Natasha

I hold my breath when I hear the basement door open.

Mr. A walks in and I let him out, my shoulders slumping with a relief I'm disappointed in myself for having.

I don't want him to be here. I want to fear him as I do every man I've seen since I was kidnapped. But he's given me something I've missed since I arrived, and somehow it's tearing me apart more than anything else these sick fucks have tried.

Thanks to Mr. A, I finally have a better sense of time.

He comes in once a day, carefully tucks a granola bar into the cell, and leaves without a word. He's done this four times, always in different clothes, so I'm pretty sure that when Mr. A arrives, it's a new day. I even feel like I'm starting to sense when he's about to arrive, so I think he even shows up at the same time. But maybe that's just my imagination.

There are no windows in this basement, and having no clear patterns, I can't get an idea of Julio's schedule. He shows up to fuck with me and to empty the toilet-which is nothing but a plastic bucket...gross, I know-but I have no internal clock to tell me how often. My cramps get worse over time, to the point where I spend a good part of the day - or night? - lying on my side, curled up in a ball, wishing the pain would ease, but that's the only sign that I've been here long enough.

Until now. Now I notice how much time passes, and it makes things worse as well as comforting. I have something to look forward to, something to long for, something to crave. That damn daily granola bar.

A sharp pain squeezes my stomach, I hug and squeeze, waiting for it to pass. Normally, I struggle when there's someone else here-I don't like to show my pain-but today I don't care. Julio has already come. I've already spent my energy giving him a show. I have nothing left.

At least that's what I tell myself.

I open my eyes as Mr. A approaches and bends down to place the bar in the cell. I look at his tanned face and can't help but notice how handsome he looks. Today especially. He's wearing black pants and a white button-down shirt that's rolled up to his forearms. The first two buttons are undone, and today his tie is missing. His brown hair is tousled as if he's run his hands through it, and his firm jawline reveals a stubble I haven't seen before.

I wonder what his days are like. What made him run his hand through his hair? Where has he been? What has he been doing?

This is an island to play on, but it looks like he's just working. He doesn't wear the same casual clothes as the others and always looks serious. There's no mischief in his eyes and he's not as carefree as Lucian. I haven't caught a single smile that would indicate to me that he enjoys watching me suffer, unlike the others. He doesn't try to take anything from me or convince me that everything is going to be okay, and all of this combined makes me hate him a little less than I hate Lucian and Julio.

Who is he? I spend most of the time I'm not planning my escape imagining his life, imagining characters who might resemble him. Some are vile, cruel, ruthless. Sometimes I allow myself to imagine he is kind, as if anyone on this island is capable of that. I don't know his reason for coming here, but sometimes it's hard not to imagine that maybe he just cares.

I have decided not to show my weakness, not to give these people the plea I know they seek, but I am breaking down. I can feel it. I'm in my bra and panties, and my knees feel rough against my arms. My skin is dirty and dry. I feel a knot in my stomach like I'm being eaten from the inside. I'm exhausted all the time. And I feel so alone. If I'm going to break down, I don't want the other two to be the ones to see it. If any of these assholes are going to see me vulnerable... I guess I'd want it to be him.

I try to look him in the eye, waiting for the moment when he looks at me. I want him to see what's in my head, to see how much I'm hurting, how scared I am, and how bad I feel about constantly hiding these things. I want him to talk to me again. To say hello. To say goodbye. To say anything.

I ask him to look at me, but it doesn't work. He straightens up, turns around and walks back to the stairs.

Tears well up in my eyes as I turn my gaze to the granola bar. A stabbing pain fills my stomach and I take a deep breath, air hissing through my teeth. I close my eyes and swallow saliva.

"Thank you," I shout, moistening my eyelashes.

His footsteps stop echoing off the walls, and even though my eyes are closed, I can feel his gaze. Or maybe I'm just waiting for him. Maybe he's already gone.

I open my eyes at the thought and lift my head to see him stopped on the last step. His back is to me and he doesn't turn around. A moment later, he's still walking up the stairs. I bite my lip.

Don't go away.

Don't go

‘’Don't go," I blurt out, sinking my face into my knees and letting tears slide down my skin.

I don't look up, but I hear his footsteps approaching. When they stop, I lift my head, dry my eyes and force myself to calm down. I will not beg. I promised myself I wouldn't.

"Are you okay, Ivy?"

My vision blurs and I don't answer. That question doesn't deserve an answer.

"Do you want to talk?" she asks in a soft, gentle voice.