Chevy Stevens - Still Missing

But then my thoughts always turned to The Freak and what he might be doing to her now. I’d imagine her at the office, maybe working late, and then I pictured The Freak waiting outside in the van. My powerlessness enraged me.

As another day went by and I put a new mark on the wall, I stopped feeling any cravings for food, but the feeling that The Freak was coming back continued. And if I wanted to survive, I needed to be ready. My previous attempt at seduction had nearly gotten me killed, so I had to figure out why he flipped out when I pretended to be turned on.

Was he a sadist? No, he wasn’t sexually aroused by beating me. He was reenacting something. This guy had a pattern. It started with the bath—maybe his version of foreplay?—and then it got rough later. What the hell was his deal?

He said women don’t want nice guys, we all want to be treated like garbage, and then, when I was too overt in my attempts at seduction, it enraged him and he called me a whore, said I should be fighting him. He must think a “nice” woman secretly wants an aggressive man who’s rough with her and overpowers her, but in his mind only a “whore” would actually show she likes it—a nice woman would resist. So he probably didn’t feel like a real man unless I was scared of him.

He was trying to please me—with fear and pain. And the more I didn’t react, the more he thought he had to hurt me. Holy shit. He was a rapist who thought every woman had a rape fantasy. At last I knew what he wanted—I had to struggle and show him my pain and fear.

If there’d been anything in my stomach to vomit up, I would have. Somehow, the thought of allowing him to see my real feelings was worse than pretending I liked being raped.

On my fourth day alone it became harder to distinguish my dreams from my reality as I slept more and woke less. There were times I’m sure I was hallucinating, because I was wide awake yet I could hear Luke’s voice and smell his cologne, but when I opened my eyes there was nothing but those damn cabin walls.

I realized I was so weak I might forget my plan, so I created a rhyme to help myself remember. I chanted it over and over as I slipped in and out of sleep.

The Freak is insane, he needs fear and pain. The Freak is insane, he needs fear and pain.

By the fifth day, I began to be afraid he wouldn’t come back before I starved to death. I spent most of the day on the bed or sitting with my back to the corner, waiting for the door to open and chanting my rhyme, but I kept nodding off. I think it was early evening but I was so weak it felt later. Then the lock on the door clicked and he walked in.

I was actually glad to see him—I wouldn’t starve. I was especially glad to see he was alone, then I wondered if Christina was unconscious and tied up in the van.

He closed the door and stood staring at me. His image swam in front of me.

The Freak is insane, he needs fear and pain….

Body and voice trembling, I said, “Thank God, I’ve been so scared. I—I thought I was going to die here all alone.”

His eyebrows rose. “Would you rather die here with company?”

“No!” As I shook my head, the room spun. “I don’t want anyone to die. I’ve been doing thinking…” My food-deprived brain struggled to remember words. “Doing some thinking about…things. Things I want to tell you, but I need to know…” My chest tightened. “Christina, is Christina okay?”

He sauntered over to one of the barstools, sat down, and rested his chin in his hand. “Don’t you care how I am?”

“Yes, yes, of course, I just thought—just wanted to know…” The Freak blurred and came into focus, then blurred again. “I messed up. Messed up bad. Last time.”

His eyes narrowed and he nodded.

“But I have a plan. See—”

“You have a plan?” He sat up straighter. What the hell was I saying?

I dug my fingernails into my hand. The room came back into focus.

“For how we can make things work.”

“Interesting, but I’ve been doing a little thinking myself. It’s become clear I have to make some decisions and I don’t think you’re going to like the options.”

Time to roll the dice. I slowly got to my feet. The room began to spin again. I braced my hand on the wall, closed my eyes, took some deep breaths. When I opened my eyes back up, The Freak was staring at me. No expression.

Hand clutching my stomach, I staggered over to sit on the stool next to him.

“I guess I can understand that. You’ve gone to a lot of trouble and I’ve been a lot of trouble, right?” Eyelids at half-mast, he nodded his head slowly.

“The thing is, the last time we tried… some of the things I said? That wasn’t really me. I just thought that’s what you wanted, what would make you happy.”

He still wasn’t showing much expression, but he was looking intently into my eyes. The best liars stick close to the truth. I took another deep breath.

“I was really scared, of you and of the feelings you were bringing up in me, but I didn’t know…” He lifted his chin from his hand and sat up straight. I was going to have to talk faster.

“I get it now, I just have to be honest with you, with myself , and I’m ready to do that.” I prayed for the strength to say the next words. “So I’d like to try again. Please give me another chance, please .” I waited through a long pause, then braced myself as he got up from the stool.

“Perhaps I should give this a little more time, Annie. I wouldn’t want to make a hasty decision.” He stood before me with his arms out and his head cocked to the side.

“How about a hug?” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. I was being tested. I stepped into his arms and put mine around him. “Christina is fine,” he said. “We spent a delightful afternoon looking at houses. She sure knows her real estate.”

I finally exhaled.

“I can feel your heart beating against me.” He squeezed me harder. Then he released me and said, “Let’s get some food in you.” He left the cabin but came back moments later carrying a brown paper bag.

“Lentil soup, freshly made at my favorite deli, and some organic apple juice. The protein and sugars will help.”

After The Freak warmed up the fragrant soup, he brought a steaming bowl and a glass of juice over to me. My frantic hands reached for the soup, but he sat down beside me and placed the bowl on the table in front of him. Tears came to my eyes.

“Please, I have to eat, I’m so hungry.”

In a kind voice he said, “I know.”

He brought a spoonful up to his mouth and blew on it. I watched in agony as he took a sip. He nodded his head once, then dipped the spoon back in the bowl. He blew on it again, but this time brought the spoon toward my mouth. As soon as I reached for it, he paused and shook his head. I placed my hand back in my lap.

The Freak slowly spoon-fed me the soup, blowing on every mouthful first and stopping once in a while to feed me sips of the apple juice. When half of the soup and juice was gone he said, “That’s probably all your stomach can handle right now. Feel better?”

I nodded.

“Good.” He glanced at his watch and smiled. “Time for your bath.”

This time when he led me out of the bathroom to the bed and began unzipping my dress from behind, I knew what to do.

“Please don’t touch me—I don’t want to do this.”

With his chin digging into my shoulder, he nuzzled my earlobe. “I can feel you shaking. What are you scared of?”

“You—I’m scared of you. You’re strong and you’re going to hurt me.” My dress fell to the floor and he moved in front of me. In the candlelight, his eyes glowed. He stood before me and traced his middle finger around my neck.