Captive

“Mia, don’t be crazy, it’s too high!” Livvy yelled.

“Mommy will be very mad,” my baby brother Jamie added.

My younger siblings looked terrified, but I wanted nothing more than to prove them wrong.

“I’m 14, I know what I’m doing!” I shouted from where I stood on the cedar fences that separated our backyard from the Wilsons.

“You will break your stupid head!” Livvy said as she took a few steps back, pulling Jamie with her.

Next came one of the stupidest things I have ever done. I thought I could jump off the eight-feet high fence and land straight up on our small ice rink – without falling.

*****

“That day, I experienced a good dose of failure. It was painful and embarrassing. It even left a dent in my skull,” I told Crosby while pointing to the back of my head. “It’s a good reminder for me to think before I act.”

“I think the message from that story is that you’re reckless,” he said as he laid on his back next to me. I nodded although he couldn’t see me in the darkness of our prison.

In the past four days, we fell into a routine. The mailman would bring us food and the medical kit every morning at dawn and then leave us alone to argue our questionable fate for the rest of the day. But mostly, we spent every day feeling anxious, bored, frustrated, upset, desperate and every emotion in between.

Then at night, we would succumb to our fears and exhausted minds. We would lay next to one another in silence until we fall asleep. Sometimes during the night, we would have the occasional argument about who takes the wall side or how I was snitching the miniscule blanket all to myself.

Tonight though, our anxiety had reached a new level. I will be removing Crosby’s stitches the next morning. The next morning will also mark the last time I will give him the antibiotics. The next sunrise may bring some changes to our situation and we were both silently nervous.

As far as I was concerned, I may become dispensable to our abductors. They may torture me into giving intel about our operation right before killing me. It was also plausible that I was a bargaining chip like Crosby. I preferred the latter theory, the one that does not end with me dead in some ditch. Of course, there was a third unlikely scenario where the terrorists would just let me go unharmed.

From Crosby’s perspective, I think he was scared to stay alone. He said on more than one occasion that I’m a military officer and he trusted that I would eventually find a way for us to escape. Maybe it was his way of reassuring himself.

He was healing well and despite his suggestion to keep the stitches longer as a stalling tactic, I couldn’t accept. It would be so much harder and more painful to remove from his skin. Medically speaking, it was a terrible idea, much like the rest of his ideas.

Since neither of us could sleep, Crosby had asked me, out of the blue, about the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.

Shifting to my side, I turned towards him, “your turn.”

He looked at me then back at the ceiling. “You know the answer to that,” he mumbled. My silence showed him that I had no clue.

“Bringing the Stanley Cup to Iraq against everyone’s advice.”

Oh, right.

We both sighed at the same time. Looking at one another, Crosby said, “So yeah, I win. No one in the history of mankind has done something nearly as stupid.”

“You’d be surprised,” I said to lighten up the mood.

“What do you think happened to the Cup? It’s the symbol of hockey. I may have destroyed the most precious trophy in sports.”

I shook my head at him, “you don’t know that.”

“I could see the headlines. 2016-2017 NHL season marks the last championship the Stanley Cup was raised,” Crosby continued.

We were both lost in our thoughts when Crosby spoke again, “Do you think Phil is okay? He wasn’t too thrilled by the idea of going to Iraq with the Cup. But I gave him no choice. And now, he may be hurt because of me.”

I assumed he was talking about Cup keeper who may have died for all we know. I felt bad for him and the guilt he was carrying. He remained quiet until I heard him sniffle. Oh my god, this was not happening. Seeing someone cry has always made me uncomfortable.

He turned his back to me and faced the wall. I wasn’t sure if a “there-there” was going to cut it, so I hesitantly placed my hand on his shaking shoulder and gently drew circles with my thumb. It seemed to have done the trick.

“Being overconfident in my cooking skills is probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever done,” he said with a hoarse voice and I had to chuckle.

He turned back to face me, “Not only did I burn the meal, trigger the fire alarm, and mobilize Pittsburgh’s finest firefighters – I was stupid enough to give one of them my real phone number ‘in case of an emergency’ as he phrased it. The man wouldn’t take a hint. In the end, I had to change my number.”

“Because firefighters are not your type?” I asked too amused by his story.

He stared at me incredulously, “do you think I’m gay?”

“I don’t know. Are you?” I asked with a wide smile, enjoying his obvious discomfort.

“I am not,” he said loud enough to stress his answer.

“Relax, it’s not an insult. My brother is gay.”

“Well, I’m not gay. I like women.”

“Hmm, okay.”

He propped his head on his elbow and looked at me, “You don’t believe me?”

“Why do you care if I do?” I raised my eyebrows at him and mimicked his position.

“I don’t. You’re just too stubborn,” he said, “Reckless, too,” he added with a smile.

“Never caused a fire though,” I smirked at him, earning a small kick on the leg.

“Hey! You do know I’m trained in hand-to-hand combat!” I said half-joking.

“Do you think you could beat me in a fight, officer?”

“Sure can,” my answer came fast and full of confidence.

Crosby’s snort aggravated me enough for me to prove it to him. In a swift motion, I pushed him on his back and straddled his thighs. I caught his wrists and pushed them into the mattress. He was caught off guard and did not react right away.

He was a strong man, without a doubt. His arms were much stronger than mine, and if he wanted, with a simple nudge from his massive thighs, he could send me flying to the ceiling.

He easily freed his arms and smirked triumphantly. “Crosby, admit that you lost!” I said while still putting my weight on his thighs.

He laughed in response, “how is this winning, huh?” He said with a tilt of his head.

Clearing my throat, I explained, “Have you heard of the technique called ‘knee strike to the groin’? The knee strike to the groin is effective during close-in grappling,” I said as if reading a dictionary definition. “Do you feel where my knee is, Crosby?” I raised my eyebrows at him and moved my knee subtly to prove my point. It was my turn to do the sarcastic head tilt.

I swallowed, “Oh, so you fight dirty, is there no honour left?”

“Honour? Do you think when your life is on the line, you or your enemy would care?” I chuckled.

Suddenly, Crosby squeezed his eyes shut and groaned.

“Oh my god, I’m sitting on your wound!”

I jumped off him as fast as I could, but before I got far, Crosby was pinning me to the mattress. And just like that, the tables were turned. He hovered over me and smiled wickedly.

“You faked pain, I cannot believe you! And I fell for it!”

He remained propped over me, his face close to mine. He inched closer, “two could play at your dirty game, officer.”

Then, he got much closer and my heart rate picked up speed. I felt his breath tickle my ear, “checkmate.”

Clearing my dry throat, I bent my knees and gently nudged his hips. “I still think I have you at a disadvantage there, Crosby,” I managed a smirk, despite how cloudy my mind was in that intimate position and with the knowledge that he had no pants.

He gave me a lopsided grin and to my surprise, did not shy away from my silent threat. He even seemed to like the contact.

“You’re a stubborn girl,” he whispered as his gaze held mine. I felt all air leave my lungs when his hips moved against my knees and pushed them apart effortlessly. He leaned down, putting part of his weight on my lower body and I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe to save my life.

He had me caged between his arms and warm body. With nowhere to go and nothing else to see but the intensity of his glimmering eyes, I conceded all my weapons. At that moment, I was his captive and his alone.

Notes