Page 10 of Strangled
To go from blissful unconsciousness to nerve-ending awareness feels like death.
My shirt slowly melts into my flesh as the water seeps into my skin, second by second, minute by minute, I lie, screaming until my throat is so raw, no sound comes out.
I ache, burn, wail to move, to get away from this searing sensation, but I’m utterly alone.
My eyes sting with tears I cannot control, but the salt only adds deeper injury to the wounds, each tiny droplet alighting the fire anew each time.
I want my mother to hold me, to tell me it will be okay, despite what I saw her do. My eyes flew open at the moment of contact. Her face betrayed emotions other than pure and utter disdain for my existence.
I’m going to die—alone. Always alone.
* * *
Thirteen years old
The attic has been my room for as long as I can remember. It’s the furthest space from them, which I’m sure is why they kept me locked up here.
I’ve never been outside, my only glimpse of the outside world being through my small, murky window that casts everything in a dull, blurred color.
It’s how I discovered the crawl space under the floorboard near the corner of the room. When you’re locked in a confined space your whole life, you find things to entertain you.
It started with me picking at the wood, chipping away at it with my fingernail over and over in a monotonous tap, tap, tap. As I moved from wood slat to wood slat, I eventually came across a small area that was different from the others.
The floor itself shifted, revealing a small, cobweb-infested tunnel, and for the first time in my life, I felt my heart beat in my chest.
That’s when I was eleven. Now two years later, I have a couple of tunnels dug, but I mostly like to stay within the wall cavity; it’s where my holes are.
I never knew how big this house was until I found my way out. There’s a kitchen with so much food, it makes my stomach ache whenever I see it, so I try to stay away, even though sometimes I can’t resist the urge.
I haven’t gathered the courage to take some yet, to leave my walls, even though I know I should. I only get fed and given water once every two days, and now that I’m getting bigger, walking around so much without food takes all of my energy. I have to sleep for a really long time to be able to stand without feeling dizzy.
The sunroom is my favorite room. It’s bright, and I can see the trees beyond the yard. I’m breathless as I squish my face against one of the many holes in this room. I wanted one at every possible angle so I would be able to take in as much of the outside as possible.
I wish I could go out there, more than anything—to breathe the air that looks so fresh, to get a reprieve from inhaling mildew and rotting wood—but my parents have alarms on every window and door.
I discovered that when I was only six. I was so hungry, I couldn’t see, so after weeks of fidgeting with the old metal lock on the small window, I was able to pry it open. The second the base left the sill, a terrifyingly loud alarm blared through my room, pulling a startled scream from my throat.
When I heard the string being yanked and the door to my attic was dropped into its ladder, I slammed it shut and scurried into the corner, hiding in the shadows amongst the spiders and dead mice.
I shiver involuntarily as I remember the way Dad’s fist hammered into me. That’s the day he broke my arm and my ribs. Of course, when he was done, he cleaned me up and set my arm in a cast before I was left alone once more.
So, even though I wish to feel the air in my lungs and the trees against my skin as I run past, free and unafraid, the prospect alone scares me into submission.
The saddest truth of all is, I think even if I could leave, I wouldn’t.
These walls have become my home. My sanctuary. My secret indulgence of freedom.
* * *
“Lyken,” I try his name on my tongue for the first time as I watch him sway slightly back and forth, the orange fog surrounding him in waves.
I expected his presence to feel suffocating.
It’s anything but.
But this—these… people my stranger allowed into my house is unacceptable.
I allowed him to be here, curiosity winning over my compulsion to be alone, but I never planned on having this many people around.
