Ella

The first night, I don’t sleep at all.

It’s horrid. Being here. As if the world has suddenly disappeared to be replaced with a black void. The only thing I have is my memories, and I often just shut myself off and go there just to feel secure.

But I’m not.

I’m far from okay.

I’m in a glass prison with an unknown stranger, being held like some caged animal.

For what reason?

Will I ever get out?

Graham … how can such a cruel man have such a sweet name?

In the morning and evening, he stops by with clean clothes and food. The food wrapped in aluminum, he places it in the box then pushes it my way so I can take it out. The box only opens from one side, obviously. He took precautions so he wouldn’t get attacked. Smart. Because I would’ve definitely taken the opportunity.

The food doesn’t come with utensils, so I’m left to eat with my hands. Rice and chicken were on the menu tonight, but it’s not enough. I’m still hungry, but I won’t ask for more. I’ll be damned if I beg that man. I’d rather starve.

The small toilet in the corner is visible to anyone, so I usually wait until the man next to me is asleep before I go. But it’s hard holding it all day. I can’t imagine keeping this up for months. I’ll probably have no other choice, though.

Now, I’m lying on the bed with a rumbling stomach, and a stranger is staring straight back at me.

Ever since I’ve gotten here, the stranger on the other side of the room hasn’t taken his eyes off me. Not unless Graham is in the room, which makes me wonder if he’s scared of repercussions. But the moment Graham’s gone, he returns to watching over me with a certain vigilance that’s as much endearing as it is scary.

He seems so calm, unlike me.

Collected? Maybe.

But I can tell from the way he’s looking at me that he’s not.

It’s just his body that’s still, but his eyes … they’re burning with a fire that’s not easily quenched.

But why?

Why is this man watching me the way he is?

And how long has he been here?

He’s obviously not trying to escape, which begs the question if he’s ever tried. With that kind of physique, you’d be crazy not to. If he has, then there’s no hope of me ever getting out. If he can’t break through, then neither can I.

So am I doomed to stay here forever? Or until Graham decides he’s going to pity me?

I sigh. There’s got to be more to this. Some sort of sad story I can use to my advantage to get him to let me go.

But this man right next to me … I feel like he’s part of it all. Like there’s a reason I’m here. Why he’s here, right next to me.

I wonder if we’re part of some kind of big plan Graham has in store for us.

I shiver at the thought.

To distract myself, I gaze around the room again as I’ve already done so many times before. It makes me feel sick to my stomach. But I’m not about to give up the much-needed food.

Instead, my eyes find their way back to the only thing that relaxes me whenever I look at it.

Him.

That man … I don’t know what it is, but something about the way he watches over me makes me feel less alone. Less like I’m about to collapse and cry.

But it’s damn scary too.

It’s the middle of the night. I only know because a clock hangs on the far end of the wall near the lamp that’s still on.

I can’t close my eyes, though. His eyes are on me like a hawk.

We should be sleeping, but instead, we’re staring at each other.

Like I could ever sleep when a mountain-sized muscle man is eyeing me from the corner.

Suddenly, his lips quirk up into a smile, catching me off guard.

“Sleep.” There’s that rough voice again, the one that sizzles with power with every spoken letter.

I don’t know why I feel like his commands make me wanna do exactly what he says.

Like he’s saying, “It’s safe; I’ll be here, watching over you.” But that wouldn’t make any sense because I don’t know him.

Then again, he is a prisoner in this place … just like I am.

We’re both in this together, so I guess I should trust him.

Still, I’d sleep a lot better knowing his demanding stare wasn’t penetrating my back.

I shake my head and point at him.

He frowns and tilts his head up. “Why not?”

I point at him again.

He leans up on his elbows, his abs bulging like mad. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t completely zoom in on them. He’s quite handsome—like one of those models from a magazine—but much bigger, and he looks so strong.

However, his well-trained body is a distraction I don’t need right now.

I need sleep, desperately. I don’t intend to collapse; I have to avoid it at all cost. Especially when Graham’s near … when he could come in at any moment.

Still, this man on the other end of the glass is staring at me, and it makes me wanna shout.

Stop looking at me like that!

But of course, nothing comes out.

It’s been like that for twelve long years.

I still can’t get used to it, but my body won’t listen to my brain.

For some reason, whenever I think about talking or screaming, it jams shut and my vocal cords clamp up. I don’t have a choice. My voice isn’t mine to control anymore.

The man smiles at me again, and then he turns around on his bed and faces the wall.

I stare in disbelief. He actually turned away from me and stopped looking.

Did he do that because I pointed at him? Because I made him aware of what he was doing?

Or is just because he’s tired now?

Whatever the case, I have to grasp this opportunity to get some sleep too, despite being nervous about whatever may happen when I do go to sleep.

I can’t hold it off any longer.

I’m too tired.

But my mind keeps going in circles, wondering where I am. If I’ll ever get out.

If … anything.

* * *

Twelve years ago

I stand in front of the hole in the ground and stare at the wooden casket deep inside. My hand rises and releases a few rose petals. Slowly, they drift to the bottom, just like my heart. I’m leaving it here with her for safekeeping.

Mom said I should say something, but I don’t know what.

Goodbye doesn’t sound right.

I don’t want to say goodbye.

She should be here, with us, but nothing I do will ever bring her back.

Suzie’s gone … and it’s my fault.

The detectives said she broke her neck when she fell off the cliff, but she died because that stranger took her.

I could’ve stopped him from taking her. I could’ve gone after her faster on my bike. I could’ve done so many things. But I didn’t, and now she’s dead.

I sigh as the tears roll down my cheeks. Glancing over my shoulder, I can’t help but look for Mom who’s weeping against my dad’s chest, clutching him tight. When our eyes connect, the sadness in hers breaks my heart in two.

Every word I could say would only make it more difficult.

When we sat at the table and I tried to discuss what happened, Mom said, “Don’t discuss it. Please. I don’t want to hear it.”

When I was at the funeral home with Dad, he said, “Nothing will bring her back.”

I said I was sorry. I said it again and again until my throat hurt and my voice became hoarse.

But Dad is right. Nothing I say will ever bring her back.

Nothing I say will ever make them happy again.

Nothing changes what’s been done.

So why talk at all?

As I stare at my sister’s grave, guilt washes over me. Even though I haven’t done anything … that’s exactly what I did.

Nothing.

Because if I had done something, she might’ve still been here.

If I’d biked harder, yelled louder, or let her win so she would’ve been the one up on the tree, she might’ve still been here. I would’ve done anything to trade places with her.

But it’s too late for that. Too late for saying I’m sorry. Too late for anything.

She’s gone …

And my voice disappeared with her.

* * *

Present

A loud banging on the glass wakes me. I sit upright in my bed, completely freaked out. It’s Graham with another plastic plate of food.

Waking up out of nowhere in a place like this still makes my heart drop. Every time I open my eyes, I see dull grayness … and a glass prison surrounding it. No sunlight. No fresh air. No green trees and flowers. Nothing. It’s like waking up in a nightmare.

I don’t know how much time has passed, but since he’s back with food, I guess it’s already morning. I barely feel rested, though.

I get up and walk closer. Graham puts the plastic plate into the box and slides it inside.

“Eat,” he says. “You’re gonna need it.”

My lips part.

For what?

I sign.

I actually sign the words.

Graham seems confused as he watches my fingers move, and then he bursts into laughter. “Right. You think I can understand that?”

Of course, he can’t.

He’s not a signer. He’s a talker.

I used to be like that too. But when I stopped talking, my parents had to think of something to get me to communicate with the outside world again. I only talked to them but no one else. I’d go completely silent in the presence of others but flourish in their vicinity. I couldn’t tell them what was wrong because I didn’t understand it. The doctors didn’t know what to do with me either. An unusual case of Selective Mutism, they said. No cure.

That’s why my parents brought me to a special school where they taught me how to sign, so I could at least communicate with the rest of the world again. I had deaf and mute classmates, which made me feel much more at home there anyway. By the time I was out of school, signing felt like second nature.

It’s all I’ve ever known. But now, I feel lost in oblivion, a place where no one can understand me. My words mean nothing if they don’t come from sound.

I sigh.

Graham stuffs toilet paper into the box and says, “Use this if you have to go.”

Thanks, I sign.

He smiles. “You’re welcome. If that’s what you said.”

Yes, but I guess he doesn’t need to know sign language to understand the basics of language.

Then again, I didn’t thank him to be kind. I thanked him sarcastically. At least, in my head.

“I might be keeping you in here, but that doesn’t mean I’m a monster. I’ll take good care of you.”

Good care? Right.

I point at the guy in the cage next to me.

What about him?

Graham briefly glances at him before turning his head back to me. “Don’t worry about him.”

I don’t understand any of this.

“Now eat. Sleep.”

When he turns around, I knock on the glass again.

I mouth the word, “Please,” and use my hands to mimic opening a book.

A tentative smile forms on his lips. “You want … a book?”

I nod. Anything. I don’t want to ask for big things. I don’t need a TV. I don’t need games or any of the flashy things. Something small is enough. It’s all I can ask for without him getting pissed. And a book is all I need to escape, if only just for a little while.

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” he says, and then he turns around and walks off again.

I wonder if he’ll come back.

I quickly grab the plate of food and gobble down the tortillas. It’s something. Any food is welcome at this point. I fill my belly with water that I filled a plastic cup with using the small faucet and then put it all back into the box again.

After a few minutes, Graham is back again, his hands behind his back. When he’s near my prison, he holds up a book I don’t recognize. Captive and Free. And the smile on his face seems to indicate he genuinely thinks this is a good surprise.

“For you.” He winks and places it in the box. I reach inside.

He doesn’t pull back. Instead, he grabs my wrist.

I try to jerk myself free, but he’s much stronger than I am.

“Make no mistake, girl. This isn’t a gift. This is a transaction.”

My brows drop, not liking where this is going.

He looks me dead in the eyes. “Things work a little bit differently here. If you behave, you get good things. If you don’t behave, I’ll take the good things away again,” he growls. “Got it?”

I nod.

“Good.” He releases my wrist, and I immediately pull back, not giving a shit about grabbing the book.

I sit down on my bed, too scared to even come close to him right now.

He cocks his head and grins. “You’re a good girl. Exactly what I was hoping for. He picked well.”

Picked well? Who did? What’s he talking about?

When he turns around, I’m almost tempted to bang on the glass again, but at this point, I’m not sure I could deal with more of these surprise touches. Because his hand around my wrist felt like a snake wrapping itself around my arm so it could bite into my veins.

I’m still shivering from the encounter.

And I can still feel his grip.

See his stain on my arm.

I wipe it off, again and again, but it won’t work.

Defeated, I stare at my cell and the book luring me in from the box where it lies. It only takes me thirty minutes to give up. Thirty minutes for the promise of a world beyond this one to seduce me.

So I get up from my bed and pull the book from the box, caving in to my only desire.

To escape.