Grasshopper stepped back, trying to push me off him. “Get a fucking grip, bitch. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do! Tell me. You have to tell me.”
Every muscle in my body trembled, my stomach hurled, and the corridor walls closed in—faster and faster, crushing me like a tin can until the pressure in my head grew too much. Way, way too much.
I screamed, tugging on my hair, willing the memories to unlock and grant me relief. But the pressure just kept increasing, building, building until every hair follicle hurt my skull, until my eyes felt too big, until my tongue felt too swollen.
I couldn’t see. I couldn’t hear. Only the chugging crazed beat of my freaking-out heart echoed in my ears.
“Plea—” I slurred.
The crash of everything from my past consumed me and I couldn’t bear it any longer.
I let go of sanity.
I succumbed to the silently screeching dark.
Fuzz and cotton wool and clouds were my welcome-back-to-life party.
I smacked my lips, grimacing at the horrible taste in my mouth. My nose was blocked and my head bellowed with pain.
I moaned as feeling came back to my body; I winced as I touched my ribs.
He kicked me.
Hot tears came to my eyes as I recalled what had happened. He’d been nasty since I’d arrived, but that kick… It spoke volumes.
I doubted he knew how much he’d shown me in that brief moment. His anger had been uncurbed, unrestrained. He’d kicked me. Not the bed or the chair. Me.
Because I was the one hurting him. I was the one forcing him to face things I could only guess at. He carried so much inside he looked like he was drowning every second.
The kick shocked me, not because it’d been a horrible betrayal of violence, but because it was a cry for help.
My vision flickered as my thoughts turned to the rest of the afternoon.
I recoiled, not ready to pass out again from overload of stress and secrets.
Rubbing my eyes, I sat up. My heart fell to my toes.
I was in a cell. A cube with a sink, kitchenette, toilet, and bed. There were no windows, pictures, or carpet, and only had one way in and out which was undoubtedly locked.
The bright lightbulb above me was harsh and piercing and there lurked a rank scent of fear and vomit.
Where am I?
Standing unsteadily, I made my way to the heavy door and knocked. “Hello?”
I waited for a response.
I continued to wait.
I was more patient that I’d ever been.
Nothing.
Ignoring the splintering headache, I turned to investigate every inch of the small box. I looked under the bed, between the springs and the mattress, even tried the faucets to see if there was anything I could unscrew and use as a weapon.
Just like my knock.
There was nothing.
Then the lights went out, drenching me in darkness.
I stood in the middle of my prison and began to cry.
Morning.
Grasshopper woke me with the scrape of a key and the blissful opening of the door. He carried in a steaming Pop-Tart and some water.
I hadn’t slept at all. My mind didn’t want to fall back into the abys of unconsciousness. Instead, I repeated everything I’d remembered so far.
Corrine.
Buttercup.
Barbeque.
Flames.
I tried to piece them together like a glow in the dark puzzle—only the pieces refused to merge and there was nothing luminescent about them.
I still wore the pink skirt that Kill had pushed up my hips to take me, and the cute grey sweater that hadn’t kept me warm throughout the night. The blankets on the bed smelled of perfume, and I’d thrown up at the thought of the other women spending the night here—waiting for their new fate.
Grasshopper placed the Pop-Tart and glass on the rickety table beside the bed. “You okay?”
I snorted, rubbing my forearms and not making eye contact. “What do you think?”
He growled under his breath. “If you’re hurting a smidgen of what he is, then I’d say you’re hunky-fucking-dory.”
I gritted my teeth and didn’t say a word.
Uncomfortable silence reigned; I made no move to break it. Grasshopper bounced on the ball of his shoes. “Brought you breakfast.”
“Don’t want it.”
“You have to eat.”
“No, I don’t.”
He bent over and captured my chin, making me look at him. His blue eyes were strained, tiny lines feathering around them. “Stop it. Be good and you can come hang with us in the den. You’ve got another night with us before the handover.”
I wrenched my jaw from his hold, breathing hard. “I don’t want to eat. I don’t want to ‘hang’ with trafficking bastards, and I sure as shit don’t want to talk to you.” Hunching my shoulders, I curled into a ball and closed my eyes. “Leave me alone.”
Grasshopper stood over me. The sound of his grinding teeth was the only noise. His nostrils whistled annoyingly as he deliberated doing God knew what. “Remember those three questions I was going to ask you? Back at Kill’s place?”
A stabbing pain spread through my body at his name. I didn’t reply.
He huffed. “Look, give me the answers and I’ll decide if there’s any merit to Kill’s behavior… If not… I’ll speak to him.”
I stiffened, opening my eyes and glaring. “You’re sick, you know that?”
He scowled. “Why am I sick for trying to be nice to you? I don’t have to, you know. I could leave you alone until the sale is done. Let you go fucking mad in here.” He crossed his arms, blue eyes piercing mine. “Unless you’re already mad, of course. Then it won’t matter.”