“They came late the next night, didn’t bother knocking. My family and I were getting ready for bed and they barged in like animals on a rampage. I knew they had come for me, so I went willingly because I couldn’t bear the thought of them hurting my parents because they did nothing wrong. I did.” She looks directly at me, her eyes glistening with the memories.
“I’m so sorry,” I wrap my arms around her.
“It’s okay. Everyone here has a story,” she says as she snuggles in closer. “On the bright side I got to meet you.”
“I guess that’s one way of looking at it.”
“Do you want to know what bothers me the most?” Another tear slides down. “I’m going to die a sinner. This is who I am. And there’s not a thing I can do to change that.” Her hands pull her hair away from her chest, revealing her sickly yellow brand. “They even took my dignity.”
Her words stump me. Dignity—it’s a word I never thought about until arriving at the Hole. It’s an unusual word for such a young girl to use, but when she says it, I know exactly what she means.
A plan begins brewing in my head. “I have to get something.” She looks at me with an anxious expression. “I promised you I’d come back. I’ve never gone back on a promise and I’m sure not going to go back on one now.” It’s true. I don’t. I’ve had so many broken promises in my life I could never do that to anyone.
“I’ll just close my eyes for a little while,” she says, sinking farther into her bed.
I half-walk, half-run down the hallway. My feet barely touch the steps as I glide eight floors down to the main entrance of the hospital. I look around, then casually walk across the lobby, careful to avoid any bodily fluids, and stop directly in front of the prostitutes.
The blonde raises her head, evaluating me with her angry, tearful eyes. “What do you want?” Behind her accusing tone, I sense a vulnerable, weary, and sorrowful individual.
“I need a favor.” I speak slowly and gently so as not to make her more wary of me.
“You’re asking us for a favor?” The other girls narrow their eyes at me with suspicion, but I continue on.
“I need makeup… well, not for me. There’s a young girl—”
She raises her hand to silence me. Then she digs through her small handbag and pulls out a few items. “If I’m going to die in this godforsaken place, I might as well do something decent.” Then she presses the containers into the palm of my hand, willing her eyes to mine. “Hell with the guards and the system. Take this, make your friend happy.”
“Oh, thank you, thank you so much,” I say.
As I make my way up to the floor, I turn the items over in my hand—lipstick, mascara, and blush.
I can do this, I think.
I lose track of time, and before I know it, an hour has passed. Those worthless elevators. Running up and down eight flights is exhausting. When I arrive back at her room and pull the curtain aside, Alyssa scoots into a sitting position to talk to me.
“Told you I’d be back.” I hug her.
She gives me a partial smile. “What’re you up to?”
“I got makeup!” I bounce to her bedside.
“What?”
“You heard me.” I pull the chair to her bedside. The sunlight fades as the sun sets, so the room darkens with shadows from the candles. “How about lipstick, mascara, and blush?”
“What do I have to lose?” she asks, nudging me.
I open the mascara and begin looping it through her eyelashes. Putting on makeup feels awkward. I’d never actually used it myself, but I remember watching my mother do it years ago. She’d sit in front of her mirror and curl her lashes before running the thick, bristled mascara wand through them. Her eyes looked sultry and mysterious when she’d finish. I always wanted to try but never had the chance, and my heart sinks a little just thinking about it.
“I hope you trust me.” I finish her eyes, and plug the mascara up again. Her lashes flutter as she gazes up at me. Their beauty astounds me.
“I do, silly,” she says. “I’m just a little worried about your beautician skills. That’s all.”
I snort at her reply. If she only knew how beautiful she really is. I finish with the blush and lipstick. “Do you want to take a look? Or would you rather not scream at yourself?”
“Very funny.” She opens her eyes wide, almost as if testing her new lashes. She grimaces for a moment, breathing in and out in concentrated gasps.
“Wait. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. It only hurts when I move, so I can’t complain. Don’t worry. I can suck it up.”
“Do you want me to go get a nurse?”
“No. I said I’m fine.” Then I remember she has the only morphine bag in the entire hospital and it shrinks daily. I take the tubing in my hands and examine it. “What’s this?”
“That’s the clamp. They use that to control the amount of morphine they’re giving me. Make sure you don’t touch it. If you roll the ball on the clamp toward the bag, the morphine will pour into my vein and I’d get too much too fast.”