Leo’s Thoughts

She awoke to that same distinct smell.  It was moldy and moist and it turned her stomach.  She pushed herself up and laid her head against the brick wall.  Now mixed with sweat and dirt, dried tears from the night before outlined her face.  She couldn’t imagine what she looked like.  She hadn’t seen a mirror in weeks.
The rope burned and dug into her skin, and she winced in pain as she used her hands to crawl across the floor.  The only piece of furniture in the small room, a wooden workbench, held a plate of food and a Styrofoam cup filled with water.  It was the only meal she would get for the day, and she was hungry.
She reached the plate and placed her face into the cold oatmeal.  No utensils were ever provided and she had gotten used to eating like a dog.  Besides, with her bound hands it would have been difficult to direct a spoon.  She lapped up the remaining oatmeal and bit into the Styrofoam cup, slowly lifting it and pouring the water into her mouth.  It was a child’s portion but it would do for now.
The only thing she wished for, the only thing she wanted was to be left alone.
Some days were lonely days, with no visitors and no games.  Just her and the darkness.  She had come to appreciate those days.  To cherish them.
Most days, however, were filled with pain and terror.  She was surprised she had survived this long.  She lay on her side, the cold concrete touching her forehead.  She closed her eyes and knew why she was surviving.  Hope.
She still had hope that she would get out of this place and that she would find them.  She wondered constantly about where they were.  Were they safe?  Were they going through pain?  New tears welled in her eyes.  She would never forgive herself for putting them in this situation.  It was all her fault and she knew it.
If she only had stayed home that night.  Why did she have to leave?  Things weren’t as bad as she thought.  They could have worked things out.  Her thoughts were interrupted by the scrape of the door.  She closed her eyes.
Not today, please.  Not now.
The girl was no more than twenty years old, petite with shoulder length brown hair.  She wore red pajama pants and a white tank top.  He pushed her into the room and closed the door.  Her hands were bound behind her back, the gag on her mouth muffling her cries.  She looked up with her swollen eyes.
It’s okay, hon. You’re alive.”  She reached for her gag and brought it down around her neck.  The girl whimpered softly.
“What’s your name?”
“Lois.”  She answered hoarsely.  She wrapped her arms around her neck and pulled her close.  The girl heaved and sobbed uncontrollably.  She began to rock her.
“I’m Susan, Lois.  Trust me, everything will be all right.”