Page 94 of Caged
Click. Barely perceptible.
It’s five.
Zero is the first number. Five is the second. This must be a date.
My eyes and ears are keenly focused while my brain spins like a washing machine, processing. The parallels are unmistakably clear. How he had preyed on my deepest insecurities that my brain had buried, caged off from the rest of my day-to-day consciousness as a form of protection.Or survival. But he found them, and then he weaponized my vulnerabilities, turning me against myself.
The love bombing, the gaslighting, the belittling, the blame when he felt me pull away, the unhinged, desperate behavior when I threatened to leave. The isolation when he knew he had lost me. He ground me down to the bone, and I let him.
But I can’t blame myself for persevering the only way I knew how, pulling tools from a rusty, forgotten but not gone toolkit. I can’t blame myself for clinging to each breadcrumb of counterfeit kindness with the desperation of a starving child, because I was the starving child, and you can’t fault a child for wanting to be unconditionally loved and not made to earn affection like a puppet on a string. It was give-and-take with my mom, I gave and she took. It’s been give-and-take with Kieren. I see that now, and I can’t chastise myself for losing a game I was never going to win.
If I weren’t being held hostage in a dog cage by my psychopath ex-boyfriend, who plans to literally kill me, I would have the strength to get up and walk away. I’m sure it would hurt, like it always does when you rip off the Band-Aid. But a kind boy once told me that the devil doesn’t deserve my tears, and he was right. Maybe one day, I’ll find him again, if the Universe allows me to find peace.
Click.
The number one.
Whatever accidental trauma my brain expunged over the last few days while I was in and out of consciousness has been a gift. If I didn’t wish him dead, I might thank Kieren for opening my eyes to what I otherwise may never have seen.
I feel lighter, validated now that the pathways to examine the darkest areas of my past have been cleared. It wasn’t easy to remember. In fact, it was excruciating, and I wonder if my screaming sobs were real or imagined. But in a way, itfelt like closure. I can see how those buried memories were subconsciously plaguing me. My childhood needs were holding me back, allowing me to fall victim to old patterns. Never again.
For starters, I'm not letting my abusive, narcissist mom back into my life. Never will I answer another phone call, and even if she does get out of prison one day, I’ll never let her see me. Calls, texts, emails... let her try. I am done. And if I can let my own mother go, I can let Kieren go, too.
I sit in the stillness of my newfound levity, feeling my body. Feeling the metal wires of the cage dig into my shoulder as I press against them, holding the lock taut. My legs have gone numb from the lack of space to stretch them fully. My throat is so dry, I can barely swallow, but I don’t dare drink the water. I’ve already made that mistake, and it cost me another day of hallucination down memory lane. My hunger has returned. Small, circular disks of brown dog food spill from the bowl in the cage like a feeding trough. I’m not embarrassed to admit I’ve eaten them.
Under the surface of my skin, a sensation boils. At first, it was a simmer, bubbling alongside my initial feelings of revelation and repose. Now, it tingles with a heat so hot, I might explode. It demands release, like a volcano awoken after centuries of forced dormancy.
Rage.
Rage for being treated like I’m worthless. Rage for what my mom did to me and my grandmother’s complicity. Rage for how my mom paraded me around like I was flypaper, a tool only good for one thing; a tool you trash once it has served its purpose.
Rage at Kieren for preying on my need to feel wanted. For years, he preyed on my wounds, exploiting them for his own wanton desires. I feel nothing but hate for this man. I loathe the air he breathes. I’m going to get out of this fucking cage, and then I’m going to kill him.
Fury simmers under my skin like a furnace. Once I get my hands on my little Icarus ex-boyfriend, I’ll burn him and every monster in this hellhole to the motherfucking ground.
Click.
Two.
Zero-Five-One-Two.
May twelfth. It doesn’t take a scholar’s mind to know what this day signifies.
My death day.
How fucking original.
“Jesus fuck, Kieren. It reeks in here.”
No shit, Jace. That’s what happens when you keep a human in a cage for over three days,I think, wishing I could speak to Jace mind-to-mind.
“It’s because she pissed herself. I’ve already had to change her once.”
Right... I do vaguely remember Kieren pulling me from the cage, swearing at me. This explains the puppy pee pad crunching underneath me for the last two days.
“Was she lucid?”
“Barely. I take her out once a day for a walk around my room, don’t worry.”
