Los Angeles, Elizabeth, 2014

"There was an IED." I've only ever told this story to two people in its entirety, George and my therapist. It was significantly harder to tell George and yet that doesn't even compare to this moment. I can't look at him anymore, and I avert my eyes back to the water.

"There was and IED, at my safe house. I don't remember much about the actual explosion. It was sudden and I hit my head." I close my eyes as the memories surface. A year's worth of terror flashing before my eyes in snippets.

"When I woke up, I was in a room." I stop, how am I supposed to tell him about that year? When I told George, he cried. I don't know, how Henry's going to react, but I don't know if I have it in me to temper his reaction. Then I remember how brave I felt earlier, and I decide to go on.

"I spent about a year in that stupid room." I feel tears start to press against my still closed eye lids. I don't want to cry. I've spent so much of the last ten years crying. I take a shaky but deep breath and go on.

Los Angeles, Henry, 2014

"The things that happened in that room were… so awful and… dehumanizing."

She looks so small. Her eyes closed and her hands folded in her lap as she fiddles with a non-existent ring on her left hand. I'm taken aback that that little habit still exists, it was always her tell. Whenever she said she was fine, I would be able to tell if it was the truth or not based on whether or not she was fiddling with her ring. I wondered about why she would do it not too long after we got engaged. I was worried that is was doubts about marrying me, but she said it makes me feel safe like I'm home. I was so happy that I made her feel safe, that she let me be her home. Images of the possible things that could've happened to her are flashing through my mind. I get nauseous, sickened by the fact that anything happened to her at all. I don't know if I want to ask her about the awful dehumanizing things that happened in that stupid room. I don't know if I can stand the thought of the unknown either. At least knowing, is knowing. And what you know can be dealt with.

"What kind of things?" I ask, my voice as shaky as hers. She opens her eyes, but looks down staring into her lap. She swallows thickly.

"Physical abuse, waterboarding, food deprivation" she lists these things off like a grocery list monotone and disassociated. Tears spring to my eyes, and then fall over as she whispers the last word. "Rape."

She lets out a quiet sob, and I reach for her, stopping just short of actually touching her. I don't want to scare her. To think that someone would do that to her. To my Elizabeth, who is nothing to the world but a ray of light. She was always a true optimist, believing that humanity was inherently good. She believed she could change the world. I take a deep breath to keep my anger from bubbling up, I want to kill the guy who did this to her.

"I'm so sorry." The words don't feel like enough, but they're all I have.

Los Angeles, Elizabeth, 2014

When I hear his apology, I turn to finally look at him. He looks so hurt. But remarkably I don't see any pity in his eyes. That's what had bothered me the most when I told George, the way he pitied me. George did his best to be there for me and he was, but the pity was there. I look harder into Henry's eyes, trying to find it, but it really isn't there. All that's there is guilt, guilt that I can't understand.

"You couldn't have known." I remind him. And he couldn't have, he was lied to. But then again so was I. He nods back at me.

"How'd you get out?" His voice is still shaky.

"I gained his trust. And then I killed him."

*Iraq, Elizabeth, 2006

The open door is taunting me. He left it open tonight, a true test of his conditioning. What he is too stupid to figure out, is that I've been waiting for this moment. I've been a model prisoner for the last three months. I followed all of his rules. I haven't fought him, I've cleaned his house, I made him tea, I let him lead me in a slow dance. I've acted as his wife, the way he wanted all along. And tonight my effort paid off. I've been hiding a knife I took from the kitchen three days ago, it's under the mattress. All I have to do is wait for him to enter REM sleep. He's almost there, his snoring getting louder now.

I slowly move my hand, picking up my small weapon. Razor sharp, I used the leather straps he kept on the chair as a threat to ensure that. I slowly roll over towards him. I hesitate for a moment my heart hammering in my chest, and then I do it. The blood comes out quicker than I expected, but it's not like I've slit anyone's throat before. I quickly get up and gather the clothes I hid three weeks ago. Shaking and full of adrenaline I tightly wrap the hijab around my head and run. First out of the room and then out of the house. I keep running, trying to get my bearings, I need to quickly figure out where I am, a woman running alone in Iraq won't go over well. I didn't make it this far to get killed now. I hide myself in a small alleyway between two buildings and startle at a voice.

"Ma'am? Are you okay?" It's an American voice. I turn to see a 2nd Lieutenant and three NCOs with their weapons raised. They must be out on patrol. I put my hands up.

"I'm American. I'm American. I can prove it, I just need to get to the embassy" The Lieutenant nods.

"Do you need help?" I nod frantically in relief. He gestures for the rest of his patrol. "Mike! I think this is the agent you've been looking for." As agent Hurst steps into the light, I know it's over.