heartbreaker
I know you have questions.
Ssh. Ssh. It’s okay. Me? I’m Zoe. Nice to meet you, Amelia.
Oh, you shouldn’t cry. Because … um, may I hold your hand?
Thank you.
It’s been so long since I’ve touched someone who offers kindness instead of pain. Your hand is warm. Soft.
Please forgive me if I squeeze too hard. It’s nice to connect with a human being who gives a damn.
I know you have questions.
I don’t know how much time we have, so it’s probably better if you let me tell you everything I can. It’s weird. Talking, I mean. I haven’t had a real conversation in … well, I don’t know how long I’ve been in this basement.
Peter? That’s the name he told me, too. We dated for about six months. I was wildly in love with him. He seemed so … perfect. Like a handsome hero who’d stepped off the pages of a romance novel.
I guess that’s how naive I was. So starved for affection and intimacy, I fell for his pretty words and slick veneer.
You know what I mean?
Of course, you do.
Peter told me he had something special planned for Valentine’s Day. I thought he was going to ask me to marry him. I’d even bought some bridal magazines, thinking we would soon be planning our wedding together.
We went dancing. Made love under the stars. Then we went to his place. Music. Laughter. Wine.
I felt strange after one glass of merlot. Absolutely giddy after the second. The world spun and burst into bright colors.
It never occurred to me that he’d drugged the wine.
Peter said it was time for the surprise. My heart leapt. I thought he’d show me a ring. Pop the question.
Instead, he took me down here, stripped me naked, and chained my ankles to the wall. By the time he made me his prisoner, I was too out of it to put up a fight. It felt like a nightmare.
And it was, Amelia.
An endless waking nightmare.
It’s Valentine’s Day again? So, it’s been a year? That means … oh.
I wish it had been possible to escape.
In the early days, I screamed until I lost my voice. Broke my fingernails trying to pry off the manacles. Begged for my freedom while he taunted me.
What? Yeah, it really does smell awful down here. I’d say you get used to that sickly sweet smell of rotting meat, but I never did.
The floors are filthy. Bugs are everywhere. They crawl on me and get in my hair. I’ve fended off the occasional rat, too.
It’s always dark. I used to be able to tell the difference between night and day. See this wall? Near the top is a small rectangular window. The sun would shine through it and chase away some of the shadows.
But now it’s covered with a black garbage bag and duct tape. Once Peter realized I had a tiny bit of warmth and light to enjoy, he took it away.
No, Amelia. I won’t pray with you.
I stopped praying a long time ago.
If men like Peter exist, then trust me, God does not.
I know it’s cold. Here, you can share my blanket. Oh, he burns the clothes. The blanket is thin and smells moldy, but it’s better than nothing.
He used to take the blanket away from me.
Why? Punishment.
He hated when I fought him. He’d scream: Don’t disrespect me, you whore.
He used his words like knives — slicing away at my soul until I felt like a raw, pulsing lump of nerves. Hurting my body wasn’t enough. He fucked with my mind, too.
It’s why you should learn not to cry. It makes everything so much worse.
I hate to admit it, but I was surprised how much humiliation I was willing to endure to have the smallest comfort. I started keeping my mouth shut because I’d rather have the blanket, you know?
He feeds me once a day. Usually a bologna sandwich and a glass of milk. I used to worry about what kind of food I put into my body. No carbs. Lean proteins. Water.
I’ll tell you a secret. Sometimes, he puts GHB into the milk.
Yes, the date rape drug. My advice? Drink it. All of it.
I almost never remember what happens, but afterwards … I wish for my own death. Especially when my body aches from the burns and cuts and bruises.
We’re not people, Amelia. Just playthings.
I’m not fun for him anymore. So, he’ll throw me away — like he did the others.
He loves to break his toys.
You’ll see.
I’m sorry. So sorry.
But you’ll see.