A Way Out (part 3)

"What can I do to help you trust me?"

"Nothing! Go away!"
I can hear the unuttered, "I hate you!" in the echoing silence.

"I promise, I didn't mean to.
I didn't know what I was doing.
I put you here in an effort to keep us safe."

"I don't care. Don't look for me." 

"I'm so sorry I believed the lies.
I thought it wasn't safe
to allow you to express yourself.
I thought that was why we had been hurt
and abandoned so often.
I'm sorry.
I'm so sorry.
I didn't mean to."
My face is wet and it takes me a moment
to realize that I'm crying.

Drip. Drip-drip. Drip.
The next thing I hear is, "Getting me out isn't enough.
You've got to make this up to me.
Thanks to you, I don't trust anyone.
Thanks to you, I don't know who I am."

"I promise to make it up to you.
Whatever you want.
Whatever you need."

She surprises me with her request:
"First I need you to stop lying.
You can't tell me it's ok to be sad and angry
when you don't believe it yourself.
You may say words that are true,
but I know you don't believe them.
Your words of comfort have always been hollow.
So don't use words. Just be there."

"Ok. I promise," I say as I inch my way forward.
"Where are you?"

"Keep walking... Keep walking...
I can hear your footsteps somewhere over my head."

I start crawling in case I stumble across steps or a second trap door.
"Am I getting closer?"

"You've got to find a way down here. I'm here. I'm right here. Please hurry!"

Suddenly my foot snags on something.
I turn around and search for the culprit with my hands.
"I got it!" I exclaim as my fingers brush another metal ring.
"I'm coming."
I heave up on it with all my might
and it slams against the ground.
To my chagrin, there is still no light below
and now it also stinks to high heaven.
With another short prayer,
I do my awkward drop to the floor
and discover there is even more water here,
if you could call it that.

It's eerily quiet again.

"Hello?" I call out.

Silence.

"Hello? Where are you?"
I know I'm close.
I feel the deep shame me and my inner child carry.
This place reeks of shame.
I'm ashamed of myself for placing her here
and I know she's ashamed of being found in this dark, smelly place
and we both carry the shame of the pain we share.
But I know now, better than ever,
that there is no reason we should.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Then a barely audible whisper,
"I'm here. Down here. But I'm stuck."
A knocking sound reaches my ear
and I realize she's trapped in a closed space
almost as low as the baseboards.