The people are covered from head to toe. No skin is shown, so I can’t tell anything about them. They dress in military getup and ski masks, like the ones the guys who nabbed us wore. Not sure if they’re the same people or different ones. No way to tell. We can see their eyes, but knowing one is blue or green doesn’t tell me shit when they seem to vary in height. Just when I think it’s someone I knowfrom before, the eye color is different. I try to figure out how many are here to find some way to differentiate one from another. Who is quicker to slap me and who just stays silent as I rant.
It might seem stupid to waste my time on this, but it’s all I’ve got. There’s nothing else to do. No big escape plan to come up with. The room is locked all the time. They slide the food tray through the door when they give us something. When they want the tray back, they open it and wait thirty seconds. If nothing’s there, then they come and take it. But they leave us in bruises.
I ache. Some days are better than others. So far, all they seem to do to Nat and me is hit us. Beat on us. They don’t say anything when they do it. Even after. But we get the message. We learned quickly to be compliant. Maybe that seems like giving up to some people, but I can’t take it. There, I said it. I can’t take this much abuse. I hate crying, and I cry a lot here. Mostly silent, dry tears, as we rarely get enough food or even water to stay hydrated.
And I know this makes me weak. It makes me the worst of the worst. But I will gladly take this over anything that Ava has going on.
We talk. She’s become a friend of survival. We share stories to keep us from going crazy. She doesn’t have parents, only a brother. One she was close to. But, like us, she doesn’t know if he’ll come for her. She says he has friends, but she doesn’t know, like us, if he’d be able to find her. She was living in El Paso before this, which is far enough away from Kansas that I’m thinking we aren’t close to either of our homes.
I should probably do something to help her. To call out when she needs it. But I don’t. I stay in the cocoon that I put myself in, covering my head and holding my knees to my face when it begins for her.
When her door opens and someone comes in, we don’t look, Nat and I, but we hear. We hear what they do to her. Her screams. Her pleas to stop. Whoever does it laughs. Laughs as he… they—who knows how many—use her.
The sounds. I can’t block them out no matter how much I try. They seem to echo. The plea in her voice. The slapping of skin on skin. The gagging….
She says it only happened after we got here. That she never had to do it before. That she was like us, just held and pushed around. Somehow, we caused this for her.
I’m scared. I never thought I would be in my life, but I am. And I fucking pray they never tire of her. That she keeps their attention forever. Because when they’re done with her, I know they’ll come for us next.
They haven’t separated Nat and me. I’m not sure why, but I don’t even think it out loud to whatever spirits of the world are listening. It’s a blessing. I know it is. But if they move on from Ava, I wonder if they would separate us then or make us… perform together. Either on each other or with someone else while the other watches.
The mind is a terrible, scary thing to have. Just when you think you’ve imagined the worst thing possible, a new thought comes up. And you know you aren’t sick enough to think you’re the only one in existence to have that thought. To come up with the concept solo. Which means if you thought it, that at least one of the other people in this placethought it too. And I don’t think a single one has enough of a conscience to be put off by the idea.
“Peaches?” Ava hasn’t said much since the guy left this last time. But she calls out to us when she’s ready. And despite us being horrible for not wanting it to end for her, we let her know we’re here for her.
“I’m here. We’re here.” I never know what to say to her after she’s… raped. I need to name it. Say it in my head. It’s the truth. And no matter how many times I hear it, I still fear it. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with fearing things.
Before, I did. Before all this, I thought I was untouchable. I knew things happened. Heard about. Had people tell me. What happened to Troublemaker and Mama Bear was harsh. But that was all I thought. I was still too far removed. Too many degrees of separation. And I still am, if I’m honest.
I only hear what’s going on. I don’t see it. I know I couldn’t handle that. All that shit about me being tough, it’s out the window. I just want my dad. My mom. Anyone to come and put me back in the box I once was in. This is torment. When I sleep—which is never a good sleep or long enough—I wake to her screams. Some of them real, but most of them phantom. Memories and fears plague me all the time.
When the time comes—and I’m not a fool to think it won’t—I know I’m not going to go quietly. I’ll kick and scream like Ava. I’ll plead and beg. But I’ll still get used. Every place they can abuse, I know they will. Just like they do with her. But unlike her, I don’t know if I’ll be strong enough after. To keep eating the slop they give us. To keep doing what theywant to avoid the beatings. I think a part of me hopes I’ll fight harder. I’ll refuse the food. I’ll force their hand. I might even try the bread. Because if there’s no one coming, then I have to find my own escape.
And if that’s with death?
I don’t know. I keep telling myself I’m not ready for that. That I can survive this. That so many have survived this before me. That it would be a selfish, coward’s way out.
But then I hear her screams and pleas again, and I don’t know. I just don’t know if I could take it. And if I do, I don’t know how long I’ll last.
“Do you think you can get a message to my brother? If I don’t make it, can you tell him?”
“Don’t talk like that,” Nat tells her as she stands by the wall and looks up at the grate. “We can make it. We can. I know it seems bleak right now, but we have to keep trying.”
I can hear Ava’s sad laughter through the wall. “Bleak, huh? What are you, a poet?”
“Give me a lift,” Nat says to me, and I nod before I scoot into position.
We take turns looking over at her. We might be losing weight from the lack of food, and it might seem easier to lift each other than it did the first day, but we’re losing muscle too. The motivation to do anything physical like a push-up or something is too tiring to think about. I don’t know how prisoners do it.
They get three meals a day regulated by the state.My mind reminds me that an inmate and I are not alike. I’m a prisoner. A plaything for whoever is on the other side of thewalls. I did nothing to deserve to be here. Other than giving up on my family because I was mad that they lied.
I’d forgive them if they were here. I’d forgive everyone. Even Dad. Though thoughts of him hurt too much. He probably doesn’t even know I’m gone. Or if he does, he doesn’t care. Not like the rest. Not like Kooper.
I dream and wish for him more than anything. He was a nuisance at the beginning, but then he became the person I relied on. The one I looked for over Dad. The one I wanted to see over anyone else. He was there when I needed him more times than not. He accepted me for me, never asking me to be more and giving me everything I wanted before I knew I wanted it. He knew me better than I knew myself.
And I told him to fuck off. Made it clear I was done with him. I was hurt, obviously, but I should have seen that he was never against me. Not like I thought everyone else was. He was there, standing guard, caring, guiding, doing everything for me, and I took it for granted.
“Hey.” Nat’s voice is soft as she holds on to the grate and talks to Ava.
