Young Writers Society

It was a great party. Really, it was great. It was supposed to be one of the best nights of my life. I was just letting loose, trying to forget my high school junior year. We were all there: Libby, The twins, Cara, Carina, Jason and Jack. Just hanging out, and laughing at our ridiculous memories. Cara was the wildest. She was the crazy party girl since second grade. If we were cities, she’d be Vegas.

“Come on, Di,” she’d call, a grin lighting up her face, “Loosen up and dance!” She pulled me onto the dance floor, and I cooperated, for a song. She would be dancing wildly, locked in her own beat, her brown hair flying. That one song was exhilarating. I broke free of myself. Cara spun me around. I screamed over the music in pure delight. I loved it, but I wasn't the party girl. Eventually, I slipped away outside, where I could breathe, where I could think. I had taken off my gold heels, adjusted my purple halter dress, and was walking slowly around the perimeter of the school. I was daydreaming, a ridiculous smile on my face. A car pulled up beside me. Fighting the instinct to look, I kept my head down, pretending there was a very interesting pebble on the ground. Innocently, I wandered away. I heard the car vroom away. I let out a breathe of relief.

“Who was that?” I wondered aloud. It was nearly nine pm. Darkness had settled long ago, the stars dancing through the cloudless sky. I crossed over to the pavement and sat, cross-legged. I put my shoes beside me, and slipped into one of my dreamy reveries. Then, before I knew it, I blindfold covered my eyes. I let out a scream as a hand covered my mouth and my chin was lifted up. I smelled old tuna with a mix of cheese. I almost gagged. A rag covered my mouth and nose, tied behind my head. I was yanked up by my shoulders, and forcibly bought to a car.

“Diana Justice Green?” A rough, raspy voice asked. I nodded, but slightly, common sense out the window. I should have lied. I should have said my name was Kristina, or Casey. The person leading me tossed me into the back of the car, my head hitting the roof. All I could do was count the minutes and wait. We stopped twenty-five and a half minutes later. The door was thrown open and I was dragged out. The cold wind hit my face, played with my sheer purple skirt. I was pushed down stairs, leading to who-knows-what. I nearly fell down the stairs, but a pair of hand caught me.

“Stand up straight.” A rough, voice with an English accent hissed in my ear. A few more paces, and the sound of a door.

“Enjoy your stay.” Raspy Voice said and pushed me in. My shoulder made jarring impact with a wall. I heard the door slam shut and a lock turn, so I took of my blindfold, feeling a twinge in my forearm. Darkness engulfed me. It was a small rectangular room. I sighed a heavy, over-the-top, dramatic sigh, and untied the rag covering my mouth and nose. I was exhausted and confused. It maybe was just below zero, and my knee length dress wasn’t helping. I curled up in a corner, trying to preserve warmth. I drifted off to sleep, thinking unhappy thoughts. I woke up with sunlight surrounded me. Now I could see that there were old cigarette butts lining the floor, with a bucket in the opposite corner. It was a tiny room. I could stretch my arms out, and the tips of my fingers would touch the walls. Endorphins coursed through my body like a drug. I could feel them run as I formulated a plan. I started doing jumping jacks to release pent up energy.

“Well, good morning, Diana.” Raspy Voice said, standing in the doorway. I had pictured him to be tall, with a cane, like Dr. House. He really was short, balding, with a wicked grin pasted on his face, accenting his light blue eyes. He had gold and sliver rings on every finger including an Irish luck ring. He twisted it as he spoke.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“Your daddy’s worst enemy.” He replied. My breath caught in my throat. My dad was a business mogul. He owned a company, a fact I liked to downplay.

“Why?” I asked. “I have you. If you daddy is smart, He’ll trade his company for his precious daughter.” He said. I looked right into his eyes, resisting the urge to spit, or channel my Elizabethan ancestors and bite my thumb at him. I didn’t ask what would happen if Dad didn’t switch. I narrowed my eyes as he exited. "Talk to you later, Diana.” He laughed, and slammed the door shut, making me jump. I counted out five minutes, and crept towards the door, holding my breath. With a glimmer of hope, I turned to door handle. Locked. Think, Diana. I told myself. That would be too easy. I looked back toward the window, a plan formulating. I curled up in the fetal position, back in my corner. I needed more sleep. Having no energy would be my kryptonite. When I awoke, I guess that it was around three in the afternoon. I was getting hunger pangs. They were so forceful that I knew I was hungry. I didn’t need my stomach to tell me the obvious.

The door was still locked, so I crossed over to the window. It was old, and I had to use all my force to open it halfway. I grabbed the ledge and pulled myself up. I could feel the soft June wind on my face. I heard the door unlock, and I fell down, dizzy. I tried to get up and run to my corner, but my world tilted to the left. I winced as I fell.

“I hope you’re not trying to escape.” He told me. He was tall and thin, like a pole. He had a ringing English accent, which didn’t fit his look.

“No.” I said quietly. I focused my eyes on the ground. Quickly, like a snake, he pushed me against the wall. My shoulder throbbed, and a rouge nail cut my dress, and broke skin. The slap I got rang though the small room, burning on my face. Tears welled in my eyes, and I refused to look up.

“No, Sir.” He said. “I’m not sure if you noticed,” I started trying to hide my fear under sarcasm, “But I’m a girl. There’s no need to call me ‘Sir.’” I watched as his face turned a deep crimson red. Biting back a laugh, I inched sideways, away from the livid man. He lunged towards me, grabbing my shoulders. I winced with another twinge of pain.

“You insolent, annoying, stupid, vile little brat.” He hissed, shaking me. Then he backhanded me, harder than the first time. He pushed me against the wall and left with a sneer. There wasn’t much I could do, except wait and hope. I could feel where I had gotten cut. I was hungry I hadn’t eaten since lunch the day before. Now, all I could do is wait.

Days passed, and eventually melded together. I lost my count after day four, when everything became a blur. I lashed out, banging the wall with my fists, and screaming until I was nearly sick. I slowly went crazy. Hours were spent figuring out ways to escape, to try to get my life back to normal. I was fed little morsels of food, nothing that would keep me alive. I had pounding headaches, and frightful nightmares by day and night respectively. I never wanted to admit it, but I was scared. I feared waking up everyday, I feared sleeping. I never knew what to expect. My captors made it clear that I was nothing but a punching bag, nothing but a lowly female.

I did my best to make that not true, but by day three, I was black and blue. It hurt to walk. It hurt to sit. My heart ached at the thought of freedom. I was crying, one day, when English Accent came in. I wiped my eyes as quickly as humanely possible. I tried to suck it up, tried not to show fear. Unfortunately, I was a lousy actress under pressure.

“Is Diana sad?” He asked in a mock baby voice, “Does Diana want to go home?” My eyes widened in fear. I locked eyes with him, nerves coursing through my body like endorphins. “Well, suck it up. Unless your daddy trades, you aren’t leaving. We’ll see where Daddy’s love lies.” He sniggered, and I couldn’t hold my anger in anymore. I stood up with minimum dizziness. Then I slapped him. My hand stung in contact, and he was enraged. He grabbed my neck, and shook me. My fight or flight instinct kicked in.

“I should kill you right now, you little, vile, uppity BRAT!” He yelled. I dug my nails into his forearms, drawing blood. He kneed me in the stomach, making me go dizzy. He dropped me, and I crumpled to the floor, feeling sick. He left without a word. At night, I let my thoughts get to me. I remembered what my mom and countless of fairytales had taught me to wish. My father, the cynic, always told me that wishes were for daydreamers, and that’s what a wish was-a dream. I crawled toward to window. What am I doing here? I asked myself. I was stuck in the crossfire of a bitter feud. I was the one who would pay. I wandered what my dad would do. He was successful, yes, but he didn’t always make the best choices. Even so, he loved me, and he knew I knew that. I furiously hoped he’d make the obvious choice. I curled up, knees in front of my stomach to absorb the shocks from hunger pangs, back against the wall so I was staring out the window, freedom feeling a million miles away.

Then I began to cry. I cried away my fears and anxiety, leaving an empty, heartless shell of my former self. I cried myself to sleep. Everyday, I continued to push myself harder and farther with the window, earning me slaps, punches, whatever form of cruel and unusual punishment. I needed that sense of organization, that sense of knowing what was going on. I got closer to escaping everyday.

My fifth day bought a series of slaps, and me flying into a wall, hitting my head, and my shoulder again. My neck was bleeding, probably cut on a loose, sharp stone from the walls. Hopefully my captors weren’t so inhumane, as to just leave me bleeding, leave me to die.

I felt the hustle and bustle around me, heard the screams of sirens. I can’t remember what happened. I remember waking up blindfolded, a dirty bandage clapped carelessly on my neck. I thought the darkness was trapping me, eating me. I let out a scream. I screamed until my voice was raw. I screamed my fear and frustration. I ripped off the blindfold. I was back in the schoolyard, in a late afternoon. There was a light wind. It seemed like an ordinary day. There wasn’t a thing out of place. Except me. I hoisted myself onto my knees. Exhaustion wailed from every cell in my body. My stomach screamed from emptiness. I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I heard a car pull up. A white Honda Accord. A safe car. A door opened. I counted footsteps, several of them. A pair or arms hugged me, and lifted me up. I automatically started screaming again.

“Diana, It’s Cara’s father. I’m taking you to the hospital.” He told me. I stopped screaming and passed out. I woke up, with sunlight seeping through closed curtains. This wasn’t my room. The TV was put at an angle, where I could see it. I was garbed in a light blue hospital gown, my hair put into two low ponytails.

“Ohmigod.” I rasped. I wasn’t in the cell anymore. I was in a hospital room, hooked up to an IV.

“Di!” Libby cried, “Ohmigod! You’re awake”

“What happened?” My throat was sore, and I could feel my stomach screaming for food.

“Oh, Di, dear.” My mother was squeezing my hand, “Cara noticed you were missing during your dance. She found your shoes and called the police. It’s almost been a week.”

“Food. I need food.” I rasped.

“Over here.” It was Cara who wheeled over a tray laden with bland food and jello with a pitcher full of water.

“Thank you,” I whispered. I lay back on my mountain of pillows, and surveyed the mass of chocolates, teddy bears, cards and flowers around my room. Cara poured me a glass of water, and I took a sip before continuing.

“Where’s everyone else?” I asked.

“I sent them home to sleep and shower.” My mom said. Cara sat beside her, and Libby positioned herself at the foot of my bed.

“Thank you.” I repeated.

“We will be there for you.” Cara said. I must have opened my mouth to protest, because Libby backed her up.

“Always.”