any normal person, but she estimates that it would most likely have been a month, maybe a little bit more.

She starts doing the math in her head. Was she late? It could just be the stress she was under that caused a delay.

Emma stands up from the toilet and gazes at herself in the cracked and dirty mirror.

This is not happening! You're just sick of being in this hell hole! She tells herself. There's no way it could be...

Emma sees a thin woman with green eyes staring back at her. Her blonde hair is thin and limp, losing a lot of its shine from being kept inside. Her eyes were beyond bloodshot from crying and pure exhaustion and dark circles formed under each to reflect that. She was a lot thinner than before, likely from the lack of food and some of her muscles had deteriorated. She had bruises on her wrists where she had been bound and there were fading marks on her neck where Arthur had tried to strangle her. She was a ghost, a shadow of her former self. In this piece of glass, there was a woman weak and alone, having been beaten down and smashed to almost her breaking point. She never thought of herself as helpless and she always knew she'd have to take care of herself. Even when she and Neal were together, she always watched out for herself and did things on her own. It was the way her life had always been, since the day she was born. No one wanted her and so she had to look after herself.

However, now she was starting to question her capability. This man was treating her like a slave, his sex slave, leaving her vulnerable and helpless, keeping control of her with threats and on the odd occasion, actual weapons. She couldn't bow down to his pressures and threats. She couldn't develop Stockholm Syndrome. She had to keep her head.

Emma thinks about those who are missing her. Poor Henry... and Killian, and David and Mary Margret. Ruby and Regina, and all her friends, the people who cared for her. She knew she had to get back to them. Emma used to think that she never needed anyone but herself, it's how life made her feel, but now she knew she needed those who loved her, they made her who she was. They were keeping her sane and preventing her from ever thinking that this situation was a "good" living arrangement. She had to keep fighting.