him.
His past is
unknown to me
held by him in
darkness.
But I know of his
will to live,
to move forward.
I hold that with
me now,
tightly to my
chest.
He lived a similar
hell and survived.
He persevered.
As will I.
∞
Three weeks. It’s been three weeks
since my skin last met with Leo’s. I don’t even need a method of marking the
time. It’s all I think about. Every painstaking day I’ve been apart from him
etches into my brain , forming a permanent, scarred
record there.
I have something new think about as I sit
alone on the bed in this suffocating basement , something that
will force its way into my thoughts more and more as the weeks and months press
on.
I’m late.
The process has begun.
Life has been created within me.
I hug my pillow to my chest, staring at
the edge of the red and gold area rug that covers the
cement floor beneath the bed I’m sitting on. It was no surprise to me when my
period never came last week, but my mind is still having trouble processing the
implications of it . I have no idea what to expect or
how to react. I don’t know the first thing about pregnancy or giving birth or
caring for a baby. I should be in college right now, going out into the world
to find myself and learn and explore the next phase of my life.
Instead I’m stuck here, nurturing the
life growing inside me, creating a child for a madman.
A child that may not even be his.
Mark was elated when I told him I was
late. I was elated because it meant he stopped visiting me for his evil purpose.
He has kept his hands off me since I told him of my development, and the
majority of the few days since then I’ve spent crying into my pillow, expunging
all my sadness but also coming to terms with my new reality. It gave me time
to think about Leo, to remember that he is still out in the world somewhere.
He suffered at the hands of Mark’s
mental and physical abuse for years , and he survived.
The way he persevered has become an inspiration to me. I want to emerge from
this like him, stronger and wiser and ready to take on the whole fucking
world. I want to be the phoenix rising from the ashes just like the beautiful tattoo
that covers Leo’s back.
I will survive, for him, and for this
baby.
I almost cringe as the door handle
turns but breathe a sigh of relief when Jack walks in. I haven’t seen him in over
a week , since the last time Mark had him check on how well my
wounds were healing.
Jack smiles briefly at me. “How are
you, Morgan?”
He’s carrying keys and a small box with
him. I know exactly what ’s in that box.
“I’m okay,” I say quietly . There should be more excitement in me at seeing the only other
man besides Leo who has shown kindness toward me since I was taken months ago,
but I can’t manage more than a half-smile.
Jack sets the box on the floor
before b end ing down beside me and
work ing a key into the handcuff on my wrist, releasing
it. “I have some good news, just in time for Christmas.”
I stare blankly at the man. My mindset has so fully
changed in these last few horrifying weeks that something as simple and normal
as celebrating a holiday seems completely foreign to me now.
Jack doesn’t seem to notice my vacant stupor and
continues on with his news. “ Mark’s going to let me spend
more time with you.”
When Jack’s words pierce through
my numb state and muddled brain, I immediately throw my freed arms around his neck. I hug him
there, holding back the hot tears that are burning holes in the back of my
eyes.
“Jack.” My voice trembles. My brain can’t seem to put words together into sentences.
He holds me, letting me cling to him
like a child clinging to her grandfather. “You’re
okay, sweetheart. I’m here. I’ll get to be here more.”
His words are comforting, and I should
be happy to hear them, but I’m still on the verge of losing it. I turn to
thoughts of Leo, remembering what
His past is
unknown to me
held by him in
darkness.
But I know of his
will to live,
to move forward.
I hold that with
me now,
tightly to my
chest.
He lived a similar
hell and survived.
He persevered.
As will I.
∞
Three weeks. It’s been three weeks
since my skin last met with Leo’s. I don’t even need a method of marking the
time. It’s all I think about. Every painstaking day I’ve been apart from him
etches into my brain , forming a permanent, scarred
record there.
I have something new think about as I sit
alone on the bed in this suffocating basement , something that
will force its way into my thoughts more and more as the weeks and months press
on.
I’m late.
The process has begun.
Life has been created within me.
I hug my pillow to my chest, staring at
the edge of the red and gold area rug that covers the
cement floor beneath the bed I’m sitting on. It was no surprise to me when my
period never came last week, but my mind is still having trouble processing the
implications of it . I have no idea what to expect or
how to react. I don’t know the first thing about pregnancy or giving birth or
caring for a baby. I should be in college right now, going out into the world
to find myself and learn and explore the next phase of my life.
Instead I’m stuck here, nurturing the
life growing inside me, creating a child for a madman.
A child that may not even be his.
Mark was elated when I told him I was
late. I was elated because it meant he stopped visiting me for his evil purpose.
He has kept his hands off me since I told him of my development, and the
majority of the few days since then I’ve spent crying into my pillow, expunging
all my sadness but also coming to terms with my new reality. It gave me time
to think about Leo, to remember that he is still out in the world somewhere.
He suffered at the hands of Mark’s
mental and physical abuse for years , and he survived.
The way he persevered has become an inspiration to me. I want to emerge from
this like him, stronger and wiser and ready to take on the whole fucking
world. I want to be the phoenix rising from the ashes just like the beautiful tattoo
that covers Leo’s back.
I will survive, for him, and for this
baby.
I almost cringe as the door handle
turns but breathe a sigh of relief when Jack walks in. I haven’t seen him in over
a week , since the last time Mark had him check on how well my
wounds were healing.
Jack smiles briefly at me. “How are
you, Morgan?”
He’s carrying keys and a small box with
him. I know exactly what ’s in that box.
“I’m okay,” I say quietly . There should be more excitement in me at seeing the only other
man besides Leo who has shown kindness toward me since I was taken months ago,
but I can’t manage more than a half-smile.
Jack sets the box on the floor
before b end ing down beside me and
work ing a key into the handcuff on my wrist, releasing
it. “I have some good news, just in time for Christmas.”
I stare blankly at the man. My mindset has so fully
changed in these last few horrifying weeks that something as simple and normal
as celebrating a holiday seems completely foreign to me now.
Jack doesn’t seem to notice my vacant stupor and
continues on with his news. “ Mark’s going to let me spend
more time with you.”
When Jack’s words pierce through
my numb state and muddled brain, I immediately throw my freed arms around his neck. I hug him
there, holding back the hot tears that are burning holes in the back of my
eyes.
“Jack.” My voice trembles. My brain can’t seem to put words together into sentences.
He holds me, letting me cling to him
like a child clinging to her grandfather. “You’re
okay, sweetheart. I’m here. I’ll get to be here more.”
His words are comforting, and I should
be happy to hear them, but I’m still on the verge of losing it. I turn to
thoughts of Leo, remembering what
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