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Micah was dressed, and it was as if he still had a lot more energy to spend. I was lying on the cold floor, trying to calm down my heart. But it was impossible. It was shattered. Not because of all the things he’d done to me, but because I heard police sirens in the distance, slowly getting closer.
As soon as he heard them, too, he cussed under his breath.
Micah bent down, kissed me, and then he was gone.
It happened not too long ago, but I couldn’t even remember that last kiss.
Tears slid down my cheeks freely, and I didn’t try to stop them.
The longer I was on the floor, the closer the sirens seemed to be getting.
I managed to crawl back to the living room, feeling spent. I was a fucking mess, and all of my clothes were either too far for me to reach or ripped entirely. I grabbed the blanket that was on the couch and threw it over my body, hiding the traces of Micah.
Then, I stared at the ceiling.
Every single day I spent here ran through my mind.
From the immense fear I had for him, to the immense pleasure he was giving me. He hadn’t mistreated me, not even once. He always had food ready for me, and twice he had to force me to eat it so I wouldn’t die of starvation.
After having sex, he’d run a warm bath for me, wash my hair and body.
Granted, it always ended in another round of sex, but I enjoyed all of it.
Perhaps, it was all the attention he’d given me. That was something I’d always lacked. Growing up in a huge family, someone was bound to be neglected, and oftentimes, it was me. For the longest time, I thought it was normal and that it was just how families work.
Until I met Sierra’s parents and saw how affectionate they were towards her.
I never held any resentment towards her — she didn’t deserve it, but I was envious. My family never treated me like that, and that was probably when I started writing. Gaining attention from people I’d never seen was still getting attention.
And until I met Micah, I thought that was enough for me.
But it wasn’t.
He gave me all the attention I needed. He was rough around the edges, mentally fucked up, but I was like that, too. Perhaps, that was why I allowed myself to give all of me to him. And now, that he was no longer by my side, I only began to realize how much impact he’d had on me.
That permanent mark I’d been craving was there.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his. I saw his smile, his tattooed face, his amazing body.
Every time I closed my eyes, I felt his hands on me, his lips on mine. I could smell his cologne, could picture it all inside of my head.
When the cops showed up eventually, I was a shell of a human.
I saw them, but at the same time, just looked straight through them. They asked questions, they were talking to me, but I didn’t hear a thing. I merely stared straight ahead, until one of them picked me up in bridal style and took me towards the ambulance.
They closed the door of the ambulance and took off.
Through the small window, I watched as the cabin became nothing but a distant spot, until I could no longer see it. My heart barely handled it, and although I was still passive, unmoving and not speaking, I cried uncontrollably.
Micah was gone.
I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see him again.
All I could do was pray that I see him when I fall asleep. I could only hope that I’d be able to remember his face, his touches and his kisses until the day we meet again.
I didn’t care when it was. A month from now, a year, a decade, or even in death. But I was certain that he wouldn’t break his promise.
Micah would find me again.
