Nights In Paradise

Chapter Six: Aspen

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I shift on the bed and pull at the handcuff on my wrist again, gritting my teeth and growling under my breath.  “Son of a bitch!” I scream in frustration.  Not that it will bring anyone.  As Carmine made a point of telling me two days ago, this room is soundproofed.  Nobody’s gonna hear me scream.

I shovel my other hand through my hair and wince when I feel the knots tugging.  I haven’t been able to clean up for two days now.  My long hair is tangled into a rat’s nest of knots.  I sniff dismally.  I smell.  I have never smelled in my life.  No matter how bad things have gotten at home.  And there was a time or two where I didn’t go home for days.  My parents fought like cats and dogs.  I just wanted peace and quiet which was in short supply in my house.  I’ve never had anybody care about my welfare or my feelings until Carlos.  Just thinking about him again makes my heart hurt.  I want him here.  I know he’d tell me that things are going to be fine.  He’d look out for me just like he did when that bouncer left bruises on my arm.  But he’s never going to find me.   And I don’t really trust that Carmine is going to let me go after his daughter marries Carlos.

Frustration eats at me.  I want to pace.  I want to shout.  I want to throw things at the wall.  I want to have a huge pity party.  Tears well in my eyes and fall down my icy cheeks.  I don’t want to even think about Carlos.  Yet he’s all that I want.   I need him.  Not just to find me.  I want to feel his arms around me.  Smell that scent that’s uniquely his and have it surround me.  Keep me safe.  Lean my head into that big, broad chest and listen to him tell me in that deep, dark voice of his that I’m all his.  He doesn’t want any other woman.  Just me.

I’m still dressed in the same outfit I wore on the stage and it’s freezing in this damn room.  I yank at the blanket on the bed across the room.    I can’t do much more than pull at the handcuffs that are locked into a pipe in the room.  I’m not really sure why there’s a pipe right there.  It seems like a strange place for a pipe.  Right in the middle of the room and there’s a drain about a foot away.

My mind flinches away from what this room might be used for.  I don’t think I really want to know.  A squeamish tingle hits my belly.   Lord, that’s the last thing I need.  I can’t throw up.

I growl and pull at the pipe again.  I need to go to the bathroom.   Yesterday they came several times to take me to an attached bathroom but it seems like they’ve forgotten me today.  My throat is dry and scratchy, my lips are cracked and I’m starving.  No food either.

Nightmarish thoughts that they are just going to leave me in here to die dance in my head.

“Stop it,” I hiss to myself.  Panic starts to claw at my chest and rise up my throat.  I curl my fists and dig my nails into my palms.  I close my eyes and count to ten.  Then twenty.  Then thirty while hysterical laughter tries to force its way up my throat.  Shivers roll over my body and I can’t feel my feet and hands.

“Think.  Think, dammit!  You’ve always done everything for yourself, woman.  This is it.  This is the big one.  You need to figure out how the hell to get out of here.”  Before you die down here all by yourself.

My eyes dart around the room and I see a saw off to the side.  Actually several.  Once again I shiver and try to block out what the hell they do down here.  Slowly, achingly slowly I slide my foot out to try to catch something.  I cringe and wince at the painful ache in the muscles that have locked up.  My calves tremble and my thighs scream.  Tears pour down my cheeks.  I hiss out a pained breath.

“Almost there,” I whisper.  Then I almost weep when I can’t quite reach the smallest little saw or file.  Whatever it is.  I yank and twist desperately, trying to get closer.   I flip over onto my belly and stretch out further, hiccuping softly.

“Please.  Please.”  I shake and pull, stretched out so far that I can feel my bones pulling.  Feel my muscles tearing from the strain.

I sob out a breath when I finally touch the damned thing.  Limbs shaking, I pull back with one foot.  One toe.  Barely touching it just enough to move it.  Gritting my teeth, I push my toe into the cement floor to anchor myself.  A sharp pain hits my calf and I cry out softly.

“Oh shit.  Shut up,” I hiss to myself and my head whips up to stare at the door.  Then I remember.  Soundproofed.  Something that seems bad may actually work in my favor now.

I pull harder and feel my leg straining and that pain in my calf again.  “Oh god, that fucking hurts.”

But I don’t stop.  I can’t stop.  I’m so close I can taste it.

I finally manage to hold out my fingers and reach it.  “Yes!”  I want to fist pump but I don’t.  My eyes shoot warily to the door and sweat drips down into my eyes, making them burn.  Wiping it out I grasp the file and pull my hands in front of me to the pipes.  I start working on the chain and groan when I realize it’s going to take forever.  The chain won’t stay tight while I work and I want to scream.

“Focus.  You can do this.”

My hand shakes and slips off the file over and over while I work.  And my arms start to ache from the strain of holding them in one position.

But after half an hour I can see that I’ve put a large mark in one part of the chain.  I yank and feel it slip but it doesn’t give.

“Dammit!” I scream, feeling tears of frustration drip onto my hands making them even slicker.  But then I wipe my hands on the dirty costume I’m wearing and begin working again.