I don’t know how long I can hold on. – Liana
Liana
The floor was rough, the air tasted like rust.
My arms were twisted behind me, wrists cuffed to something thick and hot, a pipe, maybe. My head throbbed. My mouth was dry.
I didn’t know how long it’s been since they took me.
Few days maybe? But it felt like years.
I remembered what he said. I pressed the necklace. I was sure I had.
Did it work? Did he get it?
I forced myself to breathe. In. Out. Like Elias taught me.
You’re not fifteen anymore. You’re not powerless.
I repeated it. Twice. Three times.
But the walls felt like they were closing in.
There were no windows. No clock.
Just shadows and a single bulb hanging too far away to reach.
The silence clawed at my skin. My breath started to hitch, coming out too fast.
Not again. Not this again.
I can’t do this again.
My chest ached. I pressed my forehead to my knees and tried to disappear into myself.
I didn’t want to scream. I didn’t want to be heard.
I just wanted Elias.
To hold my hand. To say, “I’ve got you.” To be the voice that cuts through the dark.
Please come.
Please.
Voices. Outside the door.
I froze.
“You sure he’ll come this far?”
A deep voice. Rough.
“He’s not just a cop,” another said, lower, calmer. “He’s Wolfe. He doesn’t let go.”
“So why not kill her already?”
“Because she’s leverage. You think we’d get this kind of reaction from killing his partner?” A scoff. “This girl’s different. He cares. We make him watch. That’s how you break a man like that.”
My stomach turned to ice.
They knew who he was. They took me to hurt him.
I curled tighter.
Not because of them. Because of what it would do to him.
He thinks this is his fault. I know he does.
Maybe I shouldn’t have stayed.
Maybe I should’ve gone when Alex moved out.
Maybe I should’ve known better than to believe I could have a life with someone like him.
But I loved him.
God, I loved him.
And now I was the thing that could get him killed.
I don’t know how long I sat there. .
My shoulders hurt. My hands were numb. My face was wet and I hadn’t even noticed I was crying.
I didn’t sob. Didn’t make a sound.
The tears just came. Quiet. Endless.
I kept whispering, over and over:
“Please come.”
“Please.”
Then, softer to myself:
“What if you don’t?”
What if this time, no one comes?
What if I disappear again, and no one even knows where I went?
What if this is how it ends?
I looked up into the dark.
And whispered, to no one:
“I don’t want to be forgotten again.”
The bulb above me flickered.
Then went out.
