Someone was mad. And they took that out on me. But I never saw a face. Never heard a word. They wore ski masks and spoke so quietly that I never got anything more than a word here and there. And when I did think I heard something, it was in Spanish. Something I never learned. I chose French in high school because I liked to talk about pastries and say I was speaking in French when I ordered them.
I don’t know how long we were in the van. Seemed like days. Natalie and I were both stuck with something at one point, and I only remember flashes of what happened between then and now. I think we were put on some kind ofcargo plane. I remember looking out a window at some point and seeing trees from high up like we were flying. But the rest of it was just being carried from one place to another. And not in friendly arms. Arms that had hands with roaming fingers that dug deep, and when I pushed them off, their owner’s deep laugh rolled through me before I was tossed onto the ground. I banged my head more times than I can count. I don’t even know if Icancount anymore or if it’s just brain damage.
Because if there is damage, that would explain what I’m seeing. Or what I’m not. Just gray. Everything is gray. The walls. The floor. Even my skin looks gray.
Nat doesn’t look any better than me. She got hit a few times, based on the swelling on her face, but I didn’t see when it happened. They threw us both in here, wherever here is.
I hurt still, but it seems that time has been a friend to me, as some of the swelling has gone down enough that I can open both eyes. After we got here, the beating I had in the van seemed liked child’s play compared to what I was put through. And for no other reason than they could.
“You okay, Nat?” It’s a stupid thing to say, but I need something stupid. Something to ground me. Anything to keep me focused on this and not the pain in my stomach.
“No,” she croaks out, then licks her lips only to wince at the crack in them. “You?”
“Same girl. Same.” I place my head against the wall and pull my knees up to rest my arms on. There isn’t an ounce of hospitality in here. Not even a piss bucket. Not that I have to go. You need food and water for that. I’ve had none since the breakfast tacos.
Just the thought brings a rumble from my stomach. I ignore it. Or try to.
“It goes away.” I turn to Nat and give her a questioning look. “The hunger. Eventually, it goes away.”
“How would—” I don’t finish my sentence as a flap at the bottom of the door opens, and a tray is pushed through. Two bowls of soup and what looks like bread sit on it. The smell coming off it is better than the smell in here, but not by much.
I look at Nat, who looks at me. We wait, and then I move to the door. I look it over and reach out tentatively to touch the flap. My hand shakes as the fear that it’ll be snatched up the second I get too close to it rises. We didn’t hear any footsteps leaving. But we didn’t hear them come either.
I push on the wood, and it doesn’t budge. I try to use the tips of my fingers to pry it up, but there’s no give. They locked it somehow. I look at the food, and my stomach gurgles once more.
“Hungry?” I ask Nat and give her half a smile.
She shakes her head, fear clear on her face. She must be thinking what I am—that it’s poison. Something to take us out. I’m tempted. More tempted than anything in my life. More than when Dad told me girls couldn’t ride motorcycles, and then he left the keys to his bike just sitting on the table. I would have taken it out that night if Mom hadn’t come in and noticed. But Mom isn’t here to tell me it’s a bad idea. She’s dead. Like Dad. Like I will be, too, if I don’t eat.
“Fuck it,” I say and grab the bread. Slowly, I bring it to my mouth.
“Don’t eat it.”
I look at Nat, but her eyes are as wide as mine.
That voice.
It wasn’t hers.
“Who’s that? Who’s there?” I stand and walk to the wall. The one Nat was leaning on, opposite the one I was at. There’s a grate there, above my head.
“Don’t eat it.”
“Eat what?”
“The bread. They lace it with something. One minute you’re awake, the next you’re not. It knocks you out.”
“For how long?”
“Don’t know. Seems like a second, but then you wake up and feel cold, as if the sun went down.”
There aren’t any windows, but there’s a light. Nothing bright to push the gray away, but enough to see what’s in front of you. But I get what she’s saying. I feel hot in here. Sweat trickles down my spine. Not blazing, but not comfortable. If it feels like this in what I can only assume is the daytime, then nights would feel considerably cooler. It’s not much, but at least it’s a way to track time in the outside world.
Nat’s still sitting, watching me as I stand beside her. I look at the vent, then back at her. I press my finger to my lips to keep her quiet, then gesture for her to come closer. She scoots quietly over, and I point to myself and then to the ceiling. She nods in understanding as she stands and braces her legs before cupping her hands together over her knee.
I grab her shoulders, put one foot in her grasp, and bounce. One, two, and on three, I rise and Nat pushes mehigh. I bring my other foot to her shoulder and stand on them as I reach for the vent. I can see through it, as it’s mostly just a hole between the two rooms covered by a small grate like you find at the bottom of a shower drain.
The room is similar in every way to ours. Nothing on the floor. No window to look out of. Everything’s the same, but there’s only one girl in this one, not two.
