Where We Found Our Home by Natasha Bishop

 

Ciara

I wipe my sweaty palms against my slacks as I step out of my car. After the day I had yesterday, I’m not looking forward to being back at the office today. I’m so tired of the police in this city. I don’t know how else to prove to them that it’s him doing this to me. Who else would it be? I spent hours at the police station yesterday trying to file a complaint after I received yet another dead rat delivery to my mom’s house. They assured me that they’re “looking into it,” but as a black woman in Baltimore city, I’m not confident in their assurances at all.

The street is eerily quiet, but that’s not unusual for me since I normally come in earlier than most people. As I turn the corner to the last stretch of street before my office building comes into view, I feel uneasy. The hair on the back of my neck stands up. I dart my eyes around the empty street, but I don’t see or hear anyone. I pick up my pace, and all I hear is the click of my heels against the pavement. I probably look crazy hustling down the street, but I don’t care. I’ll breathe easier once I step inside the confines of the building.

Oof.

A large, scarred hand wraps its way around my waist and yanks hard. I yelp, but his other hand slaps across my mouth so hard it stings. I scream into his hand, but the wind absorbs it until it’s nothing more than a whisper.

He leans down to whisper in my ear, the stench of cigarettes potent. “You’ll never get away from me. Don’t you know that by now?” His voice triggers my fight or flight response. My brain races into overdrive, and I do everything in my power to release myself from his hold. I thrash around, but his grip only tightens. I drive my heel deep into his foot, and he cries out in pain, giving me a window. I rip free from his hold and take off running and screaming, but he’s on me in seconds.

“Stop fighting the inevitable,” he growls. I’m searching frantically for any sort of weapon I can grab. Anyone I can call for help, but there’s nothing. No one. He squeezes my shoulder so hard I can feel the bruise forming already. I manage to elbow him in the gut, but he only stumbles for a split second before I feel the pain against my skull. What did he hit me with? Whatever he used was hard and heavy. My vision is already doubling, and I feel myself going under. I try to fight it, but it’s no use.

I come to and I’m in a tight, dark space. My hands are tied in front of me. My legs are bound too. Fuck. I have no idea where he’s taken me, but I can tell I’m in the trunk of a car and we’re not moving. I do a quick search around the trunk looking for anything I can use to cut myself free. I need to be ready to fight when he opens this trunk. If I don’t, I’m as good as dead. There’s nothing here but me. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Don’t panic. I will survive this. I scream and rock my body back and forth, but I don’t hear any noise outside. No footsteps, no voices, nothing. Minutes, or maybe hours—I’m honestly not sure—go by. He hasn’t come back for me. Is this his grand plan? Leaving me here to run out of air God knows where? Right as the thought enters my brain, my chest starts heaving in panic. My throat feels tight. The air around me is thick.

“Help me!” I scream, using every bit of my strength to bang my constricted hands and feet against the top of the trunk. Time is running out. I don’t have the strength to lift my limbs anymore. My throat is too dry to scream. A single tear falls down my face.

I’m so sorry, Mom. I’m so sorry, girls. This isn’t how I wanted this to end, but maybe it’s better that it’s over. I love you.

When I wake up, tears are streaming down my face. Lincoln’s arms are wrapped around me tightly. I try to pull away, but he pulls me in tighter. I can’t help but laugh at the fact that his tight embrace feels comforting to me. Safe. He looks so peaceful in his sleep. I lean over and kiss the bottom of his chin. His mouth tips up in a smile but he remains asleep.

Usually after one of these nightmares, I’m inconsolable. But in Lincoln’s arms, I feel like I might make it out of this.

I might be okay.