E L E N A -

My great grandmother once told me the story of a great mango tree. One day, her father brough home a little tree, the branches so thin and the leaves still too small to fall on their own.  She wasn't aware one day it would grow to be as big as her house, the beautiful bunches of fruit hitting against her window while the wind rocked the branches.

Eventually, the mango tree grew sickly, and the only option left was to cut it down and tear the roots right out. She told me it was a sad day when the tree was cut down, but shocking when it came time to take the roots out. I remember her smiling at me. Nana said that she could've sworn the roots extended 15ft downward, that it was impossible to take all of it out. She said I'd always remember the story, to not be the fruit, but to be the roots.

I thought of that this morning when I woke up in a strange bunker. It was lit only by a small oil lamp, and I watched it flicker on and off from my cot. My legs ached, last night had been worse than the last. Every time he grew more creative, more cruel. Whether it was by forcing my face into the pillow or choking me until I passed out, I was lucky that eventually I wasn't able to feel anything.

I bit my lip to fight back more tears. "God, where are you? Please don't forget me here."

Those words hurt to say out loud. Everyday the realization hit me harder. I would die here and I would receive no mercy. I had tried my best to be good to everyone I crossed paths with, to show love to those I knew needed it. I wasn't perfect, I knew that. But what can someone do to deserve this?

All I knew was that I wasn't allowed to be crying when he came to see me, and that if he found me crying, i'd be punished. The amount of things I wasn't allowed to do was hard to remember.

I could only behave and pray everyday, hoping that someday soon I'd be able to go home.

"I'm sorry, baby," I sniffled, running my fingertips on my prominent bump. "We're going home soon."

Zayn's words kept repeating in my head. Our baby.

Only it wasn't. I knew that it was Harry's and some part of me wishes I had told him. I wish that I could tell him how much I love him and our child, that this is my only reason to fight.

I always woke up very optimistic, always positive that today was the day. But by the time the sun went down, I was a crying mess. I wondered, if I screamed, would anyone even hear me? I didn't know where I was.

I had been blindfolded when I was moved here.

Thoughts of my parents crossed my mind. Thoughts of my birth mother surfaced everyday. She had also disappeared, never to be found, fleeing from a man that abused her for many years. Were we so different? My stepmother had given me so much and I sometimes wished she was my real mother. I didn't understand why someone would stay with an abuser, but now I knew. Fear. Fear could make you sell your soul.

"Please don't drug me anymore, it will be bad for the baby. I will not try to run."

Zayn raised a brow and appeared to be contemplating it. "This is your last chance."

"When can I go home?" I asked stupidly.

"Soon. Once you're farther along, maybe."

I frowned, not entirely understanding. My biggest fear was losing my child. I could not live with myself if that happened. Surely, he had to know the risks.

Or maybe he did, but he didnt care.

"I imagine it won't be easy for you," a fake, sympathetic look covers his face, "everyone in town is happy you left. So, maybe it'll be hard to adjust living somewhere where everyone hates you."

"That's not true," I sniffled. Was I really that bad?

"Lena, come on. Not even your parents care if you're missing. Everyone thinks you're a waste of my time. Maybe you are," he sighs, sitting next to me on the cot, "maybe I should just leave you here. You dont seem to care about me even though i'm taking care of you."

His words make me nauseous. Is he lying to me? Or is he just saying what no one will tell me?

"All I ask is for some appreciation. You are so unresponsive to me, all you do is cry. Be grateful, Elena. I could have buried you alive."

"You're right," I say, completely defeated, "i'm sorry."

Zayn looks pleased. "See, was that so bad? Soon you'll be the perfect wife and you'll be able to go home with me."