I walk over to him and hesitate. His head slumped forward, so I am looking down onto the top of his head. I should probably knock him out. Avoid him waking up and I’ll have the best chance possible. I look around the room, scanning it for something I can use. There is another chair in the corner but it’s too big and bulky for me to easily lift. That won’t do. I’ll just manage to wake him, and he won’t appreciate me trying to hit him over the head with a chair. There is really nothing here. Even the bed is bare… I could have strangled him with a sheet…

I feel my nerves rising. I guess I could use my hands…I walk over to Bugsy and look down at him again. I’ve never been violent towards anyone who wasn’t violent to me first. He seemed so helpless. He looked almost peaceful in his sleep. Suddenly, I am overcome with a strange feeling. I can’t do this. I can’t hurt him. Not like this. But how else will I escape? My mind is suddenly racing. I am no monster. Bugsy shifts slightly in his chair. His breathing becomes a little shallower. My heart drops and I quickly crawl back onto the bed and lay down as I was before. I try to get a hold of my breathing.

Bugsy clears his throat, and he sits up. He just keeps looking at me. I struggle to keep my face emotionless, and I feel my eyelids flutter uncontrollably, my breathing not yet calmed.

“Hey… can you look at me?” He says softly. I feel him lean onto the bed. I scrunch my eyes tight and turn my head away from him. “What is your name?” He asks innocently. He is so strange. They never ask for my name. They never consider that I am a human with a name like anybody else. For a moment I considered answering. What’s the harm? “They call me Bugsy here. That’s my name now.”

“What kind of name is Bugsy?” I whisper. My voice is hoarse. It’s been a while since I’ve spoken to someone. He doesn’t answer right away. I think he’s in shock that I answered him.

“It’s um… a nickname of sorts. No one goes by their real name here. They gave it to me when I was initiated.”

“That’s a stupid name.” I say very in a very matter of fact tone, and I hear him blow out air though his nose. A laugh.

 “Yes, I’m not too keen on it myself, but I don’t run things around here.” I hear a bit of a smile in his voice.

“What are you going to do with me?”

“Ah… well…” He hesitates. “Well, the plan is to move you to where the bosses are. And then from there… well… I don’t know what happens next exactly.”

“How far away are these people?”

“Oh, three of four days by car.”

“When are you moving me?”

“Well… erm…I am not sure right now. We have guys out getting supplies and I don’t know when they’ll be back. I am in charge of watching you till they get back.”

 “Why did you untie me?” Bugsy doesn’t answer and I tilt my head slightly towards him anticipating his reply.

“I um, didn’t think having your arms tied up like that was very comfortable. Or very necessary.” He seems so honest. But I remind myself why he’s holding me here. I cannot trust him! I reach into my secret pocket and pull out its contents. I play with it in between my fingers. “What do you have there?” He asks and leans slightly towards me.

 I don’t want to talk anymore. I don’t like what I’m hearing. I turn away from him onto my side and bring my knees up to my stomach. I start to feel hopeless about my escape. My mind wanders back to my camp. I long to be back there. I was safe there. I didn’t have much, but I had what I needed. I could walk out in the daylight, unafraid. The woods sheltered me, and I was free to exist. I found that small, abandoned house a couple of years ago and discovered that no one was around for miles. Acres of uninhabited woods that seemed too good to be true. For months after finding it, I still only came out at night and rarely felt at ease. But over time, it began to feel like I was the only one left on earth. I could almost forget that people like me were being exterminated.

When I scavenged for supplies, I found books, and drawing materials. I found I was no longer spending my days running and hiding but reading and drawing. Before, I rarely had time for those hobbies. I was so focused on going to college, wedding planning, working part time, that I let those interests fall to the wayside. Then of course, after things changed, I spent years just trying to survive. Grieving for the loss of my family and friends, but also for the loss of the life I had. The life I was working so hard to achieve. I wanted nothing more than to grow up and have a normal life. Get married to Jackson. Raise a big family. I still sometimes find myself mourning that loss. But I eventually found some sort of life for myself in that small house in the middle of nowhere. I had a home. I grew used to being alone and started to feel hope again. Hope that I can make something of my life, even if the rest of it was spent there alone in the woods. At least, out there, I could live unapologetically and free.

I don’t know how much longer I can fight this. I replace the contents of my secret pocket back and hug my knees closer to my chest. It’s cold on this bed with no blanket or pillows. I am hungry and need a shower desperately. I haven’t felt this bad in a while. It’s getting harder to hold onto hope. I lay curled up like that for a while. Bugsy doesn’t try and talk to me anymore. Maybe he fell asleep again. Eventually, exhaustion overtakes my wallowing and I fall into warm yellow dreams. Longing to be back home where I spent days reading outside, letting myself bath in sunlight.