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Can I trust him?

— F.

March 15, 2010

Dear Diary,

I want to go home! I don't like it here!

I told the man to go to hell today and then I called him an asshole. I've never called someone an asshole before, but I won't lie, it felt good.

I know I'm making him angry, and I don't give a shit. He keeps saying that I'm here and I need to get used to it. He told me to stop being a bitch and just listen for once. But what does he expect?

Does he really think that I'll just shut my mouth and do what he wants? He's freaking stupid if he thinks that. He doesn't know me, he'll never know me.

I just want to get out of here. I miss my parents, I miss my life. I just want to go, and I don't know how I'm going to do that.

The door is always locked, the window doesn't open, and there's nothing in here I can use to break it. Even if I could break it, I don't have anything to use to climb out.

WHY? Why is he doing this to me?

Why isn't anyone coming to help me? Why haven't the police come and rescued me from this place?

I don't understand. I'm going crazy Diary, I really am. I can't stay in here like this.

Tell me what to do!! Please, just tell me!

March 20, 2010

Dear Diary,

I think I broke my finger. Today the man came in with a chair, and he placed it in the center of the room and made me sit in it.

I tried to fight him, but he's too strong. He dragged me across the floor and wrapped a chain around my waist to hold me in a chair. It was disgusting, it was vile and cruel and this man needs to be locked away.

Where are the police? How come no one has come to save me?

He told me that he was done with my games, that it was time for me to finally just accept my reality. He wants me to forget who I am, he wants me to forget about my parents and my life.

He said I'll be able to have all the freedom I want if I can do that. You know what I said?

No damn way.

I screamed and I cried, plugging my ears and yelling at him that he killed my family. I called him a murderer and told him he was a sick asshole. He didn't like that very much.

He got really close to my face, and all I could smell was his horrible breath. He stunk like booze and fish, it was gross. I thought he was going to hurt me, the look in his eyes was pure evil.

He put his fingers in my hair, and he grabbed it really tight. Then he pulled my head back so I had to look up at him. I think he was trying to scare me, but I'm not afraid of him. I'd rather die than live here with him.

So I punched him, I actually clocked him in the face. For a second I thought that was it. I braced myself, closing my eyes and waiting for him to kill me. Shit, a part of me was happily ready for all of this to be over.

I held my breath and prayed, wishing for it to be quick and simple.

He didn't, and I guess that makes me lucky. I don't know. My parents weren't lucky, so why should I be graced with any pity?

Instead of lashing out at me, he laughed. That sick crazy man laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world. Then he told me I was a spitfire like my mother, with the stubbornness of my father.

That made me more mad. How dare he act like he knew my parents! If he knew them, he would have known how great they were and he wouldn't have killed them.