Shadow Me

Six - Worth It

Haley

I fall forward in the chair. My face splashes back into the water. The heat of it sends a shock to my skin, making me wince. I didn't even get a chance to breathe in before being emerged. My chest shudders and heaves. My body is aching for air but breathing in will only lead to drowning. I fight against the ropes. My wrists sting as the ropes dig at a layer of skin, peeling it from my body. I imagine the ropes to be made of sand paper. At least, that's what it feels like.

The spasms in my chest get worse. I try to scream but there's not even enough air for one. A few bubbles escape from out of the sheet and I can feel them hit my face. Any sound I managed to let out is lost in them. I shake my body as violently as I can. I fight until I feel the chair falling sideways, and then I fight more in that direction. I fall to my right. My nose finally reaches air and I gasp hard. I only get one breath in until my head slams against cool metal. I manipulate my head to alleviate some of the impact and find myself on hard tile.

A tub. This must be a tub. I push against the chair and as I do a hand grabs my arm and yanks me upward. The chair and I both move upright. I feel arms around my waist and try to put distance between them and myself, but the back of the chair stops me. The man is untying the ropes around my waist. I feel them leave me. I try to move with this bit of freedom, but I can't budge. I'm straining against the ropes on my wrists with the sides of the chair digging into my arms. Soon my wrists are free as well. I begin punching into the air for anything I can find. What I find is myself, back in the water. I scream this time, and use my hands to lift myself out of the water.

The panic I should have been feeling all along is finally melting its way into my body like water leaking through what should be a strong roof, but proves to be the strength of a little shack. I feel the ropes on my legs loosen, and then they're gone. I push off with my legs and fall backwards in the chair. I hit the ground hard and kick myself as far back as I can, no time to lift this thing on my head. My back hits a wall. I start turning my movement in another direction but find opposition there, too. I'm... I'm cornered? My feet don't realize the lack of scooting room right away and I find myself in a sitting position, shielding myself.

"Where is the formula?" the voice asks again.

When I don't answer, I feel the strike of a fist against my cheek. There's a rustling on my hair. I let out a small scream as I feel what must be a few strands of hair being ripped out. Soon, though, the sheet is lifted off my head, and I can see. I blink away excess water and tears and focus my eyes on the room around me. I'm on beige tile. The tub is to my right, and there's a toilet nearly right across from me. And then I focus on the legs in front of me.

Black sneakers fade into black denim. I take a deep breath in as I push my eyes up. Black denim fades into a black shirt. Finally, I'm face to face with my attacker. One of them, at least. He wears what seems to me as a look of shock, or maybe disbelief. As soon as my eyes meet his, he straightens his back and the look on his face. He's young. He doesn't look nearly as old as I imagined him in my mind. In fact, he looks maybe only a few years older than me. He has dark brown hair and faintly dark circles under his eyes, and he's staring at me, hard. He looks stern, but soft.

"Formula," is all he says, but he says it quietly.

"Where am I?" I ask, "what formula?"

He shakes his head and squats down directly in front of me. I shudder away from him as his fingers find my hair and yank my head back and to the side. I let out air as the pain at my head is at its worst. I keep my eyes down. My vision is blurry, but I can see a tattoo, off center, on the inside of his wrist. I can see that it's black, but that's all I get a chance to see before he softly slaps the right side of my face to focus my attention. I look up at him. He looks into my eyes, and I look into his. I know all he sees is fear. I don't want him to see fear. I adjust my gaze, contempt spreading all over my face. His face remains unchanged. I know what he wants, but I don't have the answer.

"I don't know anything about a formula. Do I look old enough to know anything about some super important formula to you?"

His eyes remain hard.

"I guess you can stay in here until you realize some knowledge you have about it, then."

I feel the crease in my eyebrows. Confusion. He lets go of my hair, patting it down, probably condescendingly. He stands up and paces toward the doorknob. He turns his head and gives me one last, hard look.

"Let me know when you remember something."

With that, he turns the door knob and leaves. I hear a lock clicking. I crawl toward the door, twisting the handle, frantic for an escape. This bathroom isn't like other bathrooms. It locks from the outside. I push my head against the door. The wood feels cool against my skin. I let out a sigh and turn to put my back against it. I look around. God only knows how long I'll be in here. The sound of a TV comes through the walls. I'm distracted for a second. Sports, I think to myself. My attacker likes sports. Why the f**k is someone watching sports when they have a girl locked in their bathroom? I look ahead of me. The toilet is directly ahead. I look to the walls. They're white. The only color in this room comes from the tiles. I pull my legs in and put my arms around them, the wetness of my clothes and coolness of the air bearing down on me. I scan the walls one last time for any points of vulnerability. I can't find any. I bury my face in my knees. There's no escaping this room.

***

I sit alone in silence for a long time. My eyes moisten periodically at the thought of home. I squeeze my eyes shut, blocking the pathway for the tears. I can't cry. Not because I don't want to, and not because it's not what anyone might do in my situation. I can't cry because I don't want him to see me. He could walk back here any minute. His unforgiving eyes could look me up and down and see the weakling that I am. I don't want to be a weakling. I don't want them to think they can break me. It would be pretty easy for them to, but it would only make things worse.

Break her down, break her down. Make her nothing. That will be their plan. I don't know who "they" are, but I'm sure of it. If I don't show weakness, I don't have any. At least, as far as they know. I lift my head and rest my chin on one of my arms. I stare at a tile on the floor. It is space. It is the stars. And I'm not here. I am there; I am weightless. I'm on one of those damn blinking stars that never goes out, not that we can see. My strength is unending, just like those little balls of gas. For a second I really am weightless. I shake my head. How long have I been in here for? The door opens and I'm wrenched forward onto my knees. I look behind me. The boy is back.

"Time to come out," he says.

I give him a look of defiance.

"I'd rather stay."

"Would you rather starve?" he looks as though the thought pleases him.

He smiles as he says it. I haven't eaten since breakfast with Clarissa. Was that today? Was it yesterday? It hasn't even registered that I'm physically hungry. I never thought I'd long for cafeteria food. I give him a look of submission. Starving myself to make a point would be stupid. I pull myself up, grabbing the door to steady my aching legs. I wipe myself off for a second. When I finally look back up he immediately grabs my arm and yanks me forward, out of the bathroom. I grab the door frame to catch myself from falling, but then I have to let go. I see myself being dragged to wherever we're going if I fall or stop walking.

I look to the right, expecting for us to go out the door to find food. Instead, I'm pulled to the left. I stop and look around for a second. I'm in what looks like a hotel room. I don't have time to make any further assessments because I'm yanked again. This time I look in front of me. There's a square table with four chairs around it. Once he gets close enough, he pulls a chair out for me and I half sit, half fall into it. I adjust in the chair and follow his movements toward the counter right across from me.

There's a microwave and a sink, but that's about it. I look over my left shoulder to see what's behind me. There's a small wall that lets me know where the kitchen ends and the other part of the room begins. It's not long enough to shield what's in the other room. On one wall is a dresser with a TV on top of it. On the opposite wall there's a queen size bed with a nightstand next to it. I really am in a hotel room. How in the world can they get away with kidnapping and hiding me in a hotel room? Won't someone hear me scream? For a second I laugh at their stupidity. But then I realize it's too stupid. This is no hotel room. It's only made to look like one. What's beyond this room is a mystery to me. I make a plan to slip out of the room while I should be sleeping.

I hear a clatter right in front of me and I whip my head around to see the boy setting a plate of food in front of me. Next, he hands me a fork and knife. I examine the plate. Chicken, rice, and broccoli. I let out a small sound.

"Huh."

"What?" the boy asks.

I say nothing.

The boy lurches his hand down at the table. I feel a sharp pinch at the skin between my thumb and index finger. I cringe, and look down. The tip of the butter knife the boy was holding is now embedded in the dark wood of the table. It grazed my skin on its way down and blood slides underneath my hand. I examine the blood drop sliding down. But then I look at the hand that drove the butter knife down. I see his tattoo, and this time I get a better look at it. It's the infinity symbol. I shiver, and then move my eyes to meet his. He's staring at me, his jaw set.

"You know, we're trying to get information out of you. When I ask you a question, I want an answer. I'll ask again. What?" he says.

I yank my hand away from the knife and examine the cut. Not deep, just bloody. The boy hands me a napkin. I take it and set it against the wound.

"Nothing. It's just interesting that you'll feed me with a fork and knife and not leave me to eat with my hands, or like a dog," I narrow my eyes at him.

He takes a chair from the other side of the table and sets it next to me. He then sits down, his body facing the back of the chair. He looks at me for what seems to be a solid minute. I hold his gaze at first but then find myself so uncomfortable that I have to stare at the plate of food in front of me. His eyes are still trained on me. I feel my right cheek starting on fire. Flames lick at my eyelashes. I shut my eyes, breathe through my nose, and open them again. I have to remember that one look wont set me aflame. I turn my face to meet his. He sits up straight, stands up, and puts the chair back in its place. He then leans down and whispers in my ear.

"If I were in your place I wouldn't refer to myself as a dog," he says.

He nonchalantly picks up the fork and taps it against my hand.

"Eat."

I stare at the food for a moment. Starving myself to make a point doesn't seem as stupid all of a sudden. He'd have done all that work for nothing. Besides, I think to myself, once they realize I don't have this formula they're looking for, they won't be able to keep me long. I place my hand on the table. If I do what I'm thinking at this very moment, I might pay for it. Irrational mind wins out. I sweep my hand over the table, crushing it into the plate, sending it crashing against him. The food stains him, and the plate shatters when it hits the floor.

A small smile flashes across my lips. My face burns with pleasure at my little indiscretion. An open palm dashes across my face with so much force that I fall out of the chair, to the ground. And then it really burns. I look up to see the boy start at me. He grabs my arm, and yanks me up. He drags me across the room, my legs struggling to keep me upright, and then throws me through the door and back into the bathroom. I fall toward the toilet but catch myself. The door slams shut and I hear the lock click. My cheek stings. I look in the mirror and see the beginning of a bruise where his inside knuckle must have hit me.

Worth it, I think to myself.

My stomach growls. I wanted so badly to eat the food, but proving a point seemed more important at the time. Who knows the next time I'll get a chance to eat. Were I in that boy's shoes, I wouldn't try to feed me again. I sigh as I lay myself down onto the tile. What felt cool before now only feels cold. I push my right cheek into the tile. It's the only place on my body I don't mind being cold right now. My mind is fuzzy, and my body aches for sleep. I try to stay awake. I need to think of this formula, and what this formula has to do with me. The only formulas I know of are from math class. Math class! While I'm good at math, I hate it. Even then, I'd rather be in that classroom than where I am now. I don't know if I'll ever be there again.

My eyes are dry. I blink to moisten them, and something creaks its way out of the recesses of my mind to remind me of what I don't want to remember. Zelda is dead. Zelda, who has been there for me since I was seven. Her three little boys, one of whom I got to feel kicking in her stomach when she was pregnant. They're dead. My eyelids feel like I have heavy crystals attached to my lashes. Really, it's just tears. Too heavy. I blink a couple times. I let out a silent sob, and then I bury my face into the dirty tile floor and silently sob some more, because nothing can make me feel dirtier than what has happened. Still, tears don't come. Dry sobbing, because when tears can wash away the horror of what is happening, even then I don't get what I want. Never have. Pushing my head to the side to look at the wooden door, I grimace.

Never will.