“Open your mouth,” he commanded.
I was paralyzed with fear. My lips remained sealed. He pressed his hand against my throat harder
this time, until my mouth finally gasped open for air. He kissed me, and I continued to
struggle. His free hand was everywhere—on my face, in my hair—but as it started inching down
my neck and closer to my chest, I went into absolute panic. Instinctively, I kicked my knee up
between his legs. The effect was immediate. He fell to the ground on his knees, grabbing hold of
himself. But he was enraged and, within half a second, was back on his feet. He stomped back to
me, pulling his fist back. I closed my eyes and waited for the blow.
Chapter Twenty-Eight:
Giving Up
When I awoke, I was lying between the wall and the floor with my limbs flailed in all
directions. I struggled into a seated position; my face was pulsating with pain. I brushed my
fingers against it and felt the dried blood under my nose, and a hardening fist-sized sphere of
heat took up most of my cheek. There was something salty, blood, against my teeth. I was
otherwise intact—and immensely grateful for it. I had escaped Victor, but for how long? I
crawled back into my defensive ball and rested my aching head on my knees, crying, sobbing.
The tears hadn’t long dried up by the time Mickey slid my tray of food over to me with his
foot. I didn’t look up, and he didn’t ask how I was. We had an unspoken understanding. He
closed the door and left me alone again.
This time my meal consisted of processed cheese slapped between two pieces of bread and two
juice boxes. I had gone up in the world. I got to my feet and started pacing about the room,
drinking my juice box. I stopped in front of the door; ridiculously hopeless, I tried the
doorknob … because you never know.
“Don’t even think about it, girl,” a cold voice from the other side answered my attempt.
“The door is locked, and I’m right here waiting for you if it isn’t.”
I decided to break the code of silence. “Mickey, is that you?” I whispered.
I heard him shifting about but no answer.
“Mickey, you need to help me get out of here. He’s going to kill me.” I added after another
silent lapse, “There’s a lot of money attached to it if you help me escape.”
“Eat your food and shut up,” Mickey finally answered.
I had no allies here. I finished my juice box, picked at the bread, and sat on the bed,
listening for my maker’s footsteps.
I didn’t have to wait too long. A fresh-faced, clean-shaven Victor walked through the door and
sat on the bed.
“Feeling better now?” he asked.
I glared.
He glanced over my face. What he found made him shake his head disapprovingly at me. “I wouldn
’t have had to do that if you had behaved.”
Nothing but silence from me. Victor continued his monologue.
“I brought you some clean clothes. You can have a shower too. Would you like that?”
I didn’t want anything that he would give me, but I also needed to buy some time. I nodded—and
cringed when I saw that my concurrence had pleased him.
Mickey escorted me back to the men’s washroom. I had noticed him slightly wincing as he peered
at my face when I had first walked out of the room. I wondered if I would be able to use this,
his humanity, to my advantage.
One of the stalls had been converted into a shower; though, from the look of the yellowed floor
tile, it seemed that it was also used as an extra urinal. While Mickey stood on the other side
of the stall, I got undressed and hung my clothes over the door. I turned on the water, as hot
as it would go, and stood under a lukewarm shower. In less than a minute, the water started
getting cold.
When I turned around, I saw a pink sundress hanging next to the dirty clothes that I had thrown
over the door. I grumbled, grabbing my black frock. Mickey chuckled when I walked out.
“Pink is not your color, eh?”
I ignored him and stood by the sink.
A knock on the door brought one of the guards into the washroom. He handed a bag of ice to
Mickey; Mickey handed it to me.
“It’ll make the swelling go down,” he told me.
I glared at him, took the pittance, marched to the shower, emptied the bag on the tiled floor
and handed him the empty bag. I spun on my heels and walked myself back to my cell, slamming the
door behind me. The cold shower had re-energized me, and I sat on the mattress, determined to
plot my revenge or my escape, whichever would come first. But, as I heard the door click locked
after Mickey had caught up with me, I knew I had nothing else. So I waited for Victor and
readied my attack.