The light is dim, but it’s better than the three candles I’m allotted daily. I think it’s daily at least. I have no idea what day it is or how much time has passed, but it feels like weeks. I have no way to mark the time apart from the meals Antonia brings in or the visits from my husband although he isn’t consistent. The light from the window that I’d been allowed for so short a time has been closed up again, so I don’t even have the luxury of the small square I used to have when I first came here.

No, when I first was brought here. I never came willingly.

In the dim light of the bulb, I splash water on my face, then take in my reflection. I’ve lost weight. You can see it on my face. And for all the sleep I’m getting, I have dark circles under my eyes. My face is starting to look like the tattooed half of his.

I step back with a rueful smile and take in my small breasts and concave belly. I think about how weak I am. How easily broken both literally and figuratively.

Bruises have created a pattern of deep blues, purples, and decaying yellows along my arms, my stomach, my legs and hips. I don’t think he’s seen them. It’s so dark in here even his eyes couldn’t penetrate it. I wonder what he’d think if he did see. It’s his fault. All of it. He may as well physically beat me himself because being locked in here without light, without exercise, and with the heightened anxiety of what he’ll do to me, to my family, I’m completely out of sorts to the point it’s becoming dangerous. I turn a little to touch the still painful bruise on my hip, the gash. It’s from the edge of the dresser.

Taking out the first-aid kit, I pour antiseptic onto a cotton pad and wince when I touch it to the wound. I should let it get infected and put myself out of my misery. Deny him the satisfaction of torturing me to death.

But that’s a fantasy. God knows what he’d do to Evangeline if I took my own life. And then there’s Hazel. Could he find her? Would he?

After discarding the cotton and washing my hands, I leave the light on and walk back into the bedroom to sit down on the bed and wait. It’s all I do now. I wait for Antonia to come, happy for the exchange of a few words when she does. I get the feeling she’s not allowed to talk to me, but she does anyway, at least a little.

I wait for him to come. To fuck me. To degrade me. To leave.