Caged

I woke up on the Fourth of July. I remember spending it in New York last year. My aunt and I stayed in and cooked a nice Indian meal together. We had talked for hours about relationships, ex-boyfriends, while the East River erupted into fireworks. Bursts of light filled the night sky as we sipped wine.

New Yorkers cried out in celebration of their independence. A day when the United States declared itself free from the rule of Great Britain. To be free, all I have to do is jump out of the window and fly to heaven.

Three stories is a long way to fall. I’d most likely die and be free of this prison. Seemed easy, right? The only disadvantage was I was not like that other prisoner I met downstairs who healed immediately.

The next morning, everything seemed to have fallen back into a routine. Alba tapped my shoulder for breakfast, I met her eyes, took in her features, as it would probably be the last time I saw her. Since being held captive, Alba was nothing but kind. I will always be thankful for her coffee each morning. I think I will miss that the most.

It seemed she too knew this was goodbye and left me an absolute feast: coffee, omelet, toast, grilled fish, salad, and a bowl of diced melon. I guiltlessly gobbled down all the food on the dining table.

I didn’t understand where it all went. I took it all in gracefully. No nausea or anything. Usually, I’m nauseous when I eat fish, but not today.

There was just one problem. I wanted to know if John and Boone were able to open that hatch. What could be in there? Ghosts? Ruins? Money? Snakes? Without wasting any more time, I switched on the TV and jumped into bed. I just had to know about the hatch, and then I could die peacefully.

That’s the thing with shows like this. They are meant to suck you in. Just when I finished the seventeenth episode, my fingers instinctively switched to the next one. Eighteenth became twenty-first, day became night. Episode after episode I kept watching, and they couldn’t open it. The hatch. No ax; no stone could break it. It was creeping me out. I was dying to get a tiny little peep inside. It was a disgusting feeling.

My mind and body were both messed up, I believe. I wanted to finish the bloody thing off; see what was in the hatch and then die peacefully.

I watched all the episodes, and when they were finally able to open it, the season was over. The hatch was opened, but nobody knew what was inside. And I definitely wouldn’t know. It was over for me.

I felt cheated, dejected, and ultimately ashamed for spending the day watching television instead of trying to escape like I intended. When I stepped down from the bed and started walking toward the library door, the clock struck eight.

He’d be here any moment. If he caught me doing anything like this, he’d make it tougher for me to live and to die. I had lost that day. I would not die on the Fourth of July.

To die. I shocked myself with how at peace I was with my fate. Was that my only option? I wonder if Jack and Boone felt the same way while stuck on the island. Better to die at the hands of your own escape than to die by some random polar bear, or even that smoke thing in the forest.

No, Boone would persist. He spent nights on top of the hatch, waiting for some miraculous moment to occur and show him what was inside.

I looked outside, then at the clock in the library. 8:05. Still not here. He was usually on-time. Is this another one of his games? To condition me into always waiting for him like some good little housewife?

No, I was not going to let this happen. I will get out. When I do, I’m treating myself to the second season of Lost. Hell, why not just watch the whole damn series?

I went to the library. I had to find the biggest book possible in which to throw at the window to make my escape. I found Cervantes’ book Don Quixote. Just before I could wind up for my throw…

SLAM!

From three floors down, I froze when I heard the front door slam. He was here. I was too late. I mean it was probably not him; it was the universe that was toying with me and torturing me. Maybe the chained man downstairs broke free. A moment of bliss and satisfaction was what I wanted when I fell from the window. With a smile on my face.

What did I do so wrong to be here, to be like this? Who would know? I didn’t remember half of the things about me.

My face was stone hard with no expression, not even anger, when I heard him again. He was calling me and only me. He needed me. My new housemate. He was in pain, but he wasn’t alone.

“Heeeeeellllllllllllpppppppppp.”

I had never heard a word before. He would scream in pain and shout but never speak a word. He would never ask for help. But now he was. Because he knew I was listening. And then I heard him too.

“YOU WILL TELL ME THE TRUTH NOW!” he yelled, emphasizing each word. I will admit that I was scared then. All the determination, anger, and agitation were replaced by fear. Fear of him. Daniel.

I lay in bed quietly. I waited for a long time, but he didn’t show up. I thought, he’s too busy downstairs; he’s not coming.

But he came. The door unlocked, and I acted like I was in a deep sleep. He walked around the room probably changing and getting ready for bed.

“YOU WILL TELL ME THE TRUTH NOW!”

That sentence kept ringing in my ears, and it was all I could think about. I could even imagine him saying it with gritted teeth when he touched my arm. It startled me.

I was planning to lie motionless, but I almost cried at that touch. It shocked him too.

“Are you all right?” he asked so softly that I couldn’t believe the contrast between his voice downstairs and now.

“I’m fine. I was having a nightmare,” I managed to say without looking at him.

“What did you see?” he said, brushing my arm and kissing my forehead.

I didn’t reply. I hated him, his touch, his caress—but I also felt weirdly triumphant that he would no longer hurt me. He’ll hurt the other one but not me; now I’ll be kept dear.

I was more valuable to that man, whoever he was.

Daniel held me in his arms so close and so tight that I could taste his breath. He had been smoking cigars again. His breath rose and fell, stinking up my face. I wanted to wriggle out of his grasp, but doing so only tightened his grip on me.

I laid there, wide awake, as he fell deeper and deeper asleep. I kept cursing myself for wasting the day. Imagine if the Colonials Americans did the same, would they still have Independence Day, or would it —like my own plans—be moved to the 5th?

My face felt a warm glow of light from Daniel’s chest. It was coming from his necklace. It pulsed with the rise and fall of his breath. It was no ordinary necklace. Suddenly, all around me, I heard the soothing sounds of ocean waves. My eyes grew heavy, serenaded by the droning peace of his chest with the crashing of waves. And, just before I could surrender myself to sleep, I heard:

The Tie coming from somewhere in my head.

It sounded so clear yet so far away, but it still jolted me awake. I sat up in bed, finally freed from Daniel’s grasp. I looked around the room, certain there was someone lurking in the shadows. Then, next to his sports jacket, was a long, green tie.

Then I had a sinister thought. I might not have to die to escape his clutches, but he might.

I slipped the covers from me. My feet creeped across the floor, towards the sports jacket on the reading chair. The plan would be something as simple as murder…or recalling her wedding vows, til’ death do they part.

I took the tie in my hands. Its green satin felt smooth in my hands. I tested its durability, because how embarassing would it be for it to snap while I was trying to kill him? He’d kill me, for sure. It was tight. Even as I pulled this way and that, the fabric was unrelenting.

I stood over his sleeping body. His back was turned away from me, still reaching out to where I was once sleeping. This plan was too easy. It made me nervous that it could go wrong at any given moment. Then again, it could go so right and I would be a free woman once again.

I gripped onto the tie. I was ready. My heart was racing. I could feel my breath hyping my body up. Gonna do this in three, tw—

Daniel’s sudden snore startled my train of thought. He turned onto the other side of the bed, facing me. His eyes fluttered open for a second as he adjusted to the dark. I dropped the tie onto the floor.

“What are you doing up, sweetie?” He grumbled.

I had to think fast. If he saw the tie at my feet, I’d be a goner. I looked over to his nightstand.

“Just needed to get some water.” I explained, grabbing the glass of water. “Would you like some?”

“No, thank you.” He cooed as his eyes closed once more. “Come back to bed.”

“Yes, dear.” I whispered, taking a couple sips. Then, after setting down the glass, I got back into bed, back into his unrelenting embrace, back into captivity.

There’s always tomorrow.