Ella

Taking my first breath feels like a rebirth.

The first since I’ve awakened in the warm cocoon surrounding my body.

Soft fabric rests on me, and I clutch it tightly as I open my eyes.

It hurts to look. Everything hurts.

My muscles feel tight and weak. Around me, everything is white. It reminds me of the cage I spent weeks in; the cage I left behind in search for home. Freedom.

I’m free.

I remember my walk through the scorching desert, the blistering sun razing my skin. I remember the suffocating pain I felt in my lungs when I sucked in the much-needed oxygen, the burning sensations in my throat from lack of water, and the endless red soil underneath my feet.

All of that has been replaced by pristine white warmth, but the color feels colder than that prison cell I came from. That glass prison where I left a piece of my soul.

Where I left … him.

In a burst of energy, my body shoots up from the bed, wires and all, and I scream. “Cage!”

In my mind, his image is as clear as day.

The beast of a man … Cage.

He’s still stuck in that dark, damp hole while I’m here … wherever that is.

I look around and see the tubes going into my body, dripping some kind of fluids when I pull it out. It hurts a little but not enough for me to care.

I tug the tiny tubes from my nose that provided oxygen and throw the blanket off me. When my feet hit the cold, hard floor, I shiver, and when I get up, I almost fall again.

My body is still weak from the ordeal, but I manage to walk to the door, clutching the sink on my way.

I might be fragile, but I’m not about to give up.

The moment I remembered I left him there all by himself, I knew I had to go find him.

I don’t care how; I just know that I have to. No matter the pain in my body.

This is nothing compared to what I felt all those weeks in that glass prison, being hungry half the time with no privacy, no lights, no nothing … except him.

The man I came to trust.

The man who stole my heart and locked it away in the cell he calls home.

I will show him the light of the sun. I will make him see the world through my eyes. I will give him a new home.

My home.

I stumble through the door and out into the hall, blinking a few times. My vision is still a bit hazy, but I can clearly make out the signs that say EXIT, so I head that way.

A lady in a blue suit stops me halfway there. “What are you doing out of bed?”

I frown, trying to push her away, but all I manage is a soft nudge.

“No, no, back to bed,” she insists, wrapping her arms around my shoulder. “Where were you going anyway? You’re not well enough to go home yet.”

I open my mouth, but only a scratching noise comes out.

“Don’t try to talk or exert yourself. Your body is still recovering,” she cautions, guiding me back into my room.

But I don’t want to go there. I want to search for Cage. I need to find him.

I turn toward her and grasp her arms, parting my lips, but again, nothing but a faint, throaty sound leaves my mouth. Dammit. Why do I have to be selectively mute? Out of all the time it’s present, why does it have to be now?

I wish Cage was here.

I can talk to him; I trust him.

Tears well up in my eyes as the woman directs me back to bed and forces me to sit then lie down again.

“There, there. Now don’t get out of bed again.” She chuckles as she reinserts the IV and puts the tubes back in my nose. The oxygen gives a much-needed boost to my breathing, though, and I suck in a breath.

I cough, and the woman walks toward the sink and pours a cup of water, handing it to me.

“Thirsty?” she inquires.

I nod and gladly sip. It feels strange to have liquids running down my throat again as if something was blocking it or it was burned.

“It might feel funny for a little while. You were quite dehydrated.” She raises her brows and makes a weird face. “And that’s an understatement. But you’re in the hospital now, and you’re taken good care of.” She smiles and shows me her name on the ID card attached to her nurse scrubs.

“Name’s Jenny. I’m your nurse. If you need anything, you can press that button over there.” She points at a device hanging from the wall. “And I’ll come right away to help you. Okay?”

I nod and lick my lips, tears welling up in my eyes.

I know I’m in the hospital. I know I’m safe.

But what about Cage?

Is he in pain? Is he even alive?

Not knowing is what hurts the most.

Jenny smiles at me. “Now, you just rest, okay? If you need anything, just call.” When she’s about to leave, I grasp her shirt and force her to stop. I try to signal with my fingers that my throat is incapable of producing the sounds needed to talk properly.

She pauses and frowns. “Wait. Hold on.” She walks off, out of the room, and comes back a few minutes later with a notepad and a pen. She hands it to me and says, “Here. Write what you want to say.”

Can’t Talk. Selective muteness.

“Oh, okay,” she says as she reads the words. “What’s your name? We couldn’t find any identification on you.”

Ella Rosenberg. Please contact parents.

I write their number, too, along with their address. When she’s read it, I immediately tear the page and continue to write frantically.

CAGE. Have to find him.

I hold up the notepad and show it to her, watching her eyes read the words as I clench the notepad tight. Please understand … please.

“Cage? Who’s Cage?”

I turn the notepad back around and pen down the words as if my life depends on it.

I was in a prison. Compound. Desert. Not alone. Others. Victims. Cage.

I write as few words as possible, wanting to cram everything that happened to me in a small, confined space and hope she understands. There’s no time to be precise or to expand on the details. No time for anything because Cage is still stuck there, this very instant. He has no access to food, and the water might stop running too. He could be dying.

Her eyes widen, reading the words I penned on the paper. “Is this true?”

I nod vehemently and grasp for the pen again.

CAGE. Still there. Find him. Police.

She nods. “You’re saying you were taken by someone into a cell? And that you weren’t alone; there were others? Someone called Cage?”

I nod repeatedly until she understands the gravity of the situation.

“All right. I’ll call the cops and have them take your statement. It’ll probably take until tomorrow, though.”

I pen down more words.

No time. Now.

Underlining them both.

She grimaces and bites her lip. “I’m sorry, honey, but I can’t force them to come based on a statement alone. A missing person case takes time, and you have to have patience. But I promise you, I will do anything I can to get them here quickly, all right?” She pats down my blanket and tucks me in like a good nurse would when all else fails to make me happy.

Because that’s just it.

She wants to take care of her patient when her patient doesn’t want to be here at all.

It’s a tough situation neither of us can change.

Please.

I pen down the word as a tear rolls down my cheek.

“I’ll do my best, honey. That’s all I can promise you. I’ll call them today,” she says.

I nod a thank you.

“I’ll call your parents too,” she says. “So they’ll probably visit later today. You should rest now.”

Mom. Dad. I can’t believe I’m going to see them again.

It feels like ages.

And I’m not the same person they remember me as.

I wonder how I’m going to tell them what happened to me.

I don’t want to break their hearts.

* * *

Later that day

The moment I see their faces as they enter my door, I burst into tears.

Mom does too as she rushes toward me and wraps her arms around me, hugging me tightly. For the first five minutes, no words are exchanged. All we do is hug each other and cry. Even Dad can’t keep it dry.

I clutch Mom and Dad’s clothes, wishing I could hold them forever. It feels so unreal to be able to touch them again. I can’t imagine what it must be like for them.

To not see your daughter for weeks, and then for her to suddenly turn up at a random hospital. It must’ve been like lightning striking the earth in front of you.

It’s a stroke of luck that I managed to escape. If I hadn’t … they would’ve probably never seen me again.

I shiver at the thought.

Mom releases me from her grasp and cups my face, caressing my cheeks and brushing away the tears. She smiles and hugs me again.

“Oh, honey …”

Dad grabs my hand and squeezes it tight as he sits down beside me on a tiny chair. Mom sits down on the bed and keeps touching me. I don’t think it’s weird. I think I would’ve done the same if I were in her shoes and had almost lost my daughter.

My daughter or son … that’s right.

I’m pregnant.

I look down at my belly, wondering if the baby is still there.

If there’s still a heartbeat.

“Mom … Dad …” I mutter, my voice sounding hoarse.

But it’s so good to hear it still works.

Only with them … only with people I trust.

And with Cage.

Cage … poor Cage.

“I’m …” I choke on my own words. How do I begin to tell them my story? How does anyone find the words needed to describe the horrors they’ve endured?

It’s impossible.

“Take your time,” Dad says, cocking his head as he places a hand on my shoulder and gently squeezes. “Take all the time you need.”