Missing Like You

THIRTY-ONE

ISABELLE DONOVAN
FRIDAY JUNE 24, 2022

Day eight. It's officially been one week since I woke up here last Friday, and it's safe to say I don't think I've ever had a week quite like this one.

JD comes into my room in the morning and informs me that he has to go out for a bit and doesn't know when he'll be back. He reminds me of the doors and windows in this place, and that he has security cameras to keep an eye on me. He tells me not to try something I'll regret. Then he leaves a bucket in the corner of my bedroom in case I need to relieve myself.

I watch him leave and the door closes and locks behind him. Immediately I get up and walk over to it, twisting the handle, just to double check. Then I walk over to the window and peer through the slats. I can vaguely make out the driveway, but I see a car. I wait a few more minutes, then I watch as he exists the cottage and makes his way down the pathway and into the car. It comes to life and he backs out and drives away.

Great. Now I truly am alone here with nothing to do and nothing to aid in my escape.

I pace the room, walking in circles for a while. Then I sit on the bed and stare at the ceiling. I flop backwards and close my eyes, raking my hands through my hair. It is then that I let out a scream. A loud, full lunged scream. I've been holding it in for so long – one week to be exact. All I've wanted to do is get it out of my system. And so I do exactly that.

Once I've screamed enough, I get bored. I check the clock in the corner which JD so graciously allowed me to have. It's 10:32 a.m., which means he's only been gone ten minutes. This is going to be a long day.

I lay down on the floor and stretch out my body. I've never really been into yoga, but I try a few things out. I did Pilates last year, but that didn't end well. And not because of the Pilates. It was all because of fucking Scott. But I'm not even going to get into that right now.

I contort my body in a multitude of ways. I stretch my legs until they hurt. Then I attempt to do a headstand. I wait until I feel all of the blood rushing to my head. It feels terrible and relaxing all at once. I close my eyes and try to imagine myself elsewhere.

I fall back onto the floor and rest for a moment. Then I begin doing sit-ups. Then push-ups. I get up and do jumping jacks. I do a full workout, moving my body, sweating, burning calories. It isn't until I'm finished that I realize what a bad idea that was. Yes I may have been training my body, but I don't know when JD will be back, and therefore, I don't know when my next shower will be.

I take a sip from my glass of water. Don't know how long this will last, so I ration. I walk back over to the window and peer outside. Still no sign of my captor.

I charge at the door as hard as I can, hoping I will somehow break through and make it out to the living room. No luck. All I get is a sore shoulder.

I pace the room, then try it again. Nothing. I glance around the room and observe my surroundings: the bed, the dresser, a small wooden chair, a nightstand, a lamp, and the clock. I can't really use anything except the chair, so I pick it up and throw it at the door as hard as I can.

I grab the door handle in between my hands and jiggle it, pulling as hard as I can. I get down on my knees and try to peer through the keyhole. I can barely see. I give the door one last punch before I fall backwards, collapsing onto the floor.

______

I wake up when I hear the door opening. I'm lying on the bed now, having moved here from my spot on the floor. I check the clock. 5:42 p.m. He's been gone all day and I've been trapped here, alone and bored.

"Hi," he says when he walks in. He's carrying bags of groceries.
"Where the fuck were you?"
"I was out. I had things to do."
"For seven and a half hours!?"
He stares at me, blinks once. "Yes."
"I've wanted to shatter that window and stab myself with the shards just so I didn't have to suffer through this solitude any longer."
"I'm so sorry Isabelle, I really am." He unloads the bags of groceries onto the end of the bed. "I got you some things. I hope this makes up for it."
"I highly doubt it," I say, then slide over and begin peering in the bag. There's loaves of bread and fresh fruit. There's packages of pasta and tubs of ice cream. There's chicken breasts and steaks and asparagus and frozen pizzas. It seems that he listens when I speak after all because he's managed to get a good majority of my favorite foods.
I sit back on the bed, satisfied with his grocery haul. I look up at him. "Where else did you go?"
"Don't worry about it."
Now I sound like the suspicious girlfriend. "I want to know where you went."
"You don't need to know that." He gathers up the bags once again.
"Did you see people? Anyone I know?"
"No."
"What were you doing?"
"Don't worry about it."
Then another question hits me. "Are they looking for me?" I ask, suddenly desperate to know. "Am I on the news? Do they know I'm missing?"
He stares at me and hesitates before answering. "Yes," he says, then gathers the bags and disappears through the doors, leaving me all alone, once again.