A girl unaccompanied on the internet
What happens to girls when there is no one around and the world is a large, dark and vast place?
Chapter one. Desires.
We are all young at least once, and I am still young, so when I find myself texting alone in my room, I can feel the smallest bit of the freedom from my studies and my responsibilites. As a student, a sister, and a friend. My parents have to emphasize how to stick to one another, whose backs to watch out for, what stories to tell to people, and who to lie to and who to tell the truth.
But even with these guidelines, there are careful steps needed even to protect oneself. I am reminded of these during endless hours of running, kicking, setting, securing, even swimming, dancing, and otherwise. I actively make these plans to protect myself and the team, and it is fufilling, to say the least. But I find myself with this cold place in my heart that no one can warm up, a frosted coating… Yes, like the cereal.
It’s the jokes I make and the stories I tell when we have downtime that scare and also excite people to be around me. Honestly though? Even I have a hard time telling when I am making comedy or telling the truth. Maybe that’s a little haunting, (or too scary,) but that is simply who I am. Considering the hearts I’ve broken, or how little I know myself
Like any other person though, I can only do so many things. At night, when all the normal people on the coast are asleep, and there’s only Australians (or other psychos like me), dangerous information is exchanged. Who is naked tonight, who is tortured by their desires? Who is sick, who is guilty, who is free? Who can I save?
I’ve read reports and seen statistics on what is common to find in the world. I know it’s not entirely expected for me to be crazy over the darkest, ugliest, most intense, terrifying parts of the world. I know most girls don’t willingly keep hundreds of men on the line, or call places of work just to get a response, or even stay up late with men decades older then her. The level of justification even runs high among my relatives. There’s always a feeling that someday I’ll have to conform to society even more strictly than I already do.
So someday I’ll have to forget all these terrifying links and dark, small worlds… Someday, I’ll have to let go of my servers, my anonmyous handles, my pages and pages of facts and stats, the weapons I carry with me under the darkness of the moon. The jokes and the blue screens, the memes and the trusted faces, the … everything else. but that’s a distant future from today.
I log back into my username and resume texting one of the boys I know. My favorite age compared to mine is, “inappropriate.” Someone maybe a decade older, 8 years ideally. Someone who has his feet on the ground, whose already tasted the pleasures only really worth it (and legal) to the men older than I. Someone who can buy me things, lavish a bit of attention, who can tell me not to feel down, and that the terror of today won’t feel so bad in the future. Someone who can calm my nerves when I want to go back into the back, and who won’t scare me to death, the way I do to so many other people. Why should it be any shock this is the part of the world I’m attracted and drawn to??
It’s highly inappropriate that I even began speaking with this guy. He and I have been texting ever since I was younger, and I’ve always been barely able to keep up. That’s not exactly rare for me, but I was always incredibly intimidated by him. Plus, with my youth, I’m barely even allowed to travel, let alone say anything out of line. It’s already hard enough for me to string a real comphrehensible thought together, so I can’t often find myself sticking up for myself when I get into a lethal situation. More often than not, people try to make me simply behave according to a rule or standard, and I desperately hit the escape hatch rather than stay.
There’s no escape hatch here. The server is too big, and the fandom itself, too large. This man already has done so much with me, if anything got to a real authority, I would be in trouble so enmourous, there would be a never ending consequence. It would be even wrose than any petty jewelery theft. With that thought, I actually pause. This isn’t the first time I’ve been in a trap, but how do I escape one when it’s over the peversion of my body? When I pull too tightly, it squeezes on me, if I relax and let go, I am released. But this person already has information on me I cannoy afford anyone else to have, so I go further into the belly of the beast.
That is how I found myself locked up here, without anywhere else to go. With the money (and sanity) I’ve managed to collect by the fortune of being young and undisturbed by health and other wariness, I manage to make my way to the local train station and buy one ticket there, and then another for an airplane departing in several hours.
My bag is already packed, and my attempt to reclaim my prizes is ahead of me.
Chapter two. Attempts.
The journey to the station and the plane is quick and painless. I’ve already been to both before, on several occassions, with an adult in tow. It’s at the terminal I have my first realization that my disassociation on the traveling suddenly comes into play, and I find myself largely unaware of the experiences that proceed. I cannot tell you what it was like to be so alone in such a crowd, only that I could hardly make any noise that wasn’t covered up by the jets. Even if I screamed as if I were in a stadium, I hardly doubt anyone would react except a girl paid $23 to stand on her feet and smile when she gets someone to a different location.
It’s on the plane that I actively really notice the surroundings. That is mostly because of the change in altitude, but I wouldn’t want to bore you any more than I already have, so I’ll skip to the good part.
I arrived at the terminal.
I recieved my bags.
I checked into a hotel.
I slept the night there.
I did not buy a ticket home.
Despite my preplanning, forethought, fast reactions, and idealized experience, I was completely screwed when I woke up in a bed that I did not plan to see. I had gone downstairs to get a taste of the city below, but while unaware due to lack of experience, I found my legs taking me someplace I should not have gone. Some man grabbed my shortly thereafter and then the world turned to the darkness of the moon.
SO I AWAIT HERE IN HOPES OF BEING SAVED!
–transmission cut off–
I used to tell my brothers stories when I was young. I have to remember good things and breathe heavily, so I don’t either choke or scare myself to death. I don’t know what to call the man who has a hold of me! A captor? A villian? Merely someone to escape from? should I even be thinking of escape? The prison isn’t physical, it’s a mental one, one I made on my own. In the real world, I’m eating someone else’s food, wearing this outfit, and holding back any excess emotions (though honestly I have very few of those). It’s still panic that I feel. He’s talking a lot to me about who I am, or what I need to tell him so he can report my absence to the authorities, but that I what I want the least! I manage to stutter out a lie about having great needs before he drops the worries.
I have to leave before the cops arrive. That’s the only pressing thought I have. I can’t meet them in a stituation like this, where I could have done wrong. I can’t let myself be seen that way. I know it is a part of being a normal person in a normal trap, but I need to go.
I quietly make my way out the room while he’s still talking on the phone, telling him I need to get some air.
It’s only when I reach the only window in this apartment, do I realise it’s too small to climb out, I need more air than this, so I head downstairs instead.
I’m reminded of all my other escape attempts from my personal life. Haha, yes, even I get to have those. The petty dramas and the horomones, the sweat and the stink, all the gross things no human deserves to face day in and day out. That one idea pushes me outside the door, and I am olly oxenfree to continue my exploration… Except that I’m not. The man who captured me has the doors locked in a way I cannot fix, and he approaches me from behind. It’s only then I realize most of the words out of his mouth have been lies.
Well, that was certainly a way to do it. I suppose he thinks I’m a prositute or something. I probably am, based on what kind of objects I like, and what I’m standing here for.
THERE’S ONE PERSON IN THE ROOM AND HE’S TALKING TO ANOTHER OUTSIDE OF IT!
Oh this is not an escapable situation, is it? When kidnapped, the only option is to hold tight and wait for someone to come get you. A PI opened the door before and talked very loudly about a girl (she? i never know the gender at first, or evern afterwards) who ran away from home. I wanted to crack a joke about police taping my room shut, but I didn’t manage to get a yell out from underneeth the floorboards, though I barely even recognized how I was placed there. It only even occurs to me the solution when I am either reviewing or have time to puzzle out a situation. Most often I find myself completely stumped at first, only to reread for clues later. The only clues here is that this man has held many women before. Maybe a trafficker?
I wasn’t the only person who was this man’s target. Maybe I’m the only one doing the targetting, the betraying, or whatever else. Maybe it’s just me.
As I do these things, what little muscle in my brain turns to mush. It seems I am utterly helpless as I get undressed and spend my night doing the lewd things only a lover could do.
“I want to go home.” I suddenly feel surprised.
with the little might I have, I manage to get myself dressed and recompressed, wiping the blood clean off my hands. He’s recoiled, and he looks like he’s about to counter attack, so I rush him, knock him free, grab the keys, and sprint to the door. He collides into me, but I manage to wrangle myself loose and then open the door ot the hallway. I scream for help once and then the door slams shut again, and the nightmare continues.
“Honestly, you could be a bit better about the threats.” Haha, even in this situation, I get to crack jokes? He’s taken me in a van to someplace, and he seems agitated. That is an incredibly bad sign. I manageed to slip a couple of papers about my location out his window though. Score one, myself, score 11, this guy. The van moves at an alarming pace.
This set of digs is more shack, less apartment. It’s closer to the house I grew up though, in status and landmarks, so I’m pretty satisfied to where this is. Honestly, I thought leaving home was going to be more similar to a day trip. I have the distinct feeling this fantasy just took a turn for the worse. My aching jaw can only confirm this assessment. I manage to settle into the new clothing and the single mattress on the floor. I guess we’ve both drawn blood at this point. I go in for a kiss, but he pulls away. Abductors are funny like that, I guess. Seems like my guesses don’t phase him. I sort of want to know more, but what other questions could I ask? I’ve already had my fill of answers. I suppose my aggressive tactics don’t work on him. Ah, comrade, what is there to do? What can I do?
Unexpectedly, this has veered more into fanfiction territory than I would have guessed. It seems like there’s a lot of this stuff out there. I can’t review what happened fully, but there’s no doubt I’m in the deepest hoohah trouble there is. Important notes: covered many days in a couple of words, wrote all in one sitting, the character did not escape alive, and there was no savior at the end of the day. She was 19 when she left, and it was two weeks (perhaps unrealisticly long) after her abduction she died. She spent several days in that hotel without being aware of the time, and then was kiddnapped for a few. Upon arrival at the other location, she was shortly shot and and then burried in a high, unmarked grave. From what little can be assertained about her life, she was loved by many and known by few. She will be missed.
I have found myself in hell once again, or at least, waiting to be reincarnated. That is simply life.
author notes- began writing at around 5:03 am, only to end now, at roughly seven. I will be getting myself some breakfast during this gorgeous summer. The date is July 15th, 2021. This is a first draft, or a simple writing, cataloging what has happened both truthfully and fictionally.