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It’s a fair assumption.
I miss my garden. I miss the sun on my face and breathing in the fresh air.
But I’ve lost that privilege for an indefinite amount of time.
And every morning, I wake up screaming, reaching out for something or someone that isn’t there.
Michael engages in conversation with me, and I give simple, one-word answers.
It seems to be enough for him.
But, the night I’m free to use my hands for the first time, something wonderful happens as I’m in the bedroom.
His cell phone rings.
There’s a buzzing under his pillow, and the vibration shakes the mattress.
He’s in the bathroom, showering, unaware of the incessant buzzing.
He forgot to take his phone into the bathroom with him.
I don’t even care who’s calling. It’s a private number, and I answer immediately.
“Help me,” I whisper.
“Mister Hawkins?” a female voice says. “This is theAurorapolice.”
“He has me captive,” I whisper as the shower turns off. “We’re in a cabin somewhere, I’m not sure, please, help me—”
I scream as the bathroom door bursts open, and Michael walks into the bedroom, naked except for the towel wrapped around his waist. The officer says something, but Michael yanks the phone from my hands and throws it into the wall.
He’s furious.
“That wasn’t very smart,” he says quietly. He stalks towards me, malice in his eyes, and I scramble off the bed.
My passive façade disappears and I’m ready to fight.
He chases me through the bedroom, through the living room, and into the kitchen, trapping me.
“What were you trying to accomplish?” he asks softly, as he advances on me. “What do you think the police will do?”
“Arrest your crazy ass for kidnapping,” I gasp, reaching behind me into one of the polished wooden drawers.
But there are no actual knives. Just plastic cutlery.
“Only if they find us,” he says, stepping closer. I move further away and push my back against the stove until he crowds me.
“This isn’t love, Michael!” I screech at him, pushing at his chest. “I don’tloveyou; you don’t love me. You used me as a blank slate to create who you wanted as a girlfriend!”
He stops inches from me, his nostrils flared, looking monstrous.
How did I ever find him attractive?
“Love is when youdon’thave the blank slate,” I choke out, tears filling my eyes. “When you accept the faults, anyway. You want what’s there already, not what you’ve molded someone into being.”
I could be wrong, but all I know is that’s how I feel about Grey, James, and Beau.
They’ve encouraged me to figure out who I am, not try to tell me.
