Captive

Like most little girls, I dreamed of a prince charming sweeping me off my feet; the typical story of a boy meets girl and fall in love at first sight.

Of course, the boy would make a grand gesture in front of all her friends, professing his undying love for her. He would meet her parents and rave about how wonderful their daughter was.

He would be her first and she would be his, but that was it – the end. Unlike most fantasies, mine never had a happy ending. My imagination never reached that part. Something bad would always happen, and then I would go back to the start – the happy part where they would meet in school – not prison, I mused.

Regardless, my subconscious seemed convinced that I’m not meant to be the star of a happy-ending fantasy.

This belief has never really materialized until I listened to Crosby promising me a happy ending.

“When we leave this place, I want you in my bed every night,” he had said.

My utter silence worried him enough that he sat up with me secured in his lap. He tilted his head, waiting for me to speak.

“I’m sorry, Sidney, but I don’t think there’s any chance for us,” I whispered not meeting his eyes.

The sad part in all of this was that I didn’t know whether I meant a chance for us to be free or a chance for us to be together if we were ever to be freed. But I guess, either way, my statement stands true.

As a tear tumbled down my cheek, I felt his lips on my skin. “Don’t say that.”

I wasn’t sure which of the two possibilities he chose to consider. All I knew was that his delicate kiss and his fingertips on my neck numbed the painful hiccup in my fantasy. He could turn my world with a touch of his fingertips.

Could we have an ‘every night’ though? Or will this fantasy end much like the others?

Call me a fatalist, but sometimes I felt that everything in life has been already decided for us. All we could do is go through that one-way tunnel at the end of which an unknown fate awaits.

Could we change that tunnel and our fate along with it? Maybe.

I was so lost in Crosby’s touch that my thoughts were all jumbled up and weren’t making any sense.

So much has changed since we first met. We rarely argued at that point. The time we spent away from analyzing and plotting our escape was time well spent in a comforting, familiar embrace.

*****

“The regular season starts next week,” Crosby said as I traced circles over his stomach.

That morning, I was the bigger spoon for once.

“Hmm.”

“We’ve been here for three months, Mia. Three months.”

“And we haven’t left the cell in a week,” I said with a deep sigh, my stomach was constantly in knots that week.

Losing the privileges and the chance to execute what we had planned was a new low point for us.

“The world has been aware that I was taken hostage for a while. Help should have come by now, but it didn’t. It feels that it will never come. I’m scared that this would be our end, here, in this place.”

Tears rushed to my eyes. I was tired of trying to keep us positive, I was tired of reassuring him when I was as convinced as he was about rotting in this prison. I was tired of it all.

We hugged and cried on each other’s shoulders. We were grieving our lives, or at least what has become of them.

“You know what the worst part for me is? No one knows what happened to me. Since my body hasn’t been found; they’re likely still assuming that I’m alive. It’s just…” I covered my face and Crosby started rubbing my back.

“My parents, my friends, it’s like… it’s another Joshua Shaw tragedy, do you understand? I don’t know why it took me this long to realize that this is exactly what Hassan wanted. The same thing happening to the same devastated family who hasn’t healed from losing their son yet.”

The anxiety of being imprisoned can obstruct your vision and make you forget what’s on the other side of those walls. I cannot begin to imagine what my parents, sister, and brother were going through. I don’t even want to think that my friends are dead and that I may never get to see them again.

I had the right to be selfish and occupied with my freedom, but the fleeting moments when hopelessness would rear its ugly head would often come as a reminder of all the unaccounted for costs of my captivity.

I was tired of keeping the hope alive for both of us. I was done. I guess I’ve reached the fourth stage of the Kubler-Ross model of grief, “depression.”

Will I ever make it to the last phase of “acceptance?” Could I really accept this fate of dying at the enemy’s hands?

The universe must have heard my desperate calls and brought me the answer in the form of the seventeen-year-old Iraqi girl who has just unlocked our cell instead of the mailman.

We broke our embrace and jumped out of bed. Standing before her, I felt the simultaneous urges of running to hug her and to tackle her all at once.

She placed our food tray on the floor. With her eyes cast down, she stood awkwardly fiddling with her fingers. Crosby and I exchanged looks.

“Zahra, how are you? It’s been a few days since we last spoke,” I said hesitantly.

When she looked up at me, I saw her red swollen eyes.

“What happened?” I asked, almost worried for the girl, the accomplice, I reminded myself.

“Baba sick, blood,” she said.

My eyes widened, “he’s hurt? I can take a look,” I said as hope flourished again inside of me. Maybe a tiny part of me did feel bad for her, not for her dad though.

“You can’t. They will see,” she said with a low voice.

“By they, you mean Hassan’s men?” Crosby asked.

“But so much blood,” she sounded terrified.

“Zahra, calm down and tell me what happened,” I said calmly as I stepped closer to her.

She took two steps back. Wasn’t she the one with the gun?

“Help,” she finally said, a tear rolling down her cheek.

“Okay, we will help. Just tell us how?”

“Can’t stay, they know,” she said hurriedly and left us flabbergasted.

“Zahra! Come back, let’s talk!” I called after her.

“I told you! They are not on good terms. Hassan’s men hurt her dad!” I exclaimed.

“We could get her on our side! Damn it, where did she go?!” Crosby yelled frustrated.

“She will come back, she said she needs our help. She will come back, we just have to wait until she does,” I rambled on.

And the next morning, she did.

Notes

Hey,

Hope you're enjoying the new events :D

Thanks for reading :)

Charlie