The water bottle he was teasing me with drops to the floor, as he pulls me through the door that’s been closed for days. I hope the bottle stays there, so when I come back in I can drink it.
Light assaults my eyes.
Too much brightness, and not one person to be seen, as I blink rapidly trying to become accustomed to light again.
Water.
Food.
My body wants it, and it’s all I can think about.
As I walk, or should I say stumble, my jeans fall from my hips and I try to reach for them to pull them up but my hands ache, so I leave them where they are.
“Blondie.” He pushes me forward, and I land on my closed hands and knees. Cold water washes over me. My mouth opens quickly to have a drink, the water touching my dry and chapped lips stings. Yet, somehow it feels great.
“Barbie,” he repeats Ryken’s nickname for me, and I manage to turn to face him. The water’s still cascading all over me, and my mouth definitely doesn’t want to close as I lap at the water.
His eyes stare into mine then drop to my body. It’s then I realize my jeans are almost off me, and my now semi-white shirt is soaking wet. He can see everything.
Do I care, though? No.
My stomach sends shooting pains through it, as I try to stand but can’t. Everything’s still hurting. When will it stop? I start heaving. I have nothing to spew, but my body doesn’t know that, and I rock on my knees trying to stop the never-ending nausea.
“Feed her,” a voice snaps.
I end up dropping to the floor completely. My body now lies on the cold tiles as the water falls around me. There’s no strength left for me to do anything else.
“She’s just going to throw it up anyway.” That voice is his, the man that keeps calling me Blondie, but I don’t look up.
“That’s why you should feed her, you idiot.” The voice speaks again, and I recognize it’s a woman’s voice.
The shower turns off and straight away I miss the water and wonder if I’ll be allowed to shower again anytime soon.
I want that water.
Water is my friend.
These people aren’t.
Hands grab my arm. My arm’s always being pulled, and it’s bruised. The amount of times in the last week I’ve had my arm pulled is ridiculous. Bruising wraps completely around it, finger marks all blending and bleeding into one giant disfigurement, and I know he’s adding to it each time he grabs me. Making the bruises bigger, nastier, more vibrant in color.
“Get dressed and eat something, Blondie. Try to not throw it up.” He pushes me forward but still holds my arm, and now I’m in a room I’ve never seen before. It’s completely white. White tiles on the floor with a white bed, and on the bed, spread out, is a dress that’s also white. Next to the dress is some crackers. My feet manage to shuffle and move closer until I’m there. I fall down next to the bed, and my hands work fast opening the crackers. Funny how I can’t feel my fingers aching now. Each cracker I stuff down my throat quickly. So quick, I feel like one of those dogs that just inhales his food. Of course, it’s the wrong choice, I know by the fourth one that my stomach disagrees with what’s happening. That’s when their perfectly white room becomes a stained brown mess. Inside, although I feel terrible, something about me throwing up all over their pristine whiteness makes me smirk.
“Fucking hell, Blondie.” His footsteps come from behind, and he kicks me away from the spew, landing a kick right in my ribs making me yelp out in pain as I fall to the floor clutching them.
“Clean it up and get out.”
That’s the lady’s voice I heard earlier.
Looking up, an old lady is walking in. There’s an apron around her waist, and she has a kind face. She offers me her hand and doesn’t try to pull me up. For that I’m thankful. My arm’s aching, almost as bad as my stomach is right now. When I sit up, she looks at my arm then hits the guy dressed in black in the arm quite hard as he walks past.
“Ouch! What the fuck was that for?” His forehead scrunches up, and he glares at her.
“Look at her arm, you damn fool.”
He scoffs as he walks out, and I notice my vomit is no longer there.
How the hell did he clean that up so quickly?
“Now, I don’t want to be an asshole, but if you don’t get dressed soon, the boss man will become angry. And trust me, sweetie, he’s not someone you want to make angry.” She offers me her hand.
Placing mine in hers, she helps me up slowly and then reaches for my clothes. Undressing me until I have nothing on, she then passes me the white dress and smiles as it slips on me in a perfect fit.