Not Such a Beauty
Once upon a time, there was a girl who was taken, captured, but little did she know she was destined for greatness. This is my story and it happens to be told over and over again. You see, young girls romanticize the idea about being kidnapped and falling in love with their captor. This is a disease, you know? It’s called Stockholm Syndrome. It’s not cute, it’s not love and it’s definitely not real.
There was no one to protect me, no one who even cared nor noticed. My dad didn’t have a debt to pay because of his gambling problem—I didn’t even have a father. He just took me, but there was not much to take. Of course, my body was there but I was empty, maybe I still am. Who knows? My body was frail, weak, I stood no chance against him or any other towering force the world threw my way.
No one came for me. There was no hero, no savior. There was no library full of books and knowledge; no rose gardens and a furry beast to keep me warm at night. This is what there was: pain, despair, helplessness.
It was a Monday morning. The stuffy air filled my car until it was suffocating, but I was used to it now. I opened my eyes and saw the glaring sun staring back, but I notice there was a film of clouds covering its opaqueness. I uncurled myself from my blanket and sat up, smaking my head against the ceiling, cursing, I did what I always do. I checked for any intruders looking my way (there’s an downside to having no curtains), there was none. So I shrugged off my oversized shirt while pulling my work top on, in a swift movement. This was an exceptional skill I develop, to prevent creeps from getting a morning show. I pull my hair up into a tight ponytail and tied my shoes.