I jolted up from a deep sleep thinking I had just had a nightmare, only to discover my nightmare was a reality. I looked around only to see I was still stuck in the same room I’ve been in for the past three months. The same white walls, the wooden floorboards, the flowery scented white sheets, the dusty black lamp by the bedside, the same metal door and doorknob, the worn down caged-up window, the same empty closet, and the black clock hanging on the wall, and the same cracked mirror. Sometimes I heard screams coming from outside my door, which made me wonder if I wasn’t the only one being held hostage.
I arose from my bed and started walking towards the mirror. Each step I took, my image in the mirror became clearer. I no longer saw the girl I used to see. The girl I used to see was full of life, bright, and happy. The girl I now see in the mirror is worn down, dull, and sad. In the mirror I noticed my curly short brown hair was now past my shoulders. My skinny narrow face which used to be round and chubby, has lost it’s reddish tint and is now extremely white and pale. My eyes were no longer the vibrant blue color they used to be, they are now dull and grey. The dark bags under my eyes stood out now more than ever.
The only thing I find familiar about myself  is my mom’s wedding ring, which hangs from a gold chain around my neck. I’ve had that around my neck since she died six years ago when I was eleven years old. When I look at the ring, it gives me a sense of strength to keep fighting. Having it with me makes me feel like she has been protecting me since I’ve been in here.
The last moment I remember before ending up in here was having an argument with my dad and my best friend Cathy. I remember it getting intense. I was crying, screaming, and they were trying to calm me down but I was resisting. I have no memory of what the argument was about. I’ve tried to consider the possibilities of how after the fight I could’ve ended up being kidnapped. Maybe I stormed out of the house and started running down the street, only to be snatched by my kidnapper.  I just don’t remember.
My kidnapper’s name is Jerry.  He revealed himself to me the first day I had gotten there. Jerry is a tall, thin man with a red, scruffy beard and red hair. He dresses in all blue scrubs and comes in to see me a few times a day. I ask him why he is holding me hostage and he refuses to answer. I ask him when I can go home and he just laughs. He is very rough with me, sometimes I am strapped down to my bed or I have a muzzle on my mouth. He gives me an injection sometimes to put me to sleep. I do not think his intention is to kill me, but he does a good job of putting fear into me. If looks could kill, I’d be dead.  When I look into his narrow, icy cold blue eyes, I get chills. It feels like he’s digging deep into my soul and can sense my deepest fears.
My thoughts are interrupted when I hear a knock on my door. Jerry emerged from outside the door and into my room. His eyes met mine and sent chills up my spine. I could tell by his face that he wasn’t in a good mood, which was bad for me. He proceeded to come in with, of course, the sleeping injection and the straps to keep me down. Some days I fight back, other days, I don’t bother. Today was a day I’d fight back.
“Good morning Sleepyhead!” Jerry greeted me as he came towards me.
“Morning.” I mumbled under my breath, trying to act like I had just woken up.
“You tired?” guessed Jerry.
I groggily nodded as if I were to say “yes.” If I made him believe I was tired, maybe I could catch him off-guard and fight back. This could be my shot at freedom.
            “I’ll give you something to help you sleep better,” he offered as he started to come closer to me with the needle.
I began to sweat.  My heart began racing one hundred miles per hour. He came at me with the needle fast. I quickly knocked it out of his hand so that it slid across the room. He was shocked; I was shocked. His eyes were staring at me in horror. I pushed him so hard that he fell to the ground. I sprang up from my bed and ran for the door. My arm reached out to grab the cold, metal doorknob; but it was quickly seized. I was in Jerry’s grasp, my frail, skinny body was shoved up against the wall. My head was pounding from how hard I hit it when he shoved me.  Both his hands were tightly around my wrists. My arms were pinned above my shoulders; and I could see the rage in his eyes. In his right hand, he held the needle. At this point there was nothing I could do to fight back. Jerry was stronger and more powerful than I was. I became limp and allowed him to inject me with the needle. My vision became blurry; and I fell to the ground.
Suddenly I was eleven years old, at the dock with my mom again. We were getting the last things from our boat before the storm got really bad. The wind was rapidly blowing things around in the air, boats were becoming detached from the dock, and water was flooding the streets and the dock.
“Rose, wait here, I need to grab something.  Don’t move, I will be right back. It’ll only take a second.” my mother insisted.
“Okay mom, please be careful and hurry, the storm is getting really bad.”  I shouted over the loud winds and waves. She didn’t hear me, she was already gone. I was gazing at my surroundings and became worried when she wasn’t coming back. I decided I needed to go with my instinct to make sure she is okay. I was filled with terror as I began to walk towards our boat. My heart stopped; and I couldn’t move. The boat was completely flipped over.
“Mom!” I shrieked.
I woke up in a panic. I had a dream of my mother’s death again. The events of and leading up to her death come in my dreams occasionally. I quickly forgot about it when I noticed three figures standing at the foot of my bed.  My eyes took a minute to settle and recognize who those figures were.  I couldn’t believe it.
My dad, Cathy, and Jerry were all standing at the foot of my bed. They were all calmly watching me sleep.
“Good morning Rose,” my dad blandly spoke.
Those words hurt me. He finally found me after three months and those were his first words?  During the three months I had to imagine what it would be like to be reunited with my dad. It was nothing like this. I expected that I’d be engulfed in a hug, tears of happiness and relief would be shed, and we would be happy again. I was hurt and disappointed.
            “How did you find me after all of this time? Why isn’t Jerry in custody? Are you happy to see me?” I quickly gushed.
            “Rose, do you honestly still believe that you are being held hostage? You are in a mental facility, you are sick.” my dad brutally indicated. “How many times does it take for us to tell you that to understand?”
            His harsh words felt like a knife was stabbing me in the chest. How could any of that be true? I have been held hostage for the past three months. This must be a dream.
            “No that isn’t true, I’ve been held captive for the past three months. Jerry kidnapped me after the fight we had.” I babbled.
            My dad sat down beside me on my bed, with sadness, and great sorrow in his eyes. He began to explain “Rose, you are not well. Your mother’s death was a traumatic experience for you. Several few months ago you began to lose your mind. You weren’t yourself, you were hurting yourself and others. I had to do something to help you because we were worried about you. Jerry is your doctor; and he is just doing his job to try to get you better so you can come home. Rose, you need to allow his help and not attack him. I want you to come home again; but you can’t until you are back to normal.”
            At this point hot tears were streaming down my face. I couldn’t look at anyone. I felt hurt, betrayed and confused.
            “Please just go.” I mumbled under my breath.
            “Rose, I-” my dad began to speak.
            “Go!” snapping back at him.
            “Leave-me-alone…” I slowly whispered.
            My dad walked over and kissed my forehead without me making eye contact. Cathy just stood at the foot of my bed, staring at me. She didn’t say a word to me.
            Jerry showed them out and left me alone to ponder amongst my thoughts. I don’t want to believe anything he says, even if it’s true. How could I have done this to myself? I must have deserved it. It turns out my nightmare was much worse than I thought.