ISABELLE DONOVAN
TUESDAY JUNE 21, 2022
Today is Tuesday, I think. I've been trying to keep track of the days the best that I can, but sometimes it gets a bit difficult, especially given how much I've been sleeping. I'm pretty sure today is Tuesday, which means today is the twenty-first of June: the summer solstice. It's the first day of summer and I'm missing it, held captive here in this cottage. I ask JD for a pencil and begin keeping tally marks on the wall behind the bed. Five tally marks, five days.
He still won't tell me why I'm here, but I've somehow begun to let go of my desire to know. Think of it this way: my burning desire to have answers is my weakness. It's something he can hold over me, taunt me with. I figured if I let go of this desire, then I am letting go of my weakness. The key to survival is to have nothing for him to hold over me. And sometimes that means having nothing at all.
Thus, I have given up asking questions. It gets me nowhere. I know he's not going to tell me anyways. It's his form on punishment for me. When I ask questions, it gets my hopes up. The other key to survival is not to have hope. Because when you have hope, it only gets crushed. As Shakespeare once said, "Expectation is the route of all heartache."
I spend my days thinking and envisioning. It sounds quite boring when you really think about it, but I promise you, it can prove to be somewhat entertaining. I imagine world's that don't exist. I create scenarios from nothing and allow my imagination to run wild. I scan through memories and pick points in time in which I'd like to travel to. I think about my childhood, high school, meeting Scott. I think about our wedding, getting Zeppelin, the miscarriage. I think about his infidelity and how it all fell apart. Why is it that while trapped in a room with infinite things to think about, my mind always goes back to Scott?
I guess the same could be said for my heart.
I could have anyone I want, essentially. I'm somewhat attractive. I have a good personality. I can be funny and entertaining to be around. So why is it that since my split with Scott, I've been by myself? Aside from my almost-date with Justin on Thursday. But I guess now we'll never know what could have happened. JD took that opportunity away from me.
Perhaps JD wants me for his own. He could be a secret admirer of sorts. I picture him standing outside of Bee Hive, watching me as I leave work in the evenings. He sits in his car and waits, taking notes on what I'm wearing, what I'm doing.
I miss Scott. I tell myself that I could have anyone I want, but the truth of the matter is, the only one I want is Scott.
I've done some unhealthy things to get over him. As well as to get under him. I probably should have cut him off cold turkey, but when you've known someone for half your life, it's a bit difficult to just pretend they never existed. Every single memory I have is with Scott. We grew up together, cultivated from teenagers to adults with each other. Every big milestone or celebration I experienced, Scott was by my side. I think it's safe to say that I'll never get over him. My heart belongs to him and him only. But just because I'm hopelessly head over heels in love with him and probably will be for the rest of my life, doesn't mean that I can be with him. He hurt me in the worst way possible, betrayal in its purest form. I cannot forgive something like that. And regardless of how badly I want to forget it all and push it in the past, I can't. Because every time I look at him, I picture him with someone else.
I didn't end things right away after the discovery. As hurt and shocked as I was at the news, I stayed with him until I could process things more. But we could only attempt to make it work for so long. And then six months ago, in January, only four short months since The Discovery, I knew I couldn't do it. I had let him get away with it for too long. I couldn't sleep in the same bed as him. I couldn't eat meals at the same table as him. Every time I looked at him, I envisioned him having sex with another woman and I felt nauseous.
So we called it quits. We decided to separate. It wasn't a mutual decision, it was my own. I simply forced Scott to agree with me, and he did. My only regret is not bringing Zeppelin with me. Maybe if she was there on Thursday night, she could have protected me. That's what she does best. I should have learned by now that men can't be trusted.
JD comes into my room and asks what I'd like for dinner this evening. At this point, I honestly don't even know what I want anymore. I recite off a list of arbitrary meals, not paying much attention. He tells me he'll make me spaghetti and meatballs. "Throw in some wine while you're at it," I yell as he closes the door behind him.
He returns a little while later, I want to say thirty minutes. I wish I had a clock in here. It's driving me absolutely mental not knowing the date or time. He's carrying a tray, as usual. My eyes meet with the plate, and to my surprise, sitting on the tray next to it is a glass of wine.
He sets the tray in front of me. I pick up the glass and bring it to my nose. "Sauvignon?" I ask.
"Pinot Noir."
I hesitate, then bring the glass to my lips and take a sip. I notice the glass isn't a glass at all – it's plastic.
"Is it to your standards?" he asks me.
"It's alright. Not bad." I set it down and pick up the fork, twirling into the spaghetti. "Why do you never eat with me?" I ask.
"Would you like me to?"
"Yes."
He stands then, and I watch as he disappears through the door. I take a bite and wait. He reappears a moment later, matching tray in hands.
He sits at the edge of the bed so we're facing each other, and mirrors my actions. Wine glass up, wine glass down. Fork in hand, fork in spaghetti.
"So romantic," I remark. He ignores me.
"How are you feeling?" he asks instead, making small talk.
"How do you think I'm feeling?" My mind goes back to yesterday morning after breakfast. When I asked him to stay. We were having a conversation. Albeit, a forced conversation, but still a conversation nonetheless. And when he started to leave, I knew that would be taken away from me. I needed human interaction, even if it was with him. So I asked him to stay, and we continued talking. We talked for a long time. And it's strange when you really think about it, that in the grand scheme of things, he is my captor and I am his prisoner, but I'm sort of enjoying his company.
I've also studied the effects of Stockholm syndrome long enough to know that this is a potential possible outcome of my prolonged captivity here. I don't feel attached to him at this moment, but I fear what might come. The point where I feel reliant on him. The point where I feel attached to him. I tell myself to never let it get to that.
"It was raining earlier," he says.
I look up and we meet eyes. "You're lying."
He laughs at this. "You're good. I was testing you."
"Today is the first day of summer," I tell him. "Summer solstice."
"It is indeed," he takes another bite of his spaghetti, wrapping it neatly around his fork. He swallows, then takes a sip of wine. "Do you like summer?"
"I love summer."
"Why's that?"
"Because the weather is immaculate and the birds seem happier when the sun is out."
"And what about winter?"
I finish chewing, then take another sip of wine. "Winter has its benefits too, don't get me wrong. A beautiful landscape covered in a blanket of snow. The air crisp and cool, snowflakes on your tongue. But it's not the same as summer. Summer is liberating."
"Liberating."
"Indeed."
"How is the food?" he asks. "Good?"
"Yes. The food you make is always good."
He smiles at this.
"Am I boosting your ego?" I ask. "Surely you don't need that."
"My ego is doing quite fine, thank you."
"I'd beg to differ."
"Why's that?"
"Because you're holding someone captive. Clearly if your ego was okay you wouldn't feel the need to do that."
He stops eating and stares at me. "My ego has nothing to do with this predicament we're in, Isabelle. I am not interested in you romantically. I was married once, believe it or not. That is not the reason for your presence here."
For some reason, I feel offended by his words. Perhaps I felt better before, knowing there was a slight possibility that he was interested in me. It would explain so much. There's also the fact that humans love to be wanted. I feel let down at his words.
"If you don't want me," I say slowly. "Then why am I here?"
"You really want to know?"
My heart leaps at his words. "Yes."
He stares at me, his blue eyes focusing on mine. He opens his mouth to speak and I can't take the anticipation any longer.
All of a sudden, his mouth turns into a smile and he's laughing. He's actually laughing. Then, as calm as can be, he gathers up our empty plates and stands.
"What the hell?"
"I told you," he says looking back to me. "In due time."
It's as he leaves that I realize I've already broken the rules of my own game. No questions. Questions are weakness.
I've lost this round and he's won.