“I have to get out of here,” I whispered. “Can you help me?” I never expected the girl to help me, and even thought the request too bold and too soon, having just met her less than five minutes ago, but there was no time for getting to know one another.
“What do you expect me to do?” Drusilla said. She looked right at me then, the fabric she’d been holding resting within her lap. “I’m in the same predicament as you are—I can’t even help myself.”
“And what predicament are you—are we—in exactly?”
Drusilla looked me over. “In exchange for Kade’s protection, we do whatever he wants us to do—unless you’d rather fight him for your freedom.” She cocked a curious brow, which meant she thought me incapable of such a feat, considering.
I jumped up and ran toward the door; it opened easily, which surprised me, and when I looked out into the hallway there were no guards waiting to thwart an escape; people walked past without even looking at me. My heart hammering against my ribs, I let out a long sigh, and my dainty shoulders slumped forward, and I hung my head low, feeling defeated. Because although Paducah seemed starkly different from Lexington, the one way they were the same was that I was a prisoner, locked behind an unlocked door, unable to take advantage of it because I would never leave without Atticus and I had no idea where he was.
“Kade will take you with him to the fights tonight,” Drusilla said. “You’ll see your Atticus there.” She got quiet, which caused me to turn around to see her. “For his sake, and yours, I hope he’s strong.”
I went toward Drusilla slowly, dread and uncertainty in my steps, afraid of Drusilla’s words but needing to hear them.
“The fights are never fair,” Drusilla went on. “It’s anything goes down there. But with newcomers”—she looked down at the fabric in her hands and went back to matching it—“it’s always a fight to the death the first time.”
I sucked in a sharp breath, and fell to my knees in front of Drusilla, the ceramic tiles cool against my legs. “Where did they take him? Please, you have to help me. I-I know you don’t have any reason to, but I’m begging you.”
Drusilla looked up.
“I can’t help you,” she said, and then her gaze strayed. “Besides, even if I could, I wouldn’t.”
I blinked.
“I know you’re afraid, but—”
“I’m not afraid.” Drusilla chastened. “I have plans of my own, and helping you do anything that might interfere with those plans is completely out of the question.”
“Then just point me in the right direction,” I pleaded. “I’ll figure out the rest on my own.”
“No.” Drusilla gathered up the matched pieces of fabric, took them over to a table and set them down next to other stacks.
Getting angry, and running out of time, I stormed over to Drusilla and grabbed her arm.
“You are afraid!” I accused. “I’ve seen that face before—I used to wear it! You haven’t given up hope yet, but the fear is close to forcing you to!”
Drusilla jerked her arm out of my hand; her black eyebrows crumpled with insult.
“You don’t know anything,” she bit back. “Who are you to come in here and tell me about myself; to come in here and tell me I need to help you? You’re crazy.”
“I’m desperate,” I corrected her. “And so are you—look at you. You’re a prisoner. A slave.”
Drusilla flinched.
“I can come and go as I please,” she argued, but with less confidence. “I can do whatever I want, whenever I choose to do it.”
“Then why don’t you? Why don’t you leave? Why don’t you help me?”
Drusilla nearly smiled.
“You think I want to help you?” she said.
“I know you do.”
Now she did smile. And then she laughed.
“You really are crazy.” She shook her head and walked away.
“If I’m crazy,” I began, “then look me in the face and tell me you like being this man’s property. Tell me you enjoy running to stand at attention when he enters the room, faking the smiles, calling him sir, assuring him you’ll have the room cleaned before he comes back as though you’re a child. How old are you? Twenty?”
Drusilla went back over to her workspace on the floor.
“I’m not going to help you,” she said at last. “So stop badgering me about it. If you want to leave, the door is there. But what you do, or where you go beyond it, is all you.”
She sat back down cross-legged and went back to matching the fabric strips.
I clenched my fists down at my sides, gritted my teeth.
“Fine.”
I marched toward the door, intent on leaving, but stopped when I heard Drusilla’s voice.
“You can go,” she called out, “but I’m asking you to stay. Just…stay here with me.” The desperation in her voice was light but evident, different from the bold, unsympathetic girl just seconds ago—the change gave me whiplash.
I turned.
“Why?”
Drusilla sighed. “You’re safe in this room,” she said. “It’s a rule that most respect: no one trespasses in another’s home. But if you walk out that door, you’re inviting anyone to claim you as their own.” The look in Drusilla’s eyes was enough to bend my resolve.
The face the girl wore before was just a mask, the same one I wore when pretending with Kade. It was how I knew, without actually knowing, that Drusilla was just like me. It was how I trusted her so easily and could ask for her help so quickly.
“Please stay in the room,” Drusilla said once more.
Relenting, I closed the door.
I walked slowly across the floor, my movements hindered by my thoughts. A fight to the death? No. I can’t let that happen. But what can I do to stop it? My eyes burned and watered; I sniffled back the tears tearing their way to the surface, and although I kept them from falling, it wasn’t enough to hide the emotion erupting inside of me.
“Don’t cry,” Drusilla told me. “Never cry over the things you cannot control—figure out how to control them.”
I pressed the bottom of my palms hard against my eyes and rubbed in a circular motion to soothe away the itch. Inhaling a deep breath, I rounded my chin defiantly, adopting strength and rejecting weakness.
“You’ll see him tonight,” Drusilla reminded me, and she went back to work on the material. “Use your time here—a few more hours—to figure out what you’re going to do. Kade will take you to the fights. He always does. Figure out your plan now. When the time comes, either it will work, or it won’t.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“Then you start fresh and come up with another one.”
My shoulders rose and fell.
“And how long have you been here?” I asked.
Drusilla paused.
“I’m on my eighth try,” she answered, and looked back down at the fabric in her hands.
Defeat washed over me like a wave.
But Atticus doesn’t have that long…
59
ATTICUS
I fell on my hands and knees when Driggs shoved me into the kennel; the concrete floor scraped skin from my palms. The chain-link door slammed shut afterward, and the sound of a padlock clicking into place followed, further filling my stomach with dread.