Cheryl's POV

"Hey, you've been out for ages. I almost thought you were dead."

I slowly blinked my eyes open, yawning. Steph was lounging in the armchair, her legs casually draped over the bed.

I didn't bother replying. I just watched her from under my lashes.

"You alright? Should I call the doctor? You don't look so good," she asked, concern knitting her brows.

Still, I remained silent, detached from my feelings as I watched her rise. "Cheryl?" She narrowed her eyes and leaned closer. "God, Finn said the fever would go down, but you're still burning up," she muttered, more to herself than me.

I didn't care, though. It's not like I hadn't seen worse days.

Ignoring Steph, I closed my eyes again, shutting out the meaningless reality around me.

***

When I opened them again, the harsh yellow light of the sun was flooding the room. I was drenched in sweat, feeling the weight of my body pressing down on the bed.

My breathing was loud, filling the thick, oppressive silence. I turned my head towards the mercifully dim corner of the room, where I could manage to keep my eyes open.

I was alone. An IV was taped to a vein in my left wrist.

Beside the armchairs, a stainless steel tray sat on the end table, lined with medications I had no intention of taking.

Panting, I forced myself upright and stared blankly around the room.

Then it hit me. Reality slowly crept in, dragging with it the relentless ache that burrowed into every joint in my body. That's when the despair wrapped itself around me.

I caved, collapsing into the breakdown that had been lurking just beneath the surface. Curling into myself, I hugged my knees, completely defenseless against the cruelty of my world. The tears came, free falling from my eyes without restraint.

I cried for what felt like hours until my chest ached and my breath came in ragged gasps. I cried until my eyes burned and my throat felt raw and tight.

I hate him. I hate him. I hate him.

The day passed in a blur of loneliness. Steph didn't come back. I wouldn't be surprised if Finn had already killed her for talking too much.

The only visitors I had were the doctor, who came to remove the IV and a man who brought trays of untouched meals in and out.

I didn't eat. I couldn't eat. I felt sick, not because of a body lying in a pool of blood this time, but because I was truly ill.

Finn's image wouldn't leave my mind. I knew it was only a matter of time before I lost it completely. That night, he haunted me. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him pointing a gun at me. When I tried to sleep, all I could feel was him forcing his tongue into my throat, his teeth around my nipple, and his hands all over me. The disgust overwhelmed me. My skin crawled, itching as if his presence was still on me, and suddenly, I needed to scrub him off.

The urge to brush my teeth and shower in the dead of night was overwhelming. I didn't care about the pain in my wrists, my ankles, and my feet, I tore off the gauze and bandages and scrubbed my skin raw, using every soap, every shower gel, anything I could find, desperate to wash away the memories.

But it didn't work. I was still trapped, left alone with my tears, the water from the shower mixing with them. I grew weaker, my body barely responding, until finally, my legs gave out. I slid down the wall, hugging my knees to my chest as the water turned from warm to ice cold.

***

"Hey, I turned on the television and brought some popcorn. We can binge-watch a few episodes of The Vampire Diaries if you're interested," Steph suggested, sensing the tension in the air.

"Finn wants the TV off," I replied flatly.

"Forget Finn; it's Saturday. We're supposed to have fun!" Steph declared, clicking on Season Three and climbing onto the bed beside me, setting the bowl of popcorn between us.

"Should we skip ahead? No, we shouldn't. I love this season," she mused, answering her own question.

I was indifferent, hardly registering the large screen in front of us. My thoughts drifted far beyond that room.

They were back home. With my parents.

After two episodes that stirred no excitement in me, Steph paused the show with the remote and set it on the nightstand.

"Hey, you okay?" she asked, worry etched in her eyes.

I nodded and attempted a smile, but it faltered. "We have so many episodes to catch up on. Time is ticking," I said, redirecting my gaze back to the television.

"Cheryl, what's really going on?" Steph pressed, her focus steadied on me.

I swallowed hard and chewed on my inner cheeks to stave off the tears threatening to spill, blinking them away. "Nothing." I shook my head, releasing a heavy sigh that felt like a sob trapped inside me.

"You're not being entirely honest with me." She shifted into a cross-legged position, facing me, her expression displaying concern and determination.

"I just miss home," I lied, forcing a small smile.

"You'll be home soon, I'm sure of it," she said, though the lie hung heavy in the air, and she eventually looked away.

"He's going to kill me," I murmured to myself.

That caught her attention. "No, that's not true," she replied, her voice light, but it lacked conviction.

"He told me, he repeated it more than once, that he killed my parents. So, I'm next." A melancholy smile slipped onto my face as a tear finally escaped my eye, and I swallowed the lump in my throat.

I couldn't envision a life without my mom and dad. They were all I had, my haven. Now, I was terrified to return home, the place that held all my memories since day one.

"Cheryl, your father is like Bobby Goren from Law & Order. He's probably interrogating kids from that party right now, doing all those detective things," Steph said, trying to lighten the mood with a smile.

"No, he's not," I shook my head, letting out a small whimper.

"He is," she insisted, giving a reassuring nod.

"You have no idea. Finn killed him; he told me last night." I shuddered, struggling to focus on my breathing.

"No, he didn't. Cheryl, I promise you, your parents are alive and safe back in Arkansas," she emphasized, trying to instill hope.

I stopped and looked at her, panic rising in my chest. "Back in Arkansas?" I asked, my voice trembling.

Where am I?

Steph sighed, clearly annoyed at herself for letting that slip. "We're in Illinois."

What? 
No! Please, no.

"You're kidding, right?" I asked again, my mouth agape in disbelief.

"I shouldn't have told you, but yes, you're in Illinois," she confirmed, her sincerity causing my blood to run cold as despair threatened to engulf me.

"In just a matter of days or hours, I'll be that girl on TV, the one who slipped out for a party, only to be kidnapped and killed in a different state," I muttered faintly, but Steph heard me.

"That's far from what would actually happen," she said gently.

"How do you know? I'm sorry, I know you're friends with Finn or whatever his name is, but if I were blind and deaf, I'd agree with you. But no! I saw him kill people right in front of me," I snapped, frustration boiling over.

"He's not what you think. Don't judge him." She frowned and got off the bed.

Wow! I was taken aback.

"He's not what I think? Are you serious? I saw all sorts of weapons and drugs in his room, and honestly, I didn't care. But I'm not supposed to judge him?" I laughed bitterly. "Steph, he's a murderer, a kidnapper, and a torturer. I wouldn't be surprised if you told me he was also involved in sex trafficking because that will even be the tiniest among his crimes." I yelled, tears streaming down my face.

"And yet you defend him. You either don't see what he really is, or you're okay with it." My voice wavered, disappointment evident in my tone as more tears fell.

Steph either froze or chose to remain silent, but moments later, I realized she was processing my words, searching for the right response to my outburst.

"What did he do?" she asked, bewildered, her emotions a combination of anger, hurt, and confusion.

When she asked, the intensity in her voice pulled me back into my melancholy sorrow. I began to shake uncontrollably, my lips quivering but unable to form words. My reaction was enough to answer her question.

"Son of a bitch." She sputtered, pulling at her hair in frustration.

She looked back at me, still emotionally conflicted as she scanned me up and down.

She shook her head in disbelief. "I'm gonna kill him." With that, she headed toward the door, panic surged through me.

"No! Please, you can't. He didn't do anything, really. I got to hit him, not in the balls, but it was enough to have him stop," I rushed my words, practically crying and laughing at the same time.

"Why?" She stared back at me, her eyes wide.

I knew if anyone endured what I had faced, they'd want to kill Finn. I did too. But I couldn't risk it. There wasn't a single chance I could win. All I had was pain.

"You have no idea how far he can go to punish me. Please don't." I shook my head repeatedly, my teary eyes pleading for her to understand.

He almost hurt me. It didn't matter whether he had apologized; the real question was, 'What if he had hurt me?'

He had no compassion in him. He was cruel. He was ruthless.

I couldn't let anything happen to Steph. I couldn't let anyone die for me. I had to accept that I was kidnapped and trapped, mentally and emotionally abused. That was my reality at that moment.

She let out a soft scoff, clearly not convinced by my words. "Fuck," she yelled, slamming her fists against the dresser, causing me to flinch as the depression I felt washed over me again. But Steph was there. I wasn't alone. Somehow, she cared.

She was quiet for a moment, then asked, "So, you kicked hard?"Her words brought a surprising levity, and when I looked up, I found her smirking.

"Hard," I admitted, exhaling a laugh.

"Oh, I love Mulan Cheryl. She deserves an Academy Award," she joked, laughing.

And just like that, I began to feel better with Steph by my side.

For the first time, I sensed that maybe she was right about my parents.