It was dark.
It was pitch black.
Even if my eyes were to adjust, nothing would change.
Half of the time I always in the dark. At first I was terrified, but I got used to it. He used to enjoy my fear but now, being in a situation like this for so long, I show no fear. I don't show any form of emotion. I don't know why but I just can't. I could feel emotion. Sadness. Pain. Anger. Love. Disappointment. Rage. Resentment. I could feel it all, but my face will never show any such feeling. He doesn't seem to care that he doesn't get any reaction out of me. He just throws me around and locks me up just because he has the ability to do so. I've been put in this dark confined space a lot. I've lost count of how many times I've been put in here and how long he's kept me in here. Sometimes I forget what the sun feels like. I forget what sound is and if I'm in here for a really long time, I sometimes forget my own name.
My name. What is my name?
I couldn't speak. I had tape across my mouth and had my hands cuffed behind me. Not being able to talk was almost unbearable. Us as humans are supposed to talk and without that ability we are constricted. Not that it mattered to me; I rarely spoke in the first place.
I sat at the bottom of the safe, my knees against my chest. I rested my head to the side, trying to make myself as comfortable as I possibly could. God only knows how long I'll be in here. I shut my eyes and tried to think peaceful thoughts, which was almost impossible. There was nothing peaceful I could think about, the closest to it was the sky, the sun, and the sound of birds. I was stuck in this house, with nowhere to go. I was pulled out of school when during my freshman year and never went back. I didn't have a choice. My father had money problems and his small business went bankrupt. He turned to drinking and drugs instead of focusing on building up a new business like people should. And I'm the one who suffered for that. My mom left and never looked back, forcing me to be his punching bag. I don't even know who that man is anymore. He certainly isn't my father and I hope to God that he rots in hell. I've had to learn on my own without the help of anyone. I'd say I'm caught up with the rest of the seventeen year olds in the world, but still it wasn't the same. I'm kept here as his prisoner. I've tried running away but he always finds me. Always. I've been beaten, deprived of food and water, and I've been stripped of my voice. I used to stand up for myself, try to fight him off, but the last time that happened I ended up in the hospital with a broken arm and a concussion. I've lost myself, my will, my voice. I couldn't speak, if anything I could maybe say a few words if I tried hard enough to do so. I guess you could call me a mute.
I don't know what's going to happen to me. For all I know I could die tomorrow. And being locked away in this dark quiet safe, I'd welcome death anytime. At least I know I could find peace in death, instead having to deal with being abused.
My eyes shot open at the sound of him banging on the safe. "Hey, you alive in there?" he laughed. His voice contained a malicious tone. Evil. I didn't answer. He taunts me all the time. I didn't have the ability to say anything. It's not that I didn't want to, I just couldn't. Something always stopped me from talking.
I hated him. With every fiber in my body I hated him. How could he do something to his own child? He was never the best father to begin with but he never beat me. And now, it's like he has nothing better to do. "I'm going out. Don't do anything stupid." I heard the door slam. What stupid stunts could I possibly pull? I'm handcuffed and locked in a safe. He was a freaking idiot. The only place I felt like I could defend myself was in my mind. It didn't do any good for my situation but sometimes it made me feel better. I could feel my tense muscles finally relax, knowing that monster is gone. I think it's been about two or three days since I've been in here. I lost count. I'm sure it's been two…maybe. Every two or three days he gives me one glass of water. No food. Just water. I gulp it down like there's no tomorrow and in my case that just might be the case.
I closed my eyes once more and tried to remember the outside world. I tried to remember the sun, the trees, the smells, and the people. I would sit in my bedroom and stare out the widow, watching the little kids play on their bikes, play hopscotch, and four square. It was a small amount of joy that built inside me and at times I felt like I could smile. I used to smile all the time and now my face is frozen, showing hardly any emotion at all. I remembered it all. There is a sweet old woman who lives across the street. Before my dad turned evil, I used take her dog for a walk. She made me cookies and cake, said I was too skinny and needed to be fattened up. If she thought I was skinny then, well she should see me now. I didn't look anorexic or anything like that but I wished I had a little more meat and curves. An image played in my mind, one of her seeing me in my window. She waved and yelled, "Ana!"
Ana. Ana. Anastasia.
That's my name! If I could remember my name then I won't go completely insane. Your name is who you are. It's how you're identified. And I remembered my identity. Anastasia Steele. Anastasia Rose Steele. Yes. That is me.
Exhaustion seemed to be taking over my body. My eyes seemed heavy and my heart rate was racing. I knew something was wrong, but I couldn't do anything about it. I was stuck hear with nowhere to go. My chest started to hurt and I think I've had my first facial expression I've had in a while. Too bad my dad wasn't here to see it. I'm sure he'd get a kick out of seeing me in pain, knowing he can't cause it anymore.
The pain eventually faded as I blacked out.
I woke up to the sound of people yelling and the creaking sound of the safe being opened. The light was bright and the loud noises pierced my ears, making them ring. Hands reached for me and pulled me out. I was placed on the couch and suddenly there was a flashlight being pointed in my eyes. Everything felt like it was going in slow motion. "Sweetheart." The words came out even slower. I looked at the man who wore a police badge. I said nothing. "What is your name?"
My name is…An...Ana? it was like a question.
"I need you to tell me your name."
I wanted to tell him, but I couldn't speak. I didn't know how. I opened my mouth to say something but the words just wouldn't come out.
"Can you speak?" I shook my head no. I like the yes or no questions. It's so much easier.
"Her name is Anastasia. She's his daughter." I slowly looked at the other cop. She was a short petite woman, holding some piece of paper in her hand.
"Anastasia." I looked back at the male cop who was kneeling in front of me. "I have something to tell you." He searched my eyes, probably wondering what was wrong with me. "Your father is dead."
My Father is dead. Dead.
"He was shot. Did you know he was dealing drugs?"
I nodded my head yes. I knew he was, but I couldn't do anything about it.
"We have a warrant to search the premises for any drugs that may be here. How long have you been in that safe?" his eyes were full of concern. It was weird seeing someone who didn't show anger.
I remembered before I blacked out that it had been two or three days. I raised my hand, showing him three fingers.
I shook my head no.
I nodded my head yes.
"Was he the one who put you in the safe?"
I nodded yes.
"He's been dead for a week. We recently finished the investigation with the other drug members he was involved in and had orders to come here to grab the rest of the drugs. If there were any. You've been in there for more than a week."
A week? That's long. But certainly not the longest I've been in there.
"We're taking you to the hospital alright? Just to make sure everything's alright. If I'd had known we'd find you here we would have brought the paramedics." He stood and reach out his hand to me. "Let's go."
I stared for a while before I actually took it. He help me stand and walked my to the police car. I sat in the back as he drove me to the hospital. I felt fine, although I was pretty hungry.
When we arrived at the hospital, I was automatically put into a room. I sat down and waited for the doctor. "Okay, well the doctor should be coming shortly. I will see you tomorrow, regarding your father."
I just nodded. He left and I sat there, staring at nothing. My father was dead and I was happy.
I don't know if that's wrong but it's the way I felt.
"Good afternoon." I looked and saw a pretty woman with a white coat peak her head in. She eventually came all the way into the room and walked towards me. "I'm Dr. Trevelyan-Grey."
I waved my hand. It was all I could do.
"I'm just going to check your vitals and make sure everything's okay."
"You don't talk much, do you hon?"
I shook my head no.
"The police man out there told me about your situation. Was it just you and your father?" She wrapped something around my arm and it began to tighten. I flinched at the pressure.
I answered her question with a nod.
"Do you have a mother?" I shook my head no. "Anyone?" Again I shook my head no.
Her tone was soothing, sweet, and motherly. Something I missed so much. I automatically liked her and trusted her. "I see." She said. "Your blood pressure is a little bit low." She looked to me, a puzzled look on her face. Obviously a girl my age shouldn't have low blood pressure. I opened my mouth to speak. Again, nothing would come out. I kept trying, only getting as far as the word eat.
She went to her desk and grabbed a pen and pencil. "Here. Right it down."
I did. I wrote 'I haven't eaten in over a week.'
She gasped when she saw the words being scribbled on to the paper. She made sure food was brought to me. After checking my pressure, I was weighed and even had some blood samples taken. She discovered that I had a minor heart attack during my week without food and being locked away. The Dr. had a lot of passion towards her job. I could tell.
I was kept overnight to make sure I was recovering okay. The next day I would be faced with having to deal with reality. What's going to be happening to me and how I'm going to cope with everything. The cop will be here tomorrow to question me. At least this time I had a new way of communicating.
Pen and Paper were now my voice.
Tell me what you think! This story was stuck in my head and I had to write it down!