Everything hurts.
Everything burns.
When my brain kicks in gear, it reminds me to breathe. Where am I? What’s happened to me?
With as much breath as I can muster, I inhale, choking on the burn in my throat. Tightly, I push my hands down, gripping the surface of whatever I’m resting on as hard as possible. I notice what feels like soft, mushy mud seeping through my fingers. It’s cold and raining. A crack of thunder sounds above my head, but at first, I can’t move.
Where am I?
I try opening my eyes, but it’s like my lids have a hundred ton weights attached to them. But I need to move. I need to remember why I’m here.
On a groan, I move my head and push up with as much strength as I can muster. As I manage to pull myself into more of a seated position, a strangled cough leaves my lips, and as soon as it does, I regret it. It hurts like a motherfucker!
I’m so weak.
Why do I feel so fucking weak? I’m never weak. Weakness is a trait that my father instilled in me when I was little. As I grew up, I vowed never to feel that weakness again.
Weakness is for losers.
Finally, I open my eyes, taking in the darkness.
Black.
Nothing but blackness surrounds me. The rain hits heavy in some places and not in others. Wanting to know why, I manage to lift my head up to the heavens, noticing nothing but swaying branches on barren trees and the blackness beyond them. As the wind blows, it sways one of the branches away, revealing a hint of stars in the night sky. Confusion fills me.
How did I get here?
I look back down to the ground and notice I’m lying by a tree. I’m covered in mud and dirt, and don’t have a clue as to where I am.
I start shivering—partly because of the cold, but also partly due to fear. I’m used to fear, though. Fear is what I live on. Now, however, I do not welcome this fear. This fear is unknown.
Squinting my eyes, I try to get a sense of where I might be, but also of how in the hell I got here. Why do I ache all over? Why does my throat burn so much?
In an effort to sit completely upright, I pull myself up against the tree, so I can lean on it for support. It feels like my lungs have been expelled of all their air. I want so desperately to take large gulps of oxygen, but I know it will hurt like a bitch if I do.
Another large crack of thunder sounds overhead, momentarily lighting the sky. As I cower, I notice movement ahead of me, making me squeeze into a tight ball. Black eyes meet mine as an intense clap of thunder is immediately accompanied by another flash of lightning, which crackles through the night air. My mind conjures up monsters with sharp claws and fangs, which are stalking towards me to finish off whatever job was started. My head is spinning, and my heart racing as I consider what it could be that’s out there staring at me.
But, whatever it is, it doesn’t move any more than I do, which is not at all. As I realise it’s not coming to get me, my heart rate eases a little. I squint as best I can in the dark.
Then, as if in answer to my prayers, the moon appears from beyond the clouds and lights up the direction I’m looking towards.
It’s only a deer.
Closing my eyes, I let my heart rate settle down before I realise that I’m going to die from hypothermia if I stay here any longer.
I start the process of moving, but as I do, weakness in my legs takes over. I can’t seem to get them to move. I have to, though. If I stay here and give in, I’ll die. Something tells me that I need to live. I need to live because I have unfinished business.
Scores to settle.
I shake my head, trying to clear my erratic thoughts. I need to figure out what the hell is going on and how the hell I ended up out here in the woods.
With that last thought in my mind, I push myself up using the trunk of my tree for support yet again. I’m not much of a tree hugger, but in this moment, I can understand the logic to it. This tree is the only thing out here giving me any support at all.
As I manage to stand fully upright, I stumble a little, but again, the tree breaks my fall. I feel my hand around its rough edges, petting it as if it were a dog. My mind soon wanders back to the deer, and thinking it’s gone by now, I look over in that direction. He or she is still standing there—stock still—observing me like I am just as fascinating to him or her as he or she is to me. For a moment, I stare into those black eyes. Eyes which should foretell death, despair, rage, and, most of all, uncertainty. The only thing I see in that deer’s eyes, however, is me … just me. In that moment, the deer and I seem to have reached a mutual understanding, and we share a bond.
I am as wild and as free as the deer is.
Feeling an overwhelming urge to move closer, I put one foot in front of the other and reach out for the deer. At first, he or she is unmoving, still staring and locked in fascination—most likely wondering what I am.
My feet squelch underneath the mud I’ve been lying on for however long I’ve been out here. I look down and marvel as the mud seeps in between my toes and pushes its way around my foot. I’m locked by a fascination of my own. Like I’m witnessing something like this for the first time.
But then I remember my deer.
I place one foot in front of the other again and again until I’m at the halfway point between me and the deer. It’s still unmoving as I make my way toward it, but when I stop about six feet away, the deer blows out a billow of steam from its nostrils before suddenly turning and walking away.
Instantly, I feel the loss. I try to scream out for the deer to stay, but not only does no sound escape me, but my throat cries out in agony.
I feel the tears at the loss of my deer, but with every wrack my body makes, fire like no other crawls up my throat. On instinct, I wrap a hand around my neck, and like a crashing wave, it all hits me.
Stuart is waiting for me.
Reid was waiting for me.
Reid raped me. While doing so, he placed his hands around my neck and choked me until I passed out.
Reid killed me.
At least, that’s what he thinks he did.
But in that moment, I don’t care.
In that moment, I grieve, and I am lost.
In that moment … I just want my deer back.