By the time I first saw her, I had stopped counting the days. I remember how little she fit in my world then, with her hair still all shiny and this weird look she gave me, almost a grin. In contrast to the dark, colourless barn, where it stank of horses you never saw nor heard. The dryness of the south, and the dust that reached every corner of any lung. Surrounded and trapped by all the wood, wood that offered splinters when pushed up against. No, Anya didn’t belong here.

He sat, no, rather pushed her down into my little coop and clicked the newly-bought handcuffs around her wrists. Then he said something about her being my new friend or something. At the time I thought that was some sick joke, but ironically, he would be right about it in a way. No, I’m actually not going to think about him. I want to think about her. Anya. My Anya.

Anya wasn’t the first, obviously, but neither was I. Now that I think about it, I don’t know who it was. I had kind of always assumed that it was Holly, but she was merely the first I knew about. I honestly don’t really remember how I got here, when it was still her place, Holly’s place, or how many days I was unconscious; that’s how drugged up I was and to be fair… that wasn’t all him. I know my way around those kinds of things. Drugs.

Anyway, when I woke up all those nights ago, Holly was there. Watched me in my misery of the withdrawal. This sweet girl I went to middle school with, all dirty and broken, you could see that from miles away. I knew then and there, as soon as my senses started to clear, that she was not the same girl I met as a child. That girl with the thoroughly-combed blonde hair, straight As, and all the talk of future husbands and shit – that girl would never come back home. That was what I first thought, after I had recognized her under all the dirt.

She didn’t really talk, other than trying to soothe me, the first few days, just prayed. Perfect girl. It is kind of an awkward reunion, right? At least, that’s what Anya said about it later and she wasn’t wrong. When Holly finally talked to me, she mainly repeated that they would find us soon. Probably more for her own sake than mine.

Now, I didn’t know who they were supposed to be, with almost everyone in town thinking she ran away, after some bad breakup with her fiancé or boyfriend or whatever. Apparently, she had also become some kind of theater kid in high school, at least her friends said something about her dreaming of Hollywood, I guess they hoped that was where she went. Maybe that was wishful thinking. I was unsure about her parents, but with her Christianity and her perfect-ness, I guessed that they were still looking. But, still, no one has found me and the others, even after he took Holly away from the barn and didn’t bring her back. Instead, he replaced her. Twice. And we remain hidden away. Maybe they stopped because they found her body or something, but wouldn’t they start looking for that asshole then?

Although, no one out there would be looking for me, I don’t have to be delusional about that. I had been away for weeks at a time, high on some shit a friend of a friend of a stranger had sold me. The folks were used to it and I didn’t really have any friends before I met Anya. Oh yes, Anya.

After she arrived, she had nervously laughed sometimes, and I thought the psycho had caught himself one of his kind and hoped they might kill each other. Honestly, I get it; while crying would have been the more appropriate choice, I, too, sometimes laugh in absurd situations. Though I have never been in a situation this absurd before. That was something we joked about too, because she seemed so collected (aside from the laughing). She didn’t really need my advice, didn’t let me be her teacher. I guess that’s why we felt like equals, except that she still smelled better than me back then.

‘I’ve never seen you around town, where are you from?’ I had asked, while cleaning the wounds he had given her and her eyes had widened a little. When she answered, I understood why.

‘Which state are we in?’ she had asked in her silly West Coast accent. San Fransisco was where she caught it, she told me later. The sad expression on her face didn’t look right. Unnatural. Not fitting in that beautiful face. I wanted to cheer her up – after all we would be here for a while.

‘Sweet, sweet Louisiana, honey.’ I leaned into the accent with this one and to my surprise, she actually laughed about it. That was when I knew she wasn’t like my other companions. ‘Why would a Cali girl come down here? Family matters?’

‘Passing through,’ she had answered and her expression told me to leave it alone. In hindsight it feels like fate, right? Had he never brought her, we would never have met. Of course, I wish she didn’t have to endure the things he did to us, but selfishly I’m glad that she is the one here with me. For the sake of our moments together, not his. Maybe I’ll share these moments one day, but for now, they belong to us and us only.