Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 29029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 145(@200wpm)___ 116(@250wpm)___ 97(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 145(@200wpm)___ 116(@250wpm)___ 97(@300wpm)
2
JENNA
We all lost track of time on the island.
We were too busy fighting to stay alive.
We found out later that the men weren’t allowed to kill us. But they could pretty much do whatever else they wanted.
Finding out seven years had passed when we were rescued was a surprise. A big one. Time seemed suspended in captivity. Days morphed into weeks, into months, and even into years. Nothing changed, yet everything changed daily. Each day became something to get through. Something we tried not to think about.
So realizing it had been seven years?
It was a revelation.
I didn’t want to stay for the intensive therapy the Wolfe family offered all of us at a retreat center on the island itself, but it was the best care available, and I knew I needed it if I was going to truly heal.
So I chose to stay. I, along with the others, rebuilt ourselves, healed, learned how to feel again.
As much as we were capable of feeling.
A year later, I’m back home.
Home at my parents’ house, and still in weekly therapy. I may well be in therapy for the rest of my life.
I learned a lot during the intensive year on the island. I learned how to look forward and not back. I learned that what happened to me was not my fault, that I was never to blame for it.
I was a victim, but now I must be a victor.
I missed college at Dartmouth. I missed law school, which was my dream.
Had I not been taken, I would be an attorney by now.
I’m not an attorney, and I don’t think I’ll ever be one. A lot changed during those years. Even more changed during the year of intensive therapy.
I have a new calling now. I want to work with women like me. Women who have been abused, tortured, raped.
Trafficked.
I want to help them heal.
And I don’t want to wait through eight years of school to do it, so I’ll do what I can while I get my education. I’ll begin by volunteering, taking some night classes, getting a degree in psychology or counseling. Maybe I’ll go all the way through med school. I’m starting late, but I have many years ahead of me.
I sigh.
My room looks the same, right down to the poster of Justin Timberlake on the wall. It’s a little faded now. The Color Purple still sits on my bookshelf. We’d just finished reading it in English class, and I had marked sections to begin my book report the Sunday after prom. My pink terrycloth robe still hangs on the back of the door.
It’s both a comfort and a horrible reminder of what I was snatched from.
I can’t decide if I love it or hate it.
The bed feels the same—every mattress lump in the same spot that I remember. Not surprising, since no one has slept on this mattress since the night before I was taken. Mom told me.
“It’s funny,” she said to me, driving home from the airport. “I had just started to plan what to do with your room. Now I’m glad I didn’t.”
“I won’t stay home forever, Mom.”
“We know that, sweetie,” Dad said. “But you are welcome to stay as long as you need. We’re just so thankful to have you back in one piece.”
In one piece?
Literally, those words are true.
But in reality? I’m not the same person I was.
I’ve been broken and glued back together. Some parts of me will never be whole again, but as we learned in therapy, we will grow new parts that will take those places.
I’m not one of the women who can forget. Some of them were able to blot out what happened to them, compartmentalize it.
Not me.
I will always remember.
Even if I don’t want to. And I’ll always look over my shoulder. I’ll do whatever I must to make sure I’m never in a vulnerable position again.
“Max would like to see you.”
My mother’s voice jars me out of my thoughts. She stands in my doorway, my father behind her.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to startle you, but your door was open.”
She’s right. My bedroom door is open. I don’t ever want to be locked anywhere again. We all had our own rooms on the island, and they were smaller than my bedroom, but I don’t want to be trapped in any enclosed space. Getting on a plane to come home was enough for a lifetime.
“It’s okay. I just startle easily.” I force a smile. “But I’m getting better. I’m not afraid all the time anymore.” Only about half the time, but it’s a start. “So…Max?”
“Yeah. He’s on his way. I can call him and tell him not to come if you’re not ready.”
Max.
Maximillian Sebastian Robinson. I smile at the thought of his name. I used to give him all kinds of shit about what a mouthful it was.