Jerome, AZ
September 24th, 2018
20:21:22

As I was thrown into the room, my knees collided with a cold, metal floor. I landed with my palms down on the ground, barely saving my precious nose from breaking. That Brad had more strength in him than I thought.

Unable to see in the pitch-black darkness, I sat criss-crosses right where I landed, running my fingers across the floor. This cell was different than the one I'd been in with Jasper and Kassidy. This one was frigid, bone-chilling, damp, and dark. There wasn't a warm, fuzzy carpet like my last cell. Instead, icy, steel tiles were pressed up against my butt. The thin layer of skinny jeans didn't keep the cold from crawling to my skin and deeper. I started to get up, but I froze. A scuttling noise from somewhere to my right startled me.

"Spider" I hissed, my voice breaking. "Please, Mr. Spider... I'm afraid of bugs... I'll pass out I swear" I talked to myself more than anything, hoping to drown out the sound. Many nights I've woken up screaming from night terrors about all sorts of bugs and insects. I couldn't sleep without sticking my pinkies into my ears for fear of spiders crawling in at night. I had a panic attack once because I thought I saw a cockroach on the floor, but it just turned out to be a piece of string. Although I could put up a good front most of the time, insects were my biggest weakness. And, sitting here alone in the dark, I thought I was safe to freak out.

"FUCKING SPIDER GO AWAY" I screamed, shaking the phantom insects off of my back, slapping myself in odd places. The stress I'd been hiding all month started to gang up on me, and I swear I could feel my very bones cracking under the pressure.

It felt stupid. I felt stupid. But fuck it, I'd just been kidnapped and I was alone in a dark room with my worst enemy and memories of the life I'd been taken from flooding my mind. I had the right to cry.

It started with one tear drop. It squeezed out of the corner of my eye and lazily danced down my cheek. I felt too weak to wipe it off, too ashamed to move a muscle. Images of the previous week flashed before my eyes. The embarrassment of my meltdown during a speech, the sharp, cold eyes of a disapproving teacher, the disappointment on the face of a rejected crush, the awkward tension between me and an old friend, and most of all the shame. The shame of my existence. The guilt of every action I took, every move I made. The feeling of the strong front I kept up for months at a time come crumbling down in that cold, dark cell.

It was too much, but it didn't stop. My body racked with sobs as I relived my kidnapping from the lens of self-loathing. How could I have let myself get kidnapped? What have I done to my family, my parents, the people who mistakenly allowed themselves to love me and would now be deprived of that foolish love because of an idiotic act of bravery, a stupid act of kindness.

I collapsed, then, with a feeling of loss. I felt like I'd lost my life, I'd lost everything important to me. Some part of me knew that nothing would ever be the same, even if I did get out of here. The very thought of such a drastic change for the worse brought my dwindling self-worth to an end. It was dead. I felt dead. I curled up on the floor and cried until I had nothing left. I cried out the fear, the humiliation, the self-loathing, I cried out the tough exterior I'd tried to keep up my whole life, I cried out the humor I'd attempted to hone to keep me from crying every time things got rough. Everything came out, and soon I lay passed out in a puddle of tears and hair, shivering and alone.