I wish I could hold you.

I wish I could tell you how much I love you.

I wish I could hear your laugh.

I just wish I knew that I would see you again.

You can’t leave me now, Rachel. We’re about to get married. We’re going to have a family someday. We’re going to get old and fat together.

Wherever you are, Rachel, whoever has you, and whatever is being done to you. Know that God can’t stop me from finding you, and bringing you back to me.

I will hold you again, and I’ll never let you go.

Gripping her side of the comforter in my fingers, I breathed out her name and surrendered to the exhaustion.

8

Rachel

I SPUN MY ENGAGEMENT RING AROUND on my finger just to give me something to do, since I’d just finished picking off the nail polish that had lasted this long. My eyes darted to the right of the door handle long enough to confirm he was still awake and watching me, before going back to the handle.

I didn’t know how long I’d been there, I’d tried figuring it out, and tried keeping track of certain things . . . but still wasn’t sure. The same man who had originally taken me out of the closet, and the home I’d shared with Kash, was always in my room save for an hour or so every day, and he’d finally given up trying to get me to talk to him. I believed him now that he wouldn’t hurt me, but that didn’t mean I trusted him as a person or wanted to talk with him.

Every day he took me out of my room twice: twice for the restroom, and one of those times to also shower. The first time after my attempted escape, I’d silently refused to shower, since he stayed in the bathroom with me, but the next day I couldn’t resist washing what I was estimating was three days’ worth of grime off me. He’d stayed in the bathroom, but he’d kept his back to me the entire time. Every day he brought me three meals unless I was sleeping through one of them, and after the first four meals had gone untouched, I’d begun tearing through them whenever he brought them.

I figured I’d slept through the entire first day, and past breakfast the next day, since the first two meals he’d brought me were generally for lunches or dinners. And since I slept as often as possible to pass the time, and sometimes that meant missing meals, I only had my showers to track the days that were passing. By the time I’d taken what I thought was my fourth shower, I realized I couldn’t remember if it was really the fourth or fifth. And while I was about 90 percent positive that was three showers ago, it could have been four. Still going on the theory I’d missed two full days of showers, I was guesstimating I’d been gone for eleven days. Or nine . . . or I could just be going crazy and it had really only been five. But who knows.

I hadn’t spoken a single word since the first time he’d brought me food and I’d tried to escape, which I think was day two. And somewhere on day x, y, or z, I got tired of referring to him as him or he and decided to name him Taylor, solely based on the fact that he looked like Taylor Lautner’s twin.

Regardless of what I’d named my kidnapper—or how many days I’d been here—there was still nothing about a rescue, I didn’t know why they had taken me, and I didn’t know what they were going to do with me.

I’d seen a few other men on my walks to and from the bathroom, but no one had said much, other than speaking Spanish to Taylor, which I didn’t happen to know much of. And not one of them had done, or said, anything to me since that first time out of the room. The men seemed to ignore me for the most part, but that could’ve had something to do with Taylor’s reaction to Marco, or the fact that he now had his gun out every time we walked up and down the hall.

None of this was making sense, and as the days continued to pass, my fear had steadily grown into something deeper. Something I didn’t have a name for. And in that fear was confusion, longing, and sorrow.

With a few grunts, Taylor stood from his faithful spot on the concrete floor up against the door, and stretched for a moment. Why he never brought a chair in here was beyond me, but I also couldn’t fathom why he was babysitting me for countless hours on end, every day. He’d already taken me for the first bathroom break before he brought me breakfast, so I was guessing now was lunchtime.

When he walked up to me and grabbed my empty plate from breakfast and checked my half-full water bottle, I knew I was right. I didn’t try to get away from him as I had so many times in the first few days. I just stopped twisting my ring and watched his every move . . . waiting for what I knew would come next.

“Don’t go to sleep.”

He was gone longer than he normally was when he went to get my food. How long did it end up being? I’m not sure . . . it felt like hours, but could have been only one. I knew there was someone else that had to be cooking in the house or building that I was in, because the longest Taylor was ever gone was probably half an hour. And I knew in that time he took his showers, ate, and would come back with meals that could have taken hours to cook.

Even though I never spoke to him, having him in the room with me had become something I was used to. And when he was gone, it felt . . . wrong. Not that I craved being near him, but to be honest, I was terrified when he wasn’t around. I don’t know why that was; he should still terrify me. He’d dragged me out of a closet, he’d knocked me out with chloroform, and he’d kept me locked up in a room that was barely large enough for me to fully stretch out in.

I guess in a way he did still terrify me, because the unknown scared me more than anything. I’d grown up with Blake, so I’d trusted him until he started changing—and he was easy to like, everyone had loved Blake. Taylor, despite the obvious first day, hadn’t done anything to me. In a way, he’d been protecting and taking care of me, and I’ll never forget those first two, pained I’m sorrys. But I also knew how fast someone could snap and turn into a different person entirely.

Shaking my head quickly to clear my mind of my confusion, I got off the mattress and paced around the small room for another immeasurable amount of time until I heard the echo of heavy footfalls, and the beeps of the lock for the door. I scrambled back to the mattress and had just brought my knees up to my chest, wrapped my arms around my legs, and rested my cheek on my knees when the door opened and Taylor walked in. He usually walked right over and placed my plate down next to me, but this time he didn’t. When I heard the rustling sound of plastic bags, I rolled my head so my chin was on my knees now, and my eyes widened when I saw him standing there, weighed down with a local grocery store’s bags, and bags and drinks from . . . oh my God, Taco Bell!

“I got you some stuff,” he said gruffly and set the food and drinks down at his feet before walking over to stand directly in front of me.

I watched as he opened the first bag and began pulling out deodorant, a toothbrush and toothpaste, a hairbrush and ponytail holders, girly shampoo, conditioner, a razor, and soap—since whatever I’d been using was definitely meant for men. The next bag opened and he pulled out large packs of men’s undershirts and boxer-briefs. I raised an eyebrow at first when he sat them down next to me, but I didn’t say anything.

“There’s no way in hell I was going to be able to pick out a bra for you, and women have too many different kinds of underwear. This was easiest, but they might be too big on you.”

I couldn’t even complain. My throat was closing up, my eyes were burning, and it was taking everything in me not to reach out and run my hands over it all. I hadn’t brushed my teeth since the night before I was taken, and I hadn’t put deodorant on or brushed my hair since the same time. Even though I was able to take showers every day, I had to put my old underwear, sleep shirt, and little shorts on once I was done; and it felt like I was never getting clean. If I could have clean clothes, even men’s clothes, I didn’t care.

The last bag opened, and a shaky smile crossed my face for the first time since I’d had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting Taylor, as he pulled out different colored nail polishes.

“I don’t know if you like these colors, but I watched you pick off what you had on your nails. So . . . here.”

A package of pens followed, and the smile fell as confusion set in; but then he brought out a journal, and my stomach dropped.

“I had to watch you for a long time, I don’t know what you wrote about, but I know you used to write every day. Anyway, that’s it,” he said and took a step away from the mattress.

I picked up the journal and ran my hand over the front of it as tears fell down my cheeks. I knew sometime later I would be creeped out and put Taylor in the same zone Blake had been in, since Blake had people following me, and somehow had gotten cameras into our apartment. But right now, all I could think about was that I was going to be able to write to my parents again. It’d been over four and a half years since my parents died, and for four years I’d been writing in journals to them every day. Not being able to talk to them had been about as hard as not being with Kash.

My mouth opened, but it took four tries before any noise came out, since I’d gone so long without using my voice. “Why?”

Taylor froze and straightened from where he’d been bending down to grab the food—his eyes were massive when I looked up at him. “Why did I buy you all that?”