Those five words keep repeating over and over in my mind. Julia isn’t shrieking about this any longer, so the quiet has helped me think. I had no idea what lung power she had. There was a good five minutes after they first put us into the van where she screamed something about sparkling ball sacks and dildos without Vaseline shoved into sensitive areas. While I’m not sure I appreciate the imagery, I know she has spirit. I admire that, but she should have realized when the fight became hopeless. As soon as they had us bound, I knew there was no way, in that moment, to fight back. Not without my hands free and my eyes uncovered. This isn’t to say I’m giving up. Far from it. It just became very clear very quickly that I either wait until they pull the sacks off our heads—by which time it may be too late—or I manage to slip out of my bonds. And since my hands are tied with rope, not handcuffs or plastic zips, I think I have a solid chance. While I test the knots, I keep asking myself: What did you do, asshole?
