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He waves a gun toward my waist, and then nods his head for me to look.

I let my eyes trail down. On my left side, just above my hip, I see about five stitches. My fingers are trembling as I touch it.

“What’s your name?” he asks. “I know it’s not what’s on this fake-ass driver’s license. None of the info on here adds up. This address doesn’t even exist.”

He holds up my identification. I ignore his question.

“Did you do this to me?”

My throat is pained and it hurts to speak, but I do it anyway. I let my throbbing head fall into the palm of my hand. My head feels like a bomb is about to explode inside of it. I can’t even think straight. God, I hurt.

“I asked you a question.”

“Fuck off,” I shout, still holding my head. I feel like vomiting.

“Look whose tough. Not scared to die this morning?”

“Not really,”

“You looked pretty scared last night,” he says.

Last night? I close my eyes and try hard to remember what could have happened. I went to the hotel. I saw the weird, hot elevator guy with the neck tattoo that read consumed.

I flash my eyes open, jerk my head up, and look at the guy sitting not too far from me. I glance at his neck, and there, as plain as day is the tattoo. Shit. He’s the one. I force my eyes closed again.

Then I got off the elevator and knocked on the hotel door. Mr. V. answered. I went inside, then…, and then…nothing. I can’t remember anything after that. I open my eyes and look at him.

“Death doesn’t bother me. The pain that accompanies it does,” I say.

A strange expression falls across his face. It looks like a mix between confusion and anger. He stands up and walks out of the room, closing the door behind him. I hear it lock. Instantly my stomach starts to turn and I feel it coming up. I toss my hand over my mouth and quickly look around. Next to the bed, I spot a small wastebasket. I kick it closer to me and attempt to hurl into it. I’m now bent over the basket just heaving. I take one hand and apply light pressure to my stitched side in fear that it may just completely burst open with all of the force happening. It takes a few minutes to collect myself after that, and just as my stomach calms down, I feel a burning sensation on my back. I stretch one hand behind me to feel several raised welts on my skin. All I want to do is cry at this point, but I don’t have it in me. I’m too weak.

“What happened to me?” I whisper to myself, as I look around the room. Where am I? I wonder. This place is old and run down. There are several cracks in the walls. Spider webs decorate every corner of the room and dust has definitely settled all over the place. It appears to be a basement. I try to stand up, but I can’t. I look over to see a bottle of water on a nightstand. I grab it and take a few sips. It coats my dry lips and washes down the bad taste in my mouth. I sit there for a second looking down at my bruised body. I’m overwhelmed by the aches that accompany the marks. I can feel acid rising up to my throat again, so I lay back down, close my eyes, and involuntarily pass out again.

***

I’m not sure how much time has passed, but I hear the sound of a door creaking open. I feel a little disoriented as I awake and try to pry my eyes open. In walks an unfamiliar guy. He’s a big man. Big as in tall. He’s tugging at his red beard as he enters. He plops down exactly where the elevator guy was sitting prior. I notice a ball of red hair that sits on top of his head.

“You are a pretty thing, aren’t you? Even with all of those bruises. You’re a looker, girl.”

I stare at him in a vile way, as I slowly pull myself up into a sitting position again.

“What are you girls going for nowadays?”

“Excuse me?” I reply.

“Your hourly rate,” he quickly responds. “What is it?”

“You and your man bun can’t afford me,” I snap.

“How about this?” He grins, and then stands up. I watch him pull out a chunk of cash from his pocket.

“I bet you’ll ride the dick now. Am I right?” He chuckles. He walks over to the bed and runs one hand up my leg. “Just because you charge more, doesn’t make you any less of a whore, sugar tits.”

I grit my teeth as he slides his hand farther up my leg.

“Why don’t you go deep throat a cactus?” I say and pull away.

He puckers up his lips and mocks a kiss.

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