♾️

The summer sun is starting to pink my skin as I sit out on the balcony of the apartment Will and I bought weeks ago. I can't decide what I love most about being here, the sounds I can hear of the river at night, or the sight of the green blanket of tree tops from our balcony.

I sip away at the cappuccino I made from one of those fancy coffee machines Will insisted on buying when we moved in. I tell him often it was over the top, but it doesn't stop me frothing milk and making sure we never run out of those little capsule things.

"Hey you," a familiar voice soothes, "how'd you sleep?"

Will steps out onto the balcony, coffee in hand, wearing some old shorts that he works out in. I'd tell him to cover up only I think all the neighbours deserve to see it. I want them to know what I'm lucky enough to lay beside every night.

"Like a log," I reply. "I didn't even wake up when my alarm went off. Come get a look at this view, can you believe it's really ours?"

Stepping behind my chair, Will, rubs his hands over my shoulders before planting a kiss on my cheek.

"I can," he says. "We waited long enough for it."

I rest my head onto his hand, staring out at the wonder ahead.
There's a low ringing sound that seems as though it's coming from the trees. It's starts to become louder as my eyes search for where it's coming from.

"Do you hear that?" I ask Will.

"What?"

"That noise." I shake my head, trying to rid it from my ears. "What is it?"

"You fought back," he says.

I look up toward him, confused and rubbing the side of my head.
"What do you mean?"

"Be smarter. You have to keep going Isobel, don't let him take you from me."

♾️

The ringing in my ears continues, but there's no trees ahead of me when my eyes open, only the blurry sight of the vanity in-front of me. It comes into focus at the same time that I realise I can't separate my hands. The rope is tied around them tighter than it was yesterday, pressing into the burns already underneath.

The taste of that disgusting gag in my mouth again makes my stomach turn, and I have to use all of my mental strength to concentrate on keeping calm, trying to acknowledge it without panicking. Taking in a few slow deep breaths, I tell myself to accept it, it's there now, I can't change it.

Will was right. I did fight.

I fought with everything I had when Jamie tried to put that cloth back in my mouth. I fought so hard that I think it may have even surprised him, forcing him to tackle me to the floor and hit my head off the tile so roughly that it knocked me out. He still managed to get what he wanted, but at least I fought.

In the minutes before Jamie came in here to tie me up, I was losing it fast. I felt like pinning my hopes on someone noticing I was gone was becoming juvenile. The way Jamie wanted to continue his life as normal by going to work not only scared me, but managed to make me feel insignificant. How was this situation not more pressing to him?

I genuinely considered asking him to end it. Surely that's where this is headed anyway? But then that little voice came into my head. The eleven year old child that just wanted to be something to somebody. She wanted out. She wanted things to go her way for once. So when he walked in here, duct tape in hand, I did whatever I could for her.

I have to continue to do that. I have to keep fighting. But now I see that I do have to be smarter. I have to try something different. I will never physically match Jamie, he'll always have the upper hand with strength. However, I'm starting to realise that the fight back isn't always about the physical, and that maybe I've been looking at it from the wrong angle this whole time.
I don't need to fight Jamie, I just need to figure out how to outsmart him.

That won't be easy. He's not stupid, not by any feat, in a lot of ways he's always one step ahead of me. But this situation we're in wasn't something he could plan for, so that's where I can take advantage.

I toy with the idea of trying to convince him that I still want us to be together so I can lull him into a false sense of security. But like I said, he's not stupid, and somehow I think that ship has sailed. Also, I'm not that good of a liar either.

No, I have to find his weak link. I need to discover where he may have messed up, or something he hasn't thought about. There has to be a base he didn't cover.

Retrace his steps Izzy.

Okay, I know that Jamie left nothing behind when he cleaned this place out. Nothing loose and nothing I could use against him, but that doesn't mean there's not something in here that's useful.
Again, the tape is wrapped in circles around my head, so I can't push it off. But what if I can cut it somehow? He's not here, I could scream for help all day if I managed that.

Shimmying myself towards the vanity, I check if there's anywhere I could rub the tape and tear it, but there's no luck there, the edges of the marble are rounded. Useless. It was too easy.

The cabinet. The doors have sharper corners on them, I bet that could work. I scoot my way toward it, only to find that I'm a little too shy on slack. Inches too shy. I try to stretch and pull my way to it, getting more and more desperate as the rope tightens, but nothing. I couldn't even bring it to me if I could get my feet at it, it's too heavy. Looks like he thought about that much.

I circle back, trying to find the thing he didn't think about. There has to be something else.

Scouting every inch of the rope, I look for any kind of fray or loose knot, anything at all, but yet again, I come up short. Jamie made no errors in the way he tied it up either, in-fact, I'd go as far as to say that all of his sailing with his father as a kid came in handy, despite his dad telling him it had been a waste of time.

Fuck! I need to find a way out.

My desperation turns to frustration as I slam my hands onto the toilet seat, sending a rattle through it that shakes the lid on-top of the cistern.

You've got to be kidding me.

That's it! That's what he missed! The lid is removable.

A rush of excitement fills me as I pull myself up. Jamie gave me enough slack to use the bathroom if I needed, meaning I can easily get at that lid. I knew he had to have missed something! I knew it! I'd call him an idiot if I wasn't the one that's been tied to it this whole time.

Although my hands are bound together, and I can just about stand up fully, I can still get a grasp on the edge of the lid, so I begin to slide it toward me. It's porcelain, so it won't need much force other than dropping it on the floor for it break. I continue to slide it away from the toilet, one inch after another until it falls, breaking into multiple pieces at my feet. Excellent.

Looking through the shards, I spot one thats both big enough to grasp and sharp enough to cut the rope. It's perfect.

I don't know how long I was out for, all I know is that its daylight now, and I've no time to waste. I move as far back from the toilet as I can, pulling the rope taut and grabbing the shard from the lid. Using the sharpest part I can find, I begin to cut into the length of rope that extends away from me and wraps around the toilet. It's hard to do it with my hands tied, but not impossible, so I won't be stopping until I'm free. This is my way out, this is my way back to Will.

The first few strands of rope begin to come apart, and I could honestly cry when I see it begin to happen. I cut and cut and cut, watching fibres come away each time.

I'm easily more than half way through when I first hear it. A quiet knocking sound. What was that? I stop what I'm doing immediately, straining to hear. It can't be Jamie. It can't, it's way too early.

I listen for any bit of movement or sound, scooting myself closer to the bathroom door. Please don't let this be it. I hold my breath, making sure no noise comes from inside the apartment. There's nothing, not a creek or footstep, and no more knocking either.
I resign myself to the probability that I was hearing things and continue cutting the rope.

But there it goes again.

Knock, knock, knock.

It's the front door, there's somebody out there! Surely it's not Jamie, why would he knock? I don't know what to do. What if this is a trick? What if he never left?

Suddenly, someone calls my name from out front. It's a voice that only a few days ago I thought I was never going to hear again.

"Isobel?," he calls out. "It's me... it's Dad. Are you home?"

What the...?
My pulse quickens as I realise that this is my chance. I try to call out to my dad through the gag, but I know it's far too muffled, and I still can't reach the door.

It's now or never Izzy.

I have to get rid of this rope. Cutting as viciously as I can, I push the shard of porcelain to its limit, slicing through the threads as the edges cut my fingers. This is my last hope.

A flood of relief runs through me as the rope finally breaks and begins to pull apart, falling slack around my wrists. It gives me some room to wiggle my hands a bit until finally I get to pull one free and untie the rest of the knots. More burns and cuts decorate my arms, but I don't take a moment to feel it. I can't hear my dad anymore, I need to move.

Pounding as hard as I possibly can on the bathroom door, I make as much noise as possible. If my dad is still out there, he's going to hear me.

Nothing sounds from out front, please god don't let him be gone! I pull at this torture contraption Jamie has strapped to my face, taking away patches of skin and hair like it wasn't attached to me in the first place. I peel the last piece from me, spitting out the horrible gag and using my voice like never before, banging on the door as I do.

"DAD!" I scream. "I'm here! I'm in here, help!"

Nothing.
I thump that door even harder, my throat begins to sting from the screaming. Come on Charlie! Be a fucking father for once! Hear me!

I pause for a moment, wanting to know if he's still there, but I'm beginning to lose all ambition.

And that's when it comes.

The splintering sound of broken timber fills the whole apartment, closely followed by one big bang echoing as the front door swings open and hits off the wall in the hallway. The house alarm begins to shriek, but it's no match for the sound of my dad as he calls out my name. Whatever he had to do to get in here, he made it seem easy.

"Isobel? Where are you?," he shouts.

"I'm in here! Dad I'm back here! Please, help me!"
He follows the sound of my voice, bursting through the bedroom door as I call to him.

"Isobel what's in gods name is going on?"

"You have to be quick," I yell frantically, "we don't have time! Jamie locked me in here. I don't know where he is, but you have to let me out before he comes back."

"He what? Stand back."

I move across the floor for what I desire to be the last time. Dad kicks the door once, twice and on the third try, using all of his force, he boots it wide open before casting his eyes on me.

"What in the hell?" 

I've hugged this man exactly once in the last fourteen years, but I can't stop myself as I barrel towards him, grabbing him and holding on for dear life.

"Christ almighty, what happened here Isobel?," he asks.

Tears choke me as I plead with him to get me out of this hellish place. I can feel his confusion, his whole body is ridged, but after looking around to see the tape and rope on the floor, he wraps his arms around me and promises not to leave me.

"I think we're going to need to call the police or something here Isobel,"

I pull back from him, voicing my sheer horror at his suggestion. "No! We need to go now! Please, let's just go Dad."

"Okay, alright, don't worry!," he says as he pulls me back into him. "We can figure that out, but you'll need to go to the hospital, look at the state you're in. Was this Jamie?"

"Dad please, please just come with me and I'll answer all of your questions later, I can't stay here, if he comes back, if he finds you here..." I break into this hysterical cry that I don't even recognise as my own. I'm completely inconsolable. All I want is to leave here and never come back.

Trying to keep me calm, my dad gives in and slowly guides me out of the bedroom, being careful not to let me trip on anything. The place is a mess, Jamie didn't even bother to change the bedsheets before sleeping last night. My dad notices the bloodstains in the middle of the bed and turns my head away, shielding me from it.

Walking towards the door, I put my code into the alarm panel to silence it as we leave. It's pointless, I'm sure Jamie got the notification that it went off right away, but at least there's quiet now.

♾️

Not a single word fell from my lips as my dad sat me into his car and sped us away from the apartment block. I don't know if I can really believe I'm out of there, nothing feels real.
In stark contrast to that, my dad hasn't shut the hell up since we left. For a man with so few words to say to me my whole life, it's strange to hear.

Apparently Donna had been fretting about me ever since the playground that day. She finally broke this morning and told my dad she was worried about what she saw. Right away he was suspicious, he hadn't trusted what I told him about the bruise on my cheek and instantly knew something wasn't right. He decided to call Sarah first to see if she could tell him anything, needless to say she spilled every detail she knew, no big surprise there. He rushed himself over to the apartment the second he hung up the phone. He mentions that he was afraid I wouldn't let him in after what happened between us, but in reality, I don't think I've ever been so glad to see him.

Continuing his tangent, my dad begins to list off all of the reasons why he was never sure that Jamie was right for me, and that he never wanted me to move in with him. It makes me wonder what things would have been like if he'd shown that disquietude sooner, but there's no point dwelling on that I suppose, it would only serve to drive me crazy.

Every now and then he glances over at me, telling me that things will be okay now. He keeps asking if I think anything is broken, but I can't concentrate on anything he says, not when I don't know where Jamie is or if Will is safe. For all I know Jamie never went to work at all.

As we continue driving, Dad calls Sarah, asking her to meet us at the hospital. I take the phone from his hand, speaking up for the first time since this journey started. I need her to call Will and make sure that he's alright. I can't stand the idea that something is happening to him and I can't reach him. I should have memorised his number.
My dad doesn't bother to ask me who Will is when I hand him back the phone, or seem interested in why I asked Sarah to call him. I think it's more out of awkwardness than anything else, I'm sure Sarah filled him in on all of that too.

Unfortunately, he also takes no heed when I make my protests about going to the hospital, and insists on bringing me there anyway. I honestly think he'd have picked me up and carried me in to the building if I had attempted to stay in the car.

The receptionist looks like she's seen this a million times. She doesn't bat an eye when we walk in. Dad expects me to be carted off to a bed right away. He's not impressed with the lack of urgency, but the lady behind the desk makes a point of telling him that there's other people here that are a lot sicker than I am.

We sit in the waiting room together as he fills out forms for me, asking me to confirm things every now and again. When it comes to the reason for my visit, I tell him under no circumstances is he to say this is anything other than a mugging, exactly what I promised Jamie. That's not for his benefit though, it's for my own. I want to get in and out of here without any extra attention.

As soon as he's finished, he hands the clipboard and paper back in at the desk and  takes a seat beside me, reaching for my hand as he does.

I stare down at our fingers clasped together the way they are and think back to that little girl and her father in the park. It's the tiniest thing really, a gesture of comfort. It shouldn't make me well up the way it does, it must be the exhaustion or something, I don't know.

"I'm so sorry Isobel," he says softly. I can hear the catch in his throat as he whispers it. He stares out in front of him, his eyes glued to the triage doors, waiting for someone to come and see me.
I take a moment to examine him. To really see him as he is. He looks old. I've never thought of him like that before, he's always been so stoic to me. Broad shouldered and tough, good at working with his hands. I'm sure he still is all of those things, just older, and a bit more worn out.

"It's alright Dad," I tell him. I'll probably kick myself for rolling over so easily later on, but for now I think we both need it.

"No, it's not," he says. "Things with you and I... look I know it was my fault. All of it. Our relationship was ruined because I blamed you for things that had nothing to do with you, for things I had no right blaming you for. It was so hard Isobel, losing her. I didn't know where to put the anger... and then the longer it went on..."

"The harder it was to repair," I say, "I know."

He pivots in his chair, facing me. "I've always loved you, regardless of everything else Isobel. You need to know that. I thought you were okay, I thought you were happy. If I'd of known what was going on I'd have been there. That day with the lunch, I was so afraid of you not being able to forgive me. I didn't know how I was going to repair things..."

"We don't have to talk about this now dad, I understand."

"I failed you," he chokes out. "I know that. If I'd sucked it up, I'd have realised sooner that things weren't right and none of this would have happened."

A nurse steps into the waiting room, calling my name and ending the conversation we so badly needed. Dad asks to stay with me while I'm checked over, but I don't want him to have to see anything, so I insist he waits outside.

The nurse brings me to a room at the end of the corridor and checks me out before calling for a doctor. I don't have to wait long thankfully, but after he gets there and completes the exam, the doctor tells me that he'd like to get an X-ray of my chest, and also do an MRI on my shoulder to check for muscle damage. He removed the paper stitches that were over my eye, and after examining the cut, he tells me that I'll need to have some real ones. Luckily there's no sign of any internal bleeding, but he's worried about a concussion after he examines the bruising on my head. I insist that I feel alright and that I don't want to be here any longer than necessary.

At one point, the doctor steps outside and has a discussion with one of the nurses, they both look in on me as they speak. The nurse comes back not too long after and tries to probe me about the older bruising that doesn't quite coincide with the story I gave. She's as nice as she can be about it, but obviously suspicious. She offers me the opportunity to talk to a councillor that they have, or to speak to the police, but I continue to tell her that it was a random attack, and dont deviate from that explanation at all. I know that if I say anything about it being Jamie that she's mandated to report it.
This isn't her first time with a domestic violence victim, and it won't be her last, so she doesn't flinch when I refuse to give any more information, she just signs the paperwork for admission and says that she'll let my dad in to see me.

I can't face reporting any of this. The interviews, the examinations, the poking and prodding into my life. I just want to get as far away from it as I can. I want to find Will, and leave this place, and I don't care if we never come back.

"Looks like they'll take you down for your X-ray soon Isobel," my dad says as he comes in carrying two coffees. I've never been so grateful for shitty hospital caffeine in all of my life.

"Have you heard from Sarah yet?" I ask. I'm conscious that it's been awhile, and I'm afraid they're keeping news about Will from me.

"I just spoke to her," he says, "shes on her way. Mark and Donna too."

"What about Will?"
The look of disappointment on his face is so condescending that it makes me think I imagined that apology out in the waiting room.

"She said to tell you he's fine, and that he's on his way. I told her to tell him to hold off, but she said you'd want him here."

"I do," I insist.

Dad doesn't say much else about it, but his scowl certainly does, not that I'm bothered by it in the slightest.

Checking the clock on the wall, I find that it's only one thirty. I wonder what Jamie's doing right now. Did he go straight home when he got the alarm notification? Does he know I'm gone? Is he out there now, trying to find out where I am? Maybe somebody from the building has called the police considering that the front door was kicked open, I'd like to see him explain that.

Dad sits with me in silence as I watch the clock, continuously tapping my foot on the leg of the bed. He must know exactly what I'm thinking, because he places his hand on my knee, trying to calm my nerves.

"He won't come here Isobel," he assures me, "not if he values his life."

His words bring little relief. I know Jamie, he loves revenge just as much as he loves handing out punishments. And this escape will warrant both from him.

My dad takes my hand again, looking me right in the eye.
"You're out of there, and you're never going back. Whatever help you need, we can manage it, you can stay with me and Donna for as long as you need, or-"

"Or we can still get out of here, just like we planned Isobel."

My dad's gaze shoots to the door, wondering who's interrupted us, but I'd know that voice anywhere. I don't think I've ever been so happy to set eyes on a single person in my whole life.

I don't waste time on introductions or explanations, I'm up and across the room within seconds, straight into Wills arms.