A thin mattress lies in the right corner, nearest to me, but no other furniture exists. A surveillance camera is mounted next to a metal doorway. Rodent droppings line the wall along the left side, and just the thought of their feet skittering over me at night gives me chills. Waves of heat roll over my body and I teeter, accidentally touching the filthy wall. I pull my hand away to discover a thick layer of grime.
“That’s your bathroom,” he says, pointing at the curtain alongside the back right corner. I pull it aside and find a cracked porcelain toilet with a matching sink. The rusted showerhead dangles from the wall, framed in black mold.
Perfect, I can shower and use the restroom at the same time.
“Really, the commander shouldn’t have been so generous.” Bitterness drips from my laugh. I know I shouldn’t mock anything right now, especially in his company, but I feel so overwhelmed I’ve lost the ability to be rational. Cole remains quiet, but something like mischief plays in his eyes.
“Are you hungry?” He sounds concerned, but maybe my mind is beginning to play tricks on me.
“No, not at all.”
“You should eat when it’s offered. Most people have to scrounge for it, so consider yourself lucky,” he says as he crosses the room.
“I’m far from lucky.” I collapse on the scrawny mattress and let my hair explode out of my ponytail. My body aches. I pull my pant legs up to inspect the scrapes while kicking off the thin slippers. “You can leave now.” My fingers scratch at the dry blood; then I lie back on my mattress.
“That’s not gonna happen. For the next forty-eight hours you’re on suicide watch.”
He’s too close to me, so I sit upright. “What?”
“I can’t leave you alone,” he says.
“As if coming here isn’t bad enough. I’m already on the camera, so what difference does it make? And why do they care if I die?” I say directly into the camera.
He throws his bag into the corner of the room and takes off his boots.
“And don’t worry. I have no desire to touch you, so don’t get your panties all twisted.” He stands across from me with his arms folded over his chest. I really wish I had something to throw at him.
“What I’d really like is a shower. Would you mind leaving me alone for that?”
“Yes,” he says. “Actually, I do mind. Orders are orders.”
Man, this guy is full of himself. They’re purposely torturing me.
He opens the metal door on the right side of my quarters to an adjoining room. He flicks on two lights which cast their brightness into my space. I lean forward from my mattress and attempt to peek inside, but he leaves the door cracked only a few inches. It looks very simple, but much cleaner than my quarters.
“Is that your room?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says while looking around the corner at me. My discomfort hits an all-time high.
This crosses the line. Placing my head in my hands, I shake it with disbelief.
“What’s your problem?” he asks.
I give him a skeptical look. “Nothing.”
“Be thankful you aren’t on the street where you belong.” His harsh tone sends prickles up my spine.
He thinks I’m a whore, too.
As I wallow in pity, I notice a stray ribbon of sunlight peeking through a window next to the bathroom in my room. Eager for natural light and wanting to see outside, I pull the dusty blinds away and use my forearm to clear a small circle in the filth. From here, I can see people loitering around the building and women standing on the corner two blocks down.
“Are the women on the corner prostitutes?” I read about it before but never thought it existed until I arrived.
“Yes. That’s their job.” He picks at a fingernail, standing in the doorway with the door cracked, like it’s not a big deal.
“That’s terrible. Do they get paid?”
“In a way. You’re lucky you weren’t chosen for that detail.”
“I’m not sure luck exists here.” I push away from the window. My body trembles from all the emotions of today, and I need rest.
“Tomorrow we’ll go over all the details and I’ll show you around,” he says. “You should clean up and try to rest.”
I nod, unable to speak.
At his suggestion, I venture over to my metal sink. I pull the dirty curtain aside and turn on the faucet. After a high-pitched screeching noise that sounds like fingernails on a chalkboard, cold water spills out, and it’s the best feeling I’ve had in days. I splash my face, my cuts, and my neck and then furiously wash my arms.
I glance at the small, cracked mirror mounted above the sink and see a stranger. My hair flies around in an untamed mess, and the soot from the street makes my face unrecognizable except for the turquoise of my eyes. Blood and dirt form a thick paste on my skin, so I scrub it raw. When finished, I wipe my hands on my clothes. I turn and catch Cole watching.
I snap my head back around as fear pulses through me with the weight of his dark eyes on me. Any moment, he could try to take advantage of the situation, so I tread carefully.
“I’m not going to kill myself.” I raise my hands, palms facing him, as if claiming innocence. Cole shakes his head, puts his hands in his pockets, and remains where he is.