Day 9

(This is part of my mail to John. I write to him daily and we also talk to each other on the phone :-)).

(…) You said something like “I really don’t want you to accompany me if you’re in that mood” and before I could count to three, you had handcuffs handy. I still wonder why, but I did not contradict when you put the one around my wrist and the other around the steering wheel. It was only after you had left that the thought of what I should do in case of an emergency popped up inside my head. Too late.

The car park was quite dim and I did not really fear being discovered, but after a few minutes I sat there with growing discomfort. It was not only the fact that I did not have a key. It was a growing feeling of panic that made my heart pound faster. It was one of the first times I had been handcuffed again, and during all former occasions you had been with me, assuring me to free me as soon as I’d ask for it. Now there was no escape. Of course I knew that in an emergency I could open the window and scream. I knew I had my spray and something to drink nearby. There was no threat. But there were memories, you know. (…)

All in all, when I was on the edge of tears and desperation, you showed up, put the bags inside the boot and took a seat. “How’ve ya been?” I did not know what to answer and when you saw my face, you did no longer need a reply. You did not free me, but drew my head to your shoulder, stroking my hair. It was the best thing you you actually do. All words wouldn’t have been enough. You returned and I was save again.

(…) I first had to learn that being retained is something to help me and to keep me safe. (…)


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s