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; Two men, one dressed in a formal brown suit and the other in a doctor’s coat, come inside the room.
“Hello, Miss Wilson,” says the one in the suit after the two of them sit across from the bed. “I’m Detective Mathews and this is Dr Howard, and we would like to ask you some questions.” I nod, he continues, “We can have this conversation alone if you like.”
I shake my head frantically. “No. I want my family and friends with me.”
Detective Mathews nods, retrieving a notepad and a pen from his jacket. Dr Howard holds something similar too. “Let’s start with the night you were taken,” Mathews’ expression is gentle. “Do you remember anything?”
“I was partying with my friends.” I glance at them, their eyes drop and Sydney sniffs. Patting her hand, I turn to the detective. “I was kidnapped outside the club’s back entrance.”
The detective scribbles something in his notepad before he asks, “Do you remember by whom?”
“I slipped and fell unconscious.” My tone is thick. “The next thing I remember is a dark dungeon.”
“Do you know who put you there?” Mathews’ eyes bore into mine, probably trying to decipher the lies from the truth.
“Not really. There was a group of people who lived in that place. They always wore black.” Half a lie.
The detective scribbles some more. “Are there any special marks that could help us identify where you’ve been kept or who took you?”
I shake my head slowly. Why in hell is it so easy to lie for Aaron and protect him? Why didn’t I turn him in and get it over with? He should be in prison, maybe he’ll grow a heart in there.
A small sigh leaves my lips. I’m in too deep. I can’t get out even if I want to.
“Dr Howard will speak with you now,” Mathews says, gaze still pinning me.
“This is only an assessment before the actual therapy, Miss Wilson.” The doctor readjusts his glasses up his nose, looking at me with a serene, calm expression. “Do you care to share what happened to you while you’ve been kidnapped?”
“I’ve been isolated.” My mind wanders back to those days in the dungeon. “I’ve been kept in the dark and that triggered my trauma, resulting to continuous panic attacks. Then... then someone attempted to rape me.” Sydney’s hold on my hand tightens and Mum gasps, her hands flying to her mouth. I offer her a reassuring smile. “It’s okay, Mum. I was strong. I survived.”
“How did those experiences make you feel, Miss Wilson?” Dr Howard asks.
“They were painful. Very much so.” I take a deep inhale, expanding my lungs. “But survival instinct kicked every time. All I wanted was to stay alive.”
The doctor scribbles something before making eye contact. “How about cutting your wrist? What was the reason?”
A tear escapes my lids, trickling down the side of my neck. “All doors closed in my face. That was the only way out.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Mae
Life went on. Or maybe it didn’t. I have no idea. I only try to live day to day, hanging out with my friends, spending time with my parents, going back to college. Normal life.
I had to laugh and pretend I was doing well for everyone to stop acting like I’m a ceramic doll that would break any second. I don’t want to explain. Can’t. They would think me insane for falling in love with my captor. I went to therapy – still do, but none of my feelings for him vanished. It doesn’t matter how much the shrink repeated the mantra that my feelings for Aaron was wrong. All I can think about ever since I returned was him.
It’s not that I’m broken to be fixed. I was just changing, evolving, accepting that I’m not normal. That I love a serial killer. No matter how tortured he is.
The police and the media didn’t leave me alone for a very long time. I had to repeat the same version over and over. I didn’t know where my captor is, because, in all honesty, I don’t.
My room is the only place where I can remove the mask of fake happiness and embrace the new me. The me who could be going crazy with over-thinking.
I throw my handbag somewhere on the ground and slump on the bed. The pink curtains cast a glowing shadow in my room, highlighting the scattered clothes across the floor and the documents on the chair. A small laugh leaves my lips. So unlike Aaron’s OCD room. The laugh soon turns into trembling lips. My fists clench and I push my hair back.
I won’t cry. Not today.
No matter how much I reprimand myself, I can’t control it. Time heals everything my butt. It’s been six months and my state is getting worse by the day.
