For six years I have watched this man who has the kindest soul, and it is addicting. The fact that I get to work side-by-side with him should feel like a blessing, but it’s torturous to not be able to tell him how I feel. I am scarily comfortable with him, despite everything that happened to me when I was eighteen. Men like him deserve better than a broken and shattered soul to weigh them down, yet here he is by my side.

Some would say that I coped well with the atrocities that took place back then. I think part of me just knew it wasn’t over yet. It won’t end until one of us is dead.

When my captor catches back up to me, will I be able to survive his disgusting fantasies twice?