she told me she was walking home with tears in her eyes when someone threw a bag over her head. she said everything else was a blur after that. she remembers the scuffle she had with him after she tried to run away, she never learned how to run in heels.
i like to imagine she fucked him up, that she left some scars and took out one of his eyes. he got the better of her, though.
she said she woke up tied to a bed in a dimly lit room, the small box television in front of her was playing full house. hours passed before he came in the door and fed her, took her to piss, the usual.
it was like this for weeks, he took the restraints off and let her roam around the house when he was away at work. she thought life was fine there. she got food, a bed, and entertainment. she missed everyone, yeah, but was it worth it?
he knew her name, where she lived and told her it was just pure luck when he saw her walking down the street. he creeped her out, and he smelled like spit.
she didn't consider leaving until a month passed and he went crazy. he hit her and pulled a knife on her, leaving the scar down the left side of her face. he said he was sorry, then continued his antics. she showed me the scars on her body with reluctance.
he raped her after the first attempt to escape. he caught her opening a window and half of her body was out of it before her grabbed her by her legs and threw her down on the cold tile of the kitchen. i can't think about how she must've felt in that moment without throwing up.
i guessed he was the weird type, with a dad body and hair on his chest. he was abusive and disgusting and stronger than her, always two steps ahead. he spanked her as discipline, like she was some toddler.
but as i listened to what she said and her stories the same question kept coming to my mind, i finally voiced it.
"how did you get out?" she looked at me and bit her bottom lip in guilt.
"i killed him."