Roseanne
He doesn't violate me again that night, and it's a small solace.
The basement grows dark, so dark, shadowing everything around me. It takes a long time for my eyes to adjust enough to see Lisa's silhouette perched beside me against her pipe. It must be well past midnight, making it Monday-which means, if people haven't already started questioning our disappearance by now, they will. I rarely call in sick to work, and I certainly never no-show. It would be a huge red flag to staff and co-workers.
And Lisa is a well-respected employee being one of the only few women in the union doing road construction. She works first shift. People will definitely start asking questions when she doesn't show up today.
Lisa's foot slides against the floor, pulling my gaze in her direction, despite the fact that I can't really see her. I hear her sigh as she adjusts herself and tries to get comfortable.
"You awake?"
Her voice is a comfort I didn't know I needed. "Yeah."
I roll the back of my head against the pole, back and forth, and tap my bare toes in opposite time. I slipped out of my heels when Ian brought me back downstairs after the bathroom break. The break was short-lived, unfortunately-he shoved me into a tiny restroom with an oversized t-shirt that reeked of him, then ordered me to change. I climbed out of my shredded dress and replaced it with the white shirt, doing my business, brushing my teeth with a pink toothbrush he left out for me, and joining him out in the hallway a few moments later. He handed me a turkey sandwich and a glass of water and told me I had three minutes to eat. He timed it. Then he dragged me back down to the basement, cuffed me to the pole, and did the same thing with Lisa.
He hasn't been back since.
I squint my eyes through the shroud of darkness, trying to make out Lisa's outline. It looks like her legs are stretched out in front of her, facing me. I wonder if she can see me better than I can see her. I clear my throat, running my tongue along my upper lip. "I lied to you earlier," I tell her, my voice ragged from crying, yelling, and lack of proper hydration.
Lisa makes a low humming sound, then replies, "Which part?"
"I wouldn't rather be alone."
There is a long pause. A resounding silence.
I nibble on the inside of my cheek, wondering if she's ever going to respond. There is nothing to fix my eyes to, so I just stare off into the dark abyss and wait.
Lisa eventually sighs. "The fact that he fed us and gave us water is a good sign. It means he's going to keep us around for a little while."
I glance in her general direction, taken off guard by the change of subject. I'm okay with it, though. I'd rather not dive into feelings and grudges and relationship history. I just wanted her to know that. For whatever reason... I wanted her to know.
I nod my head, even though she can't see me. "I guess. But he's still going to kill us-I'm sure of it."
"Maybe. But we have at least a few days to figure something out. We need a plan."
A plan. What sort of plan can we possibly put together down here, bound and restrained?
My mind wanders, and I can't help but think about the last "plan" we concocted. My mother put us both in charge of Rachel's twenty-eighth surprise birthday party two years ago. She wanted it to be special.
That was my mother's first mistake: thinking anything special could come out of me and Lisa Manoban working together.
"What is it?"
I poke my chin up at the sound of her voice breaking through my reveries. "What do you mean?"
I think I see her shrug. "You got quiet. That usually means you're deep in thought or piecing together a creative insult to throw at me."
I look right at her, and I'm pretty sure we're unabashedly staring at each other-but since I can't say for certain, I don't break away. "I was thinking about the mess we made of Rachel's party a couple of years ago and how any plan we come up with can't possibly go well."
Her laugh startles me because it's real and genuine. I'm not expecting it.
"You were definitely in charge of the invitations," she informs me, as if this argument hasn't been dredged up a million times before now.
"Lies. You'll never admit it, will you? I specifically put you in charge of invitations because you had more involvement with her social life. Plus, I was already in charge of the catering, cake, and DJ."
"I had alcohol duty. I was clearly overwhelmed with responsibility and under a ton of stress."
My eyebrows raise with skepticism.
"I still don't understand why your mom wouldn't just let us create a Facebook event like the rest of the world," Lisa finishes.
I groan and roll my eyes back. Even though no one showed up to the party because someone forgot to send out invitations, it was still a memorable night of Chinese takeout and horror movies around the fireplace. A nostalgic smile sweeps across my face. "At least she got to celebrate this year before..." My voice trails off as I look away. The lighthearted atmosphere dissipates when the reality of our situation sinks back in. I pull my legs to my chest and press my cheek to my kneecaps. "I'm going to try and sleep. I have a feeling whatever is in store for me tomorrow will mentally exhaust me."
I shudder at the memory of Ian between my legs, stealing away my faith in humanity. I'm confident my light will be entirely snuffed out if there is ever an end to this persecution. There is no going back to my former self.
Lisa whispers at me through the dark after my words leave a foreboding chill in the air. "Goodnight, Rosie."
My breath catches on the inhale. "Goodnight."
The minutes tick by. I count them.
Six minutes and thirty-five seconds.
It's too quiet, which means my brain is loud and turbulent. It refuses to rest-and I don't blame it, really. I swallow down my pride, burying my face further into the valley between my knees. "Lisa?"
"Yeah?"
I wet my lips and close my eyes. I can't believe I'm asking her this, but it's easier to be vulnerable in the dark... and when you have nothing to lose. "Can you sing to me?"
My belly swims with nerves, and I wonder if my request is too intimate. Too bold. Maybe I'm asking too much of someone who isn't even my friend. But the sound of her voice, currently all gravel and grit, singing my favorite song, lulled me to sleep earlier, and I'm desperate for a few hours of peace. I need to dream myself out of this prison.
Lisa is silent for a few heartbeats, and I'm worried she's going to ignore me. Shut me down. I'm about to apologize, backtrack, tell her to forget about it, but then she replies.
"Any requests?"
A calming sensation washes over me and my body relaxes. "You can sing Hey Jude again if you want. It's my favorite."
"I know," she says softly.
She knows? We've never discussed our favorite songs with each other before. I've never cared to know her favorite anything, and I assumed she felt the same way. But I suppose when you know someone for fifteen years, whether you like them or not, you're bound to pick up on little things along the way.
When her voice infiltrates the darkness and fills the silence with rich music, I find myself drifting away almost instantly. It's something familiar. Something beautiful. Something good I can latch onto, absorb, and get lost in. I hum the verses into my knees right along with her until sleep eventually takes over and whisks me someplace else.
I dream about the ocean again.
The water is lapping at my toes, pulling me in like a magnet. Beckoning me with its depth and mystery. Tempting me with its lifeforce.
I jump in.
And I swim away.
Before I know it, a beam of light is caressing the side of my face and I begin to stir. My neck is stiff and sore, and I almost cry out in pain as I lift my head from my knees. I instinctively try to raise my hand and massage away the kink, but I'm denied the privilege when my cuffs catch against the pole-a sinister reminder of my predicament.
Of my hell.
I roll my neck from side to side, my eyelids peeling open to find Lisa staring at me from her corner with the faintest smile touching her lips. I make a sour face. "Were you watching me sleep?"
Her chains jingle when her shoulders shrug in reply. "I'm not exactly overwhelmed with better things to do," she quips as that strange, little smile lingers.
It's a curious thing to see given our situation. I don't think I'm capable of smiling-not until my chains are lifted and I am free.
But... will I ever be free?
I shake away the depressing thoughts, stretching out my legs and straightening, then wincing when my muscles protest. The ground is cold and unforgiving beneath my bare legs, adding to the discomfort. I flick my eyes up to Lisa. Her smile has dissolved, but her gaze is still soft as she watches me. "How did you sleep?" I ask her. I already know the answer, but I'm not sure what else to say-our assortment of conversation starters is fairly scarce.
Excited for your pee break today? Ready to watch me get sexually assaulted? How soon do you think they'll find our bodies?
My own morbid thoughts make me cringe, so I swallow them down.
"Not as good as you," Lisa says. There's a distinct twinkle in her eyes that matches the smile I already miss. "You were out like a light."
"I was drooling, wasn't I?"
"Your secret is safe with me."
I almost smile. Almost. Instead, I dip my chin, pursing my lips together as I stare at my shell pink toenails. Rachel and I had gotten pedicures after work on Friday to celebrate the weekend festivities. I realize that today is her actual birthday. My sister will likely discover that her two favorite people in the world are missing... on her birthday.
Happy birthday, sis. I got you a Fitbit.
I wonder if Lisa is reading my mind because she tilts her head to the side, studying me almost fondly. "She was excited for that ice cream cone today," she tells me, and there is a whimsy to her voice.
Tears well and burn as I nibble on my lip. Rachel and I always celebrate our birthdays together with an ice cream cone at a downtown café. We do our secret handshake, take a selfie in front of the ice cream parlor, and eat our treats on the swings at a nearby park. It's been tradition ever since we were children when our parents would take us. Rachel's birthday is in November, so often times we are bundled up like Eskimos, getting strange looks from passersby as we sit on snow-covered swings.
But we love it.
And there's nowhere else I'd rather be right now.
I wiggle my toes as the memories force a few silent tears down my cheeks. I brush them away with my shoulders and try to suck in a calming breath.
Lisa is still watching me, taking in my emotions like a film. "You'll get that ice cream cone. I promise you."
I'm not sure why she's being kind to me. It's confusing and unsettling, and I don't know how to respond to her like this. We're designed to fight-swords of steel, heavy armor, and words that sting and draw blood. Letting my guard down feels an awful lot like surrender.
Unsure of what to say, I just offer her a scowl.
Lisa lowers her eyes to the slate gray floor with mild defeat. When she glances back up to me, the twinkle is long gone, replaced by the hopelessness that is hovering inside these four walls, closing in on us. "I'm not your enemy down here, Roseanne." Her words carry an unfamiliar weight as they continue to disarm me.
"I don't know how to see you as anything else," I admit.
She stares at me, unwavering, daring me to look away. Then the twinkle reappears, and Lisa replies, "Because it's fun."
"No."
My defenses flare back to life and I'm grateful for that-because it's easier.
Comfortable.
Not fun.
"You're such a liar," she persists. "And stubborn."
I narrow my eyes at her, my molars grinding together in the way that they do when I'm preparing to rush into battle with Lisa Manoban. I cross my feet at the ankles and lean back against the pole. "You sure have a twisted idea of fun," I shoot back.
Lisa runs her tongue along the roof of her mouth, breathing in deep as she prepares to take me down. I can almost feel her dagger poking at my chest. Her head cocks to the side, her eyes blazing. "Remember when my friend from college came into town to take me out for drinks? You told him I had a secret crush on him."
Ah, crap.
"All my friends knew about me being an intersex, but you slipping me fucking Viagra before we left and I had to hide my dick with a bar napkin the whole damn night was embarrassing as shit. I'm pretty sure he noticed because I haven't heard from him since, and he deleted me on Facebook." Lisa is watching my reaction like a hawk. "You can't tell me you didn't love that shit."
Dammit. I completely give myself away when a smile creeps in, pulling at my lips. It's my first smile in days. I'm not sure whether to be angry and accusatory, or to keep on smiling.
But Lisa already knows she's won. "I rest my case."
I turn my head to the side in an attempt to hide the evidence, but the damage is already done. She sees right through me.
We are interrupted when an ugly presence pervades us.
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
Those boots stomp all over me before they even reach the bottom of the staircase. I rise to my feet as my heart thunders in my chest with resistance. I'm already shaking-quivering with fear. Lisa stands slowly, her eyes still pinned on me, but missing the playful spark I had seen only seconds ago.
I want it back.
"Good morning, pets," Ian greets us, wearing some kind of black work polo that stretches out over his large body. "How's my little fox?" His dark eyes shift to Lisa. "And the dirty dog."
I swallow. "We want to go home."
Raucous laughter erupts from his mouth, and I feel his spit mist my face. I hold back a gag.
"You are home. I'm your master now," Ian says once his laughter has ebbed. "Is little fox ready to play?"
No, no, no.
Ian loosens his belt buckle as he descends on me with a sickening, lust-filled gaze. I start inching away, kicking my legs, swinging my head back and forth in protest.
"You sick bastard... you'll never get away with this," Lisa shouts, yanking her chains forward as the veins in her neck bulge and pulsate. "When I get out of here I will beat you into dogmeat if you lay another hand on her. I promise you that."
Ian chuckles, unthreatened by the warning. "Don't be jealous, doggie. You'll get your turn."
What the hell? I jerk my head towards Lisa, wondering if she is also going to be subject to Ian's vile acts. Oh, God. The thought makes my stomach pitch.
"Do what you want to me. Leave her alone."
Lisa's words only tighten the coil of unease in my gut. Why is this woman throwing herself to the wolves for me?
She hates me. I hate her.
But I don't have time to sort through the confusion because Ian is tugging up the hem of my t-shirt and fondling my bare breasts in his sweaty palms.
"No... please," I whisper. My voice is weak, and my fight is futile. My body still rejects Ian's advances as much as it can, but eventually I go limp and numb, my eyes searching for Lisa.
Lisa talks me through it like she did last time.
Look at me, Rosie. Focus on me. Nothing else is real. It's only me and you.
I sink underwater once more and let myself drown.
"I'm cold."
The sun is setting and our only light source begins to eclipse. A chill has settled in my bones. I'm not sure if it's the cold cement against my exposed skin or my reality stabbing into me like icicles, freezing my veins.
Both, I'm sure.
I'm lying against the pole, listless and paralyzed. The last forty-eight hours, along with all the long, foreboding hours to come, have taken their toll on me. I'm mentally drained.
And so, so cold.
Lisa looks ashen and equally rundown, but she's spent the entire day talking to me, telling me stories, and trying to lift my spirits. I find that my stone walls are crumbling in the presence of her alter-ego.
She casts her sympathetic eyes on me, trailing them along my naked legs. The muscles in her jaw tick. "I meant what I said," she says to me, her tone low and hardened. "I'm getting us out of this. And I'm going to kill him for hurting you."
I'm unsure of what to say to such a bold promise, so I force a tight smile that has no intention of reaching my eyes. "You really think we're getting out of here?" I ask timidly.
"I know we are."
I realize Lisa has no way of knowing this and she's only saying it to give me hope, but I let the words soak into all of my susceptible cracks and crevasses. I cling to them with everything I have left.
Before I can reply, I watch as Lisa begins to kick off her shoes. One by one, she uses the toe of her left foot to shimmy out of the heel of her right. Then vice versa. When her sneakers are removed, she slides them over to me with her sock-covered feet. "They probably smell like a gym locker, but they're warm. It should help a little."
Our eyes catch and hold, a foreign tenderness traveling between us. I press my lips together, my gaze flickering between the shoes and Lisa's vulnerable expression.
She throws me a smile, just as tender, and I wonder how hard it was for her to produce such a thing at a time like this. "I'd give you my socks if I thought you had a way of putting them on."
Maybe this is what my sister has always seen in Lisa.
"She's not that bad, Rosie. Just give her a chance. She's a decent person."
I used to laugh in Rachel's face because Lisa never showed me her "decent" side. I never understood why.
"Because it's fun."
"It's harmless, and it's us."
"You give it right back to me, Roseanne."
"Thank you," I say as the day turns to dusk and the sunlight abandons us.
I fall asleep that evening, rattled and bewildered, beaten down and used. But a tiny pocket of hope lingers inside me, buried deep, trying so hard to claw its way to the surface.
And, above all, I am warm.
The days go by slow and torturous, but they go by.
We are still alive. I'm holding on to that.
Lisa and I play 'Twenty Questions' to pass the time. She is winning by two games, which grates me. I'm a teacher, and I'm competitive... especially with Lisa. I blame it on the lack of nutrition and traumatic circumstances.
I am raped daily.
I expect it now, so the raw, blinding terror of it has subdued as much as it possibly can. I'm getting better and better at zoning out and turning it off. It's almost like an out-of-body experience. Lisa talks me through it every time, and her voice is a solace in the back of my mind as I slip away.
We get our bathroom breaks around five P.M. each day after Ian gets home from work. We are allowed to brush our teeth, then we have turkey sandwiches with Miracle Whip on white bread and one full glass of water. And then we are sent back down to our prison, shackled to our respective posts, and forced to survive another night in the dark.
Lisa sings me to sleep every night, and it's the only thing I look forward to.
Take a sad song and make it better.