I Don't Belong Here

I was scared. So scared. Terrified.

Being brave does not mean you don’t get scared. It just means you have the courage to stand up to what scares you. Dimitri’s words replayed in my head, and I held onto them like a sailor would hold onto his life vest.

It was so dark in the trunk, and the darkness swallowed me whole like a giant monster. The only sounds I heard were the tires on the road, the engine, and my ragged breathing.

I touched my head again, where my kidnapper had slammed it against the car window and made me see sparks. The pain told me that I was alive, and I wanted to stay that way.

I would not become one of the ghosts. I just had to think of plan B. My handbag was not with me – it had my phone inside.

I turned so that I was facing the back of the car seats. Through a tiny crack between them, I had a view of the car’s interior where I glimpsed a piece of pink material to my right. Was that my handbag?

I pushed my fingers into the crack, but I could not fit my hand through. It hurt, but I did not stop pushing. My life depended on my phone. My fingertip brushed against the side of my handbag. I almost cried out in frustration.

I shoved against the car seats, but they would not budge. I tried to kick the inside of the trunk, but could not escape. I kicked, and kicked hard, my strikes accurate at first.

As my fear grew and my hope shrank, my kicks became frantic and aimless. Then I kicked the back light. It buckled.

I recalled reading somewhere that the lights could be kicked out so that victims of a kidnapping would stand a better chance of being seen. How had I forgotten about that?

I braced myself and kicked again—hard and on the right spot. The car’s back light fell out.

Yes!

I peered out at the road but couldn’t see houses or cars. We were in a rural area. Was there anyone who could save me?

I stuck my hand out of the opening and waved it around. I tried to stay positive and tell myself that someone would see it.

And someone did.