Darcy // h.s

33: Scared Straight

Darcy's P.O.V

  The fear that I felt was indescribable. Knowing that at any moment someone could walk in and end my life by a swift movement of a finger pulling a trigger was sickening. Every limb was throbbing or burning, and every muscle had that awful feeling like when you'd pulled something. When I had pictured my last minutes on Earth, I hadn't pictured anything like this.

  There were a few memorable times in my life where I was scared for my life. The first time was when William and Pamela first kidnapped me. I was young and let myself expect the worst. I remember thinking 'this is it' and wondering what people back home thought. One of my good friends had me watch this show calledVanishedabout people like me, only they were never found. I thought that I would become another new victim of that show.

    The second time I thought I was going to truly die was a year later. Nothing had really happened to me, and going into detail about such touchy subjects isn't my favorite past time. I had basically given up on life, and I expected life to give up on me in return. Little did I know.

  The third time was when I was brought to the hospital. I know, it sounds really ridiculous. But I hadn't been around people for two years, and the situation brought me a lot of anxiety. I had a fare share of cavities and injuries that were fixed there, and all that I can really remember now was the feeling of dying and alotof laughing gas.

  After that trip, I was sent to group counseling. The thought of that now was awful, because if I ever made it out alive that's where I'd be sent for sure. Group counseling, or 'group', was a cluster of broken girls like me. We were the people who's life seemed so stereotypically awful, you'd never picture what happened to us toactuallyhappen.

  The mere thought of going through a more painful version of what I've been through is enough to make me puke, but having to share a room with your puke is a last-resort type of thing. The thoughts of Harry resurfaced in my brain, and I laid down clinging to my knees thinking about him. What was going through his mind? Was he thinking of me? Looking for me?

  "Vanessa, I sat give me the damn phone!" Nathan barked from outside the door. I wondered what the scene was like out there. I expected us to be in some cheap motel apartment, Nathan holding a gun in his hand and Vanessa sitting crossed-legged on the couch with her lips pursed in a tight line.

  "It's the boy, I've got to hang up!" Vanessa screeched. My ear was pressed against the cool wood of the door, and I really hoped that they wouldn't swing it open and behead me.

  "Give me the phone!" Nathan hollered. There was a moment of silence following him, and I was afraid that he had done something to Vanessa. I wasn't afraid for her life, I was afraid for mine. If he kills his own blood relative then he'll surely kill me, right?

  But after a few moments of silence, Vanessa groaned loudly and I could hear Nathan on the phone with 'the boy'. It was obvious of who it was, and I tried my hardest to pick out his voice, but to no avail. It was hard to hear through the thick door, and I let out a loud and frustrated cry.

  Why me?

  I thought that in every ones lifetime, they were only omitted a certain amount of tragedies. I figured that once I had gotten out from being kidnapped the first time, surely God would give me a break. There's only so much that a person can go through, and it was truth that I had exceeded my limit by far.