I was back in the first basement with the family friend. I was curled up in the corner, huddled and scared. He was reaching for me, trying to take me somewhere else, but I was determined not to go. It was almost two weeks and by this point I knew he had taken me from my family, and he wasn't treating me as kind anymore. He had started to hit me when I spoke. Any voice that came from a child that didn't come from either of his boys seemed to anger him. I hadn't spoken in days, trying to stay away from his hands, not sure I'd be able to speak even if I wanted to.

In his eyes he looked scared, usually how he looked before he hit me. He was reaching, his arm growing closer, but never enough to actually touch me. I was in a smaller space, a shelf or something. I knew he wouldn't be able to reach me, but I was still scared. I closed my eyes, squeezing them shut. Imagining being with my parents again. He lunged for me and I screamed. That's when I heard a loud bang. He jumped, his eyes finally off of me. I ran under the stairs, hiding in the darkness.

What happened next was a blur. A bunch of men with guns stormed the basement, telling the family friend to put his hands up. He didn't listen, trying to grab at me again. Guns went off and I screamed again. I closed my eyes and covered my ears, telling myself it would be over soon. Then someone's hands were on me. I fought them, eyes still closed. I heard his voice, deep and calm. He told me to open my eyes and I did. It was a police officer. His eyes were kind, but he was blocking my view of the rest of the room. I leaned to try to peek around him. He told me to close my eyes again, and I trusted him. He told me he was going to pick me up, his hands calloused and gentle.

As he started ascending the stairs, I opened my eyes. I wanted to see the room where he had kept me. I saw him sprawled on the ground, blood seeping from his leg and stomach. He was alive. He moaned as another police officer put his wrists in cuffs, tighter than he needed to, but I appreciated the extra security and punishment at the time. I wrapped my arms tighter around the officer as he carried me through the door. I smiled slightly, knowing I was going home to my family.

Being outside for the first time in weeks was intense. The lights were bright, though the sun had already begun its descent behind the mountains, the sounds were coming from everywhere. It was like I was staring into the sun. It felt like thousands of news casters, officers, fire fighters, and EMT workers were swarming me. A barrier was set up where my neighbors pressed against it, demanding to know what was going on, some trying to call for me. Their voices melted together into a mob, lights from the ambulance striking my eyes like a metal baseball bat. I closed my eyes and pressed my hands against my head, willing the sirens to stop, and people to leave. I didn't want anyone to see me at all. I just wanted my parents.

The officer took me to his car and sat me down in the front passenger seat. He wiped a tear from my cheek. He whispered to me, so only I would hear it. He told me that he knew how overwhelming this must be, but they had to make sure I was okay. Eyes still closed, I nodded. He placed something on my face and told me to open my eyes. I looked up at him, darker than it had been in the basement and felt the large glasses on my face. I smiled at him and he smiled back. He had given me his sunglasses to lessen the intensity of the outdoors. He placed his cap on my head and shook it down, nearly covering the glasses. He chuckled at what must've been a sight.

He then told me that they were going to run a few surface level tests before I could see my family. He told me that it meant that it wouldn't hurt and that he would be with me every second of it. I don't remember the tests at all. Three people poked and prodded at me for what felt like hours, but was only mere minutes. He didn't lie, he was with me the whole time. He had asked the EMT professionals to do the examination of me where I was in his car, claiming that he didn't want to move me from my comfort zone again.

All of the professionals were kind, but my eyes never left the officer who had carried me to safety. Once the others had left, the officer asked me if he could pick me up again. He told me that we were going to go back to my family. I nodded profusely, more than excited to see my parents again. He scooped me up again and plopped me right into my father's arms.

Tears were shed, hugs were traded, and things were said. I don't remember much of the reunion, I don't even remember when the officer left my side. All I knew was that I was safe and I would never be going into that basement again. I also knew that I would never see that officer again, but I still had his hat and glasses, framed in a shadow box in my college dorm room. It was a reminder of where I came from, what I worked through, and what I was working towards.

That officer doesn't know it, and may never know it, but he did more than save me from the basement that day, he gave me a purpose and an idea for my future. From that point on, I knew I wanted to be a cop, just like him, so I could help others as he helped me. That's why I went to college where I did and trained as I did and kept in shape as I did. Liam understood, and always encouraged me, taking me to the gym with him on occasion and sending me videos of police officers going through their training so I would know what to expect. I pictured his face, soft and sweet, never stern even through our fights. I knew deep down that he was the one I was going to marry, if I ever made it out of here.

Liam's face flashed in my mind beautiful as ever. Slowly it began to be replaced by that of a young boy. A video of memory played through my mind from the day I emerged from the basement. This boy, he wasn't someone I knew well, but I recognized him somewhere from within my repressed memory. His blonde hair blew softly in the wind, covering half of his face. He looked up at me to meet my gaze, an intensity and anger that I had never seen before in someone so young. He had scars covering his entire upper half of his face, turning one of his eyes slightly red, only revealed when the wind blew his hair from his eyes. I recognized him, someone who I had been close to once. That same image played over and over in my head. He wasn't looking at me, and then he was, he wanted to hurt me I know it now. He was older than I was, bigger and stronger, though not by much. He watched me until the memory restarted, over and over.

I jumped, waking up with a start. I scrambled against the wall, not knowing where I was. I was back in the basement, pitch black. Trapped. I breathed heavy, not able to catch my breath. My chest felt tight as if someone was squeezing. I closed my eyes and willed it to stop, unable to think of anything except for my breathing.

Finally I was able to let out a deep breath, slowing my heart and allowing my lungs to breath easy. It slowed even more as I remembered where I was and why. I knew what was wrong and what wasn't. I had spent five nights in this room already with the same routine: wake up next to Seth, eat breakfast, wait for him to leave, pry the shelf no more than a few centimeters from the cement wall, read a book until Seth came home, eat dinner and try to get some sleep which never came easy, his disgusting body next to mine. The little blonde boy's face flashed in my mind and I forced my eyes to open. When they did, I was face to face with Seth, his smile chilling me to the bone. "Good morning, princess."