Missing Like You

FORTY-TWO

ISABELLE DONOVAN
MONDAY JUNE 27, 2022

I wake up and find it difficult to open my eyes. This can only mean one thing: it is raining outside.

I've never been a morning person, but I've never been one to have difficulties getting out of bed either. My brain enters consciousness and within seconds, my head is jolting from the pillow, my body springing into action. I don't like wasting time, lounging around in bed while I could be doing more productive things. So for the most part, getting out of bed is no problem. Only time it is a problem, however, is when the weather isn't up to par. It's as though my body can sense it, when it's raining. And on this morning in particular, I can hardly open my eyes let alone get my head off the pillow.

I take a few moments to gather myself, then I sit up, still mummified in the blankets. I untwist myself and toss the sheets onto the floor, then I rise, finally, and make my way over to the window. When I peer out through the wooden slats, I can just make out the damp ground, the rain falling from the sky.

I sigh, mope around the room at an attempt at exercise, then climb back into bed and bring the sheets to my face. Due to my excessive boredom, I asked JD if I could have a book to read. He said yes. I reach over to the table beside the bed and pick it up. I only have about a quarter left, so I'm trying to savour it, make each and every word count before I finish it.

I think about Friday night. I've been playing it over in my mind on repeat for the past three days. Today is Monday, I believe. June twenty-seventh. I've almost been here a week and a half now. And apparently it's all because of my husband.

As much as I pushed JD to further elaborate on the subject matter, he refused. I need answers, details! But I should know by now that pushing JD for answers only makes him more inclined to not tell me. It doesn't anger him necessarily, although I'm sure that I'm provoking him when I plead. It's more cavalierly he feels. To be honest, I'm not sure he feels much at all. He's very stoic and impassive on most things, including my escape attempt. I was certain that he would shoot me, killing me instantly on the spot. But he didn't pull the trigger. He didn't even scream at me and lose his temper as I expected he would. The contrary happened, which is very bizarre, to say the least. It's these things that persuade me to believe he is telling the truth.

He has a lot going for him thus far to back up these claims. A) He hasn't harmed me in any way. B) He hasn't touched me or come onto me at all. C) He treats me well, feeds me foods I enjoy, and genuinely tries to look after me to the best of his abilities. So when he tells me things like, "You need to trust me," "I'm keeping you here for a reason," "This is all because of your husband," I'm genuinely more inclined to believe him.

After our discussion on Friday night, things got a bit heated. And by heated, I mean me getting angry and yelling at him for not telling me everything, resulting in lots of tears and crying on my part. This didn't seem to bother him. He put up with my manic episode and told me that I will know the whole truth soon. He said, "Let's just take it one day at a time, okay?"

I can't really argue with him. I can't do anything. I'm not in any position to call the shots or demand answers. I am his prisoner, after all. The most I can do is survive.

We spent the weekend lounging around the cottage, me sprawled out on the couch in the living room reading a book, him sitting at the table by the window, writing in a notebook he keeps. I'm tempted to steal it, take a peek inside, but I don't know where he stores it or how I'd get my hands on it without him knowing. We went outside quite a bit as well. The weather was beautiful and I told him I wanted to spend time in the sun. Any and all thoughts of escape have been completely eradicated from my mind now, especially after his stark warning in the kitchen that night. "Don't think I won't hesitate to pull the trigger." I keep an eye on his belt while we're outside. I observe the bulge the gun makes, how easily he can access it. Only seconds it would take to reach his hand there and grab it. Only seconds for me to go from living to dead.