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Yet, even in that dirty water, her dark hair moves softly around her features and flashes of noir movies run through my mind.
“I am not sure,” she says, as she comes back up, brushing the wet hair away from her face. “I thought I was going down the mountain when I ran, but somehow I still ended up going up. It was so dark, and I ran for a long time.” Her voice is still meek, but so damn warm and melodic.
“How long?” I think I know what she’s talking about. Parts of these woods create a strange optical illusion, it’s something usually seen on roads in the mountains. When you look forwards it appears that you’re walking downhill, it’s only when you look back that you realize that you’ve been climbing the whole time.
“It’s not like I have a damn watch on me!” she says with indignation.
There she is… slowly peeking through the fog.
I grin at her defiant answer, but my head is bowed, she can’t see it.
“I don’t know… I could barely see the moon, it looked like it shifted as I neared the time you caught me. Maybe an hour? He made a mistake when he locked the dungeon, and he didn’t realize I was gone, so I had a bit of a head start.”
“Dungeon?!” What the fuck is she talking about?
“Yes… where he kept me. Maybe it was a cellar… I don’t know, it certainly felt like a dungeon…” Her voice breaks, and that stirs something inside me. Goddamn it, I don’t fucking like this, being bothered by all of this! It’s strange, unfamiliar… unnatural.
This was not my goddamn intention with her! But then again, I’m a dark, sick motherfucker and while a dungeon sounds fucking appetizing, I wouldn’t use it to hold a woman hostage.
“For how long?” My voice is getting lower, rougher, my tone more urgent.
“Well… what month is it?”
Jesus Christ… she didn’t just ask me that…“November.”
She lifts her head and looks at me with a little hope in her eyes. “I thought it was later, I thought maybe Christmas had passed already.”
You got to be fucking kidding me. Christmas?! That’s what she cares about?
“I met him in April… April Fools’ to be exact…”
“April Fools’…” I repeat, and I see my disgust reflected in her eyes. She knows she fucked up, she knows I see the same thing she thinks of herself; however, this is not her fucking fault. He was the wolf, and she was the fucking lamb. He was already out hunting, she just happened to be the willing, naive prey.
April… That means that six and a half months have passed since she’s been kidnapped. Six and a half fucking months of…
“What did he do to you?”
Her eyes grow wide, and I can see the slight tremble of her body causing small ripples in the bath water. She wraps her arms around herself, suddenly aware of her nakedness. She gathers her knees closer, holding herself together, like she’s afraid that she will physically break apart.
“Did he…” I trail off. I need more, I need to know and I’m unsure why I do. Yet, I feel like the knowledge will be fuel for my rage and I crave the rage this motherfucker deserves.
“Did he rape you?”
The water bursts in dozens of ripples. Finally her eyes turn to mine.
“The rape was the least of my worries…” her eyes go blank. “The only thing I’m truly thankful for is that my contraception worked… “
Jesus Christ, I didn’t even think of that. She could have…
“But then again, he did ask me about that even before we met.” A disturbing laugh leaves her throat. “It’s funny really, he has this thing, he never goes bareback, even when...” she says, taking a deep breath, “even when he… he always ended up putting a condom on. Like I was the dirtiest goddamn thing out there. I never thought I would ever be so thankful for condoms…”
I must admit that is strange. I’m all for it, protection and all, but I must admit, a rapist wearing a condom is quite unheard of.
“Although…” She pauses, and her brows furrow. “He might have had some sort of OCD, I don’t know… he wore gloves a lot, not all the time. Yet, when he didn’t, he was quite careful not to touch me. Not with his hands at least…” She sighs, and as I watch her, I can see her gaze traveling somewhere else.
Just on cue, I see a streak of crimson saturating the bath water. She’s bleeding again, she sees it too, but she doesn’t talk. I can see it in her eyes, this willing conversation is over. She’s closed herself off, protecting whatever is left… like a split personality.
HER
