missing for three years. They found her body in the woods. I’m so sad and sorry for her and her family. What agony. I’m worried my mom is watching this too, scared that’s how they’re going to find me.
And now there’s another story about five women, as young as fourteen, who were sex slaves for fifteen years. Why do so many men hurt women?
June 17
He hates the feeling of air blowing on him, so when he sleeps in my room he turns off my fan. Without it I feel like I’m suffocating. Even when he sleeps downstairs or stays out all night, he sometimes turns off my fan, though he knows I want it. He keeps it just out of my reach so he can control it.
He’s back from work.
1x
.
“Can you please turn the fan on?” I ask him.
“In a little while,” he says.
“Why not? It’s too hot.”
“In a little while.”
He’s like a prison guard who loves taunting, punishing, and taking away privileges. I make loud groaning noises to annoy him until he finally gets up and turns on the fan.
He smacks my arm hard. “Don’t be a baby!” he yells at me.
He is on me again. I don’t want him to see me crying because I hate giving him the satisfaction of knowing he hurts me. But I can’t help it, and my tears spill.
“You have been acting really strange lately, and you’d better stop,” he says when he’s done. “Stop crying so much. It’s only going to make you look old. You’re prettier when you laugh.”
June 23
I saw Ricki Lake’s show about sexual assault victims putting their lives back together. I hope when I get out of here that I am not scared of every man for the rest of my life. But I’m afraid I will be. I don’t want to be paranoid. I want my life back the way it was. Can I bounce back from this? I’m fighting back thoughts of killing myself.
At some point this has to end, doesn’t it? If I thought I was going to never get out of here before I died, what would be the point of even getting up in the morning? I have to believe that one day I will walk out that door, free, and it’s going to be like coming back from the dead.
June 24
I wake up in the morning and I hear a girl’s voice downstairs. Who is it? Another prisoner? Maybe one of his daughters?
I strain to hear over the radio, but I can’t make out what they are saying.
Hours pass, and it’s late afternoon when he unlocks my door.
1x
.
“I had a girl here this morning,” he says afterward. He keeps telling me that he’s going to find somebody else to kidnap, and when he does he’s going to let me go. I want to be at home more than anything, but I don’t want somebody else to suffer through this.
“What happened to her?” I ask.
“You could have been going home tonight or tomorrow,” he says. “But people saw me bringing her in, so I had to let her go.”
He says he was driving by Meyer Pool, a public pool over by Lincoln-West High School. He went to that school, which is only a couple of blocks from here. He saw this young girl, maybe fourteen or fifteen, walking along and asked her if she wanted to get high.
She got in his car, and he brought her back here. He says that because he knew he couldn’t keep her, they just smoked weed and had sex on some blankets on the living room floor. He claims she was into it. Maybe he’s telling the truth. I don’t think he would rape her and let her go, because she knows where he lives.
After they were done, he says he gave her a ride back to the pool. But he’s mad at her because she stole his weed.
I can’t believe he came that close to having another prisoner. And I can’t believe there is a girl out there who came to this house and had sex with him willingly.
Girl, you don’t know how lucky you are. You have no idea how close you were to being chained to a wall.
June 25
I hear him on the phone with one of his daughters. She needs a bathing suit, so he’s going to bring her money to buy it. To everyone outside this house, he must seem like a nice, ordinary
And now there’s another story about five women, as young as fourteen, who were sex slaves for fifteen years. Why do so many men hurt women?
June 17
He hates the feeling of air blowing on him, so when he sleeps in my room he turns off my fan. Without it I feel like I’m suffocating. Even when he sleeps downstairs or stays out all night, he sometimes turns off my fan, though he knows I want it. He keeps it just out of my reach so he can control it.
He’s back from work.
1x
.
“Can you please turn the fan on?” I ask him.
“In a little while,” he says.
“Why not? It’s too hot.”
“In a little while.”
He’s like a prison guard who loves taunting, punishing, and taking away privileges. I make loud groaning noises to annoy him until he finally gets up and turns on the fan.
He smacks my arm hard. “Don’t be a baby!” he yells at me.
He is on me again. I don’t want him to see me crying because I hate giving him the satisfaction of knowing he hurts me. But I can’t help it, and my tears spill.
“You have been acting really strange lately, and you’d better stop,” he says when he’s done. “Stop crying so much. It’s only going to make you look old. You’re prettier when you laugh.”
June 23
I saw Ricki Lake’s show about sexual assault victims putting their lives back together. I hope when I get out of here that I am not scared of every man for the rest of my life. But I’m afraid I will be. I don’t want to be paranoid. I want my life back the way it was. Can I bounce back from this? I’m fighting back thoughts of killing myself.
At some point this has to end, doesn’t it? If I thought I was going to never get out of here before I died, what would be the point of even getting up in the morning? I have to believe that one day I will walk out that door, free, and it’s going to be like coming back from the dead.
June 24
I wake up in the morning and I hear a girl’s voice downstairs. Who is it? Another prisoner? Maybe one of his daughters?
I strain to hear over the radio, but I can’t make out what they are saying.
Hours pass, and it’s late afternoon when he unlocks my door.
1x
.
“I had a girl here this morning,” he says afterward. He keeps telling me that he’s going to find somebody else to kidnap, and when he does he’s going to let me go. I want to be at home more than anything, but I don’t want somebody else to suffer through this.
“What happened to her?” I ask.
“You could have been going home tonight or tomorrow,” he says. “But people saw me bringing her in, so I had to let her go.”
He says he was driving by Meyer Pool, a public pool over by Lincoln-West High School. He went to that school, which is only a couple of blocks from here. He saw this young girl, maybe fourteen or fifteen, walking along and asked her if she wanted to get high.
She got in his car, and he brought her back here. He says that because he knew he couldn’t keep her, they just smoked weed and had sex on some blankets on the living room floor. He claims she was into it. Maybe he’s telling the truth. I don’t think he would rape her and let her go, because she knows where he lives.
After they were done, he says he gave her a ride back to the pool. But he’s mad at her because she stole his weed.
I can’t believe he came that close to having another prisoner. And I can’t believe there is a girl out there who came to this house and had sex with him willingly.
Girl, you don’t know how lucky you are. You have no idea how close you were to being chained to a wall.
June 25
I hear him on the phone with one of his daughters. She needs a bathing suit, so he’s going to bring her money to buy it. To everyone outside this house, he must seem like a nice, ordinary
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