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You are the angel glow that lights a star
The dearest things I know are what you are
Someday my happy arms will hold you
And someday I’ll know that moment divine
When all the things you are, are mine
Those simple lyrics, and the memory accompanying them, made me smile, Happiness filled my heart. Logan may have me but he would not have my spirit.
CHAPTER 15
“The most wonderful of all things in life, I believe, is the discovery of another human being with whom one’s relationship has a glowing depth, beauty, and joy as the years increase. This inner progressiveness of love between two human beings is a most marvelous thing, it cannot be found by looking for it or by passionately wishing for it. It is a sort of Divine accident.” – Sir Hugh Walpole
At some point between singing and thinking, I fell asleep. Opening my eyes, the room was still pitch black. The harsh threads of the burlap sack I used to sleep on pressed into my face. I sat up and felt the imprints in my skin left from the tweed fabric, surprised from the sting the separation caused. Feeling rested, I assumed I must have slept through the night, although I had no way to know for sure. I took a deep breath as memories from the day before flooded my thoughts.
My mind was spinning in circles.
Are the boys looking for me? When will Logan be back? Are there still mice in the walls?
I reflected back to my last encounter with Brent.
“Claire, you need to understand that it causes me physical pain to be away from you. It makes me weak. I need you close to me. Don’t ever leave me again.”
I didn’t understand when Brent spoke them, chalking his words up to theatrics designed to prove a point by dramatizing how much I hurt him. I realized he hadn’t exaggerated as I attempted to stand. I felt like I had the flu, and I shivered with chills. My limbs were shaky and nausea swirled in my stomach. My head spun, making me dizzy, and I collapsed back to the floor feeling like I might throw up again.
What the hell!
Could his absence make me physically ill? These feelings were not helped by that fact that I had nothing to eat or drink since the day before yesterday.
The suctioning sound of the door opening startled me. There was a brief flare of hope that Brent had found me. Instead, Logan returned, and my hopes collapsed around me like building blocks. He was clean, dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, appearing to be sober. Smiling weakly, he held out a paper bag and a bottle of water. I grabbed them from his hand, and twisted the lid off the bottle, guzzling covetously until it was gone. The moisture slid down my throat, quenching my thirst. I finished it quickly wishing I had more. Logan was watching me closely, but didn’t say anything. Opening the bag and pulling out a chocolate chip muffin, I recognized it was from Dunkin’ Donuts by the sugar-coated top without even looking at the bag. It was my favorite. My stomach rumbled from the smell and I devoured it hastily using my teeth to scrape every last crumb from the wrapper, thirsting for more water to wash it down.
Logan had yet to speak, and I thought I spotted a glimmer of guilt in his dark stare. He walked through the door and closed it muttering something under his breath, sealing me in the darkness once again. The expression on his face before he left was unmistakable. He was having second thoughts.
A short time passed, maybe an hour or so, before the door opened again. An intoxicated Logan stumbled in looking down and grumbling obscenities into his chest. He had obviously used his time away to stifle his guilt with alcohol.
In that moment, I imagined two entirely different Logan’s. One was a child lost to something traumatic, and using his anger to disguise his agony. He protected his heart deciding if he could hurt first, then he didn’t have to feel. The other Logan was kind, with a conscience, the one who knew he was doing something wrong, and brought food to compensate. The one who wanted to be in control but often lost the fight, as anger was stronger than kindness. The Logan before me was not someone I wanted to get to know better. Using his drunken state as my opportunity to escape, I attempted to shoot past him through the door.
He laughed a full belly laugh as he caught me around the waist. “Nice try,” he snickered, tossing me back with enough force that I fell over. I stood up quickly.
My body was still weak with my separation from Brent. I concluded that it would be pointless to try and escape again. Even if I breached the door, I didn’t have the strength to outrun Logan. The room started spinning and my eye lids felt heavy. I saw Logan in a blurry haze in front of me. His traitorous grin told me all I needed to know. He drugged me. I hit the floor with a solid thud, out cold.
When I woke, I had a throbbing headache and strained to open my eyes. I saw immediately that my environment had changed. Windows lined the walls, brightly lighting the large room that appeared to be some sort of loft.
I was unable to move my right leg. My ankle ached as though it was bruised and felt like someone was holding onto it. Making out some rope through my foggy vision, I followed the line of twisted nylon, seeing one end was tied to a huge radiator in the corner and the other knotted to a metal shackle around my right ankle. It was cold against my skin. The length of the rope was enough for me to move about the room, but denied my escape.
Oh, my God! He tied me up.
My entire body trembled reminding me how much I needed Brent. Straining to sit up, I shook, struggling to steady myself. I crawled over to the wall for support and rested against it. Thinking I could work the knot on the shackle, I pulled at it, but my fingers failed me. I had lost all dexterity in my weakened state. We were no longer at the mill. This could be anywhere and the thought frightened me. I had no idea how long I was out or how far we traveled.
Tears wetted my eyes again. Straining to hold them back because I was sick to death of crying, I chose not to be defeated. Feeling this sick, I knew escaping was not an option. I needed a method to diffuse Logan’s anger. My mind recalled that look of regret on Logan’s face earlier. Remembering that Logan was insecure and craved attention, I knew that feeding on those emotions would be my only hope. If I kept him calm somehow, he might make a mistake. I could get away. Or if he stayed sober long enough, his guilt would force him to release me. The mere thought of being kind to Logan made me wince, but I had to give it a shot.
My body continued to feel deflated – every muscle ached, longing for Brent.
“Uh…hum,” Logan coughed, interrupting my planning. I saw he was sitting in a chair across the room watching me. I looked up at him fearfully, measuring his mood. He stood and slowly ambled toward me. Obviously, he sobered up in the time I had been out.
This is your chance.
