Prologue
He’s coming.
I can hear his footsteps through the door. That’s all it takes for me to know it’s him; I recognize the particular sound his rugged shoe soles make, the exact time between each step, how long it takes him to unlock the door. Even the hesitant minutes he takes to open it.
Again, I know he’s coming to me.
Wrong — he’s already here.
Chapter One
Cell M.
The day I was brought here, everything was fuzzy. I was able to glance at something, but I couldn't make out what was going on. I remember a long hallway with countless iron doors; every door had a scribbled letter painted on it. Yellow was the color of choice for these alphabetic symbols. The smell in this place was a mixture of dirty clothes, uncleaned floors, sweat, and death. All of which made my eyes tear up and my throat burn.
Finally, my cell letter —M.
The two men in ski masks who were dragging me locked the iron door behind them after throwing me in.
I never knew why I am in this cell. I never had answers. The only thing I know for certain is that these walls feel like family now; they comfort me, despite the smell, dirt, and cold that surrounds me. At least within these walls, I know I'm safe —outside… that's a different story.
I lost track of days, let alone years, so I can't tell how long I've been kept captive, I simply don't bother my mind with it anymore. Whenever I try to remember my life before this, who my loved ones were or even my favorite color, my memory fails a little more each day, and I get the same result: my brain sends me back to THAT day and makes me relive it— the day everything changed…
After finishing yet another boring, stupid task as a receptionist, I step out of the office to grab a bite. I walk down the streets of this beautiful city of mine and pass by every crappy food joint as if they're not even there. I'm never gonna eat that disgusting pile of carbs just to make my stomach shut up. If I do, I'd have to walk for an entire day just to shave those calories off. So, I make way for my favorite organic place, 'Market farm.' I must think about what I'm buying before I get there just to try to avoid the woman at the counter —who I suspect descends from sloths— asking meaningless questions and wasting my time. Just one block before I get there, the streets are already packed with people looking for food or running last-minute errands, which means everybody's looking at me— yeah, I know, my body's wanted, badly, Instagram approved and all that comes with it. That's why I work on it so much every day. The tight dress I'm wearing hugs me the way all those men want to, my cleavage makes my boobs look like a double D dream and my hasty pace is making them bounce. I know they can't resist THIS. I like the attention; it's not a sin, is it?
I'm about to grab the door handle when an invisible force with an insufferable sound drags me back into the streets. Something blunt and metallic hits my head. I'm trying to open my eyes, but there's so much smoke hurting them and forcing me to keep them shut, it's like I lost control over them; I can't move. My head hurts like hell and spins like a rollercoaster. Loud noises go by, I hear car doors slamming, men and women screaming, children crying. I still can't move; instead, somebody does it for me. I try to see who it is, but fall in a deep slumber.
The next conscious thing I remember is the ski-masked men dragging me like dead weight, and at this point, I'm not even sure I'm not.
At first, the only thing I did was sleep; food was stacking up around me, almost blocking the hole they used to throw it in. But I still couldn't move.
Hours and days went by until he appeared. That was game-changing. I only have contact with him or, to be more accurate, he has contact with me. That's it— that's the only thing that happens in this waking nightmare.
My sole duty is, basically, wait for him to come to me and do his job.
Right now, I'm moving on what passes for a bed and waiting for him to get here, trying to calm myself to prevent my heart from exploding.
The door opens, and he enters with his usual neatness— tailored suit, shiny black shoes, leather gloves, and light green eyes.
His hair is always skull-trimmed, which goes along with his wide, manly, sharp jaw.
Today, his tie is dark red.
He reaches in his pocket and pulls out a burger wrapped in aluminum foil. He reaches out and gives it to me without even looking.
He never told me, and I wouldn't even dare ask, but I think he's smuggling food.
I only get a meal a day. I imagine it's breakfast because I'm always sleeping when I hear the tray slide through the rough floor. There's a small opening at the bottom of the door, which they use for this. I never know which are the contents of the tray, but as far as I can see, it's yellow —what is it with these people and yellow? —, gooey and tastes like corn or oat. I also get a glass of water, but he always brings something else, small enough to fit in his pants pocket.
"How are you today?" he asks while dragging a chair— his chair since only he can use it. I've learned that the hard way.
"Fine," I reply while slowly opening my burger because I don't want the foil making any noises. I'd rather not disturb him. "Thanks," I whisper.
"You're welcome," he says and nods after unbuttoning his suit to seat and adopting his usual posture: right heel to left knee, hands on his lap, frowned eyebrows and staring gaze upon me eating the burger he provided, without even speaking another word. Sometimes he lets me finish then leaves, others he stays a little longer, and then there are the times when he pulls my hair and drags me to the torture chamber and I throw up everything he gave me nonstop. However, this time the silence lasts more than usual. I'm not looking into his eyes and yet I can see something is bothering him, something in the back of his mind makes his left leg restless, jittery; I've never seen him like this. I can sense his doubtful eyes all over me.
"You never asked why you were here, in this place. Don't you wanna know?" he enunciates in a curious tone. This is the first time he mentions the subject, this is the first time he wants to talk.
What the fuck is going on!?
