I’m not sure it’s possible.
I don’t know why.
At first, I was stubborn, defiant even.
I wouldn’t give these men the pleasure.
But then, my strength left. And now, I have no idea why I won’t crack.
Three years is a long time. I should feel changed, different.
When I was taken I was just a girl; now I’m a woman. I’ve spent many of my formative years held captive on a boat full of dangerous, cruel men. Rapists, savages, devils.
I close my eyes as another wave hits the side of the yacht. If my body had any muscles left, I would be shivering from the cold and fever that has continuously taken over my body. I would be vomiting everything in my stomach. But all my body can do is cringe, I can’t even brace myself to keep from sliding on the slick floor as the boat tosses me about.
I hate boats.
I hate the water.
I hate the men.
I hate Enzo.
Right now, I hate the water most of all as we rock viciously side to side. I don’t know where we are except that it has to be deep in the middle of fucking nowhere. That’s the only way the waves get this big, unless a hurricane or tsunami is chasing us. With my luck, I have no doubt a storm is afoot.
I should have hated the water from that first day when Enzo left me to drown in it. But I didn’t hate it; I’m not even sure I hated Enzo then. He was just following orders from his boss, Black, when he tried to kill me. He was surviving as much as I was, and then he gave me a chance at freedom. Swim to shore and leave Miami, and then he wouldn’t kill me. That was the arrangement.
It sounded like a fair deal at the time. And the night I spent out in the ocean didn’t make me hate the water, I grew to appreciate it more. Its power, strength, and freedom I envied and respected.
It was when I made it to shore, and Enzo’s men kidnapped me, breaking our arrangement that I could live as long as I left, that I learned what hate was.
I know more about hate than I do love.
I don’t think I’m capable of love anymore.
You hear that? I can’t love. You broke me! You win!
Another wave crashes, sending me against a wall.
Maybe if I told them I was broken this would stop?
No, this never stops. This never ends.
The boat rocks again, proving my point that this is now my life. Stuck on a boat with the worst of humanity.
I could end it, that tiny voice in my heart whispers again.
I can’t with a weapon. I can’t with food, but I could let the sea take me. With the storm pursuing us, I would be gone in seconds.
The pain would be gone.
At first, I couldn’t imagine taking my life. I was too proud. Too full of hope. Filled with a determination not to let them win. That vanished the first year.
The second year, I couldn’t because of my father. He is the only family I have, and even though we don’t always have the best relationship, he loves me. He would find me. I couldn’t give up for him.
The third year was the hardest. I had no one to live for, not even myself. I’d given up at ever having a normal, healthy life again, even if I was to escape this torturous boat ride. My father had surely given up on me, or at least, I had given up on him. The only thing keeping me alive was Enzo.
I can’t even explain it.