Page 14 of Nine

He leans down and kisses the top of my head. I briefly close my eyes in disgust. Bones and The Savior turn and exit the room. I watch them from the edge of the bed.

“Twenty-four hours, Bones. Not a minute more,” The Savior says in the hallway. They both glance in one last time before the door closes.

I look to Trig who is staring through me again.

“Are you going to kill me? I swear I don’t know anything about his drugs.”

“I know,” Trig says.

I start to open my mouth, but he answers my question before I can even ask it.

“I’m good at analyzing people. It’s my gift from the good Lord above.” He points one finger up. “Or you could just say that I’m highly skilled at reading body language.” He pauses. “Liars hold shame in their entire body. Their eyes shift. Their body tenses up. Their cheeks, neck, and forehead redden in fault. They start to perspire in fear. It’s like a domino effect within the body. The average person can’t lie without the body producing a guilt response.

“Yeah, what do you see when you look at me?” I ask, scared of what he might say.

“Fear and pain,” he responds.

“How do you know that I’m not just a good actress?”

“Because your chest is getting red just as you asked me that.”

He walks over, sits on the bed, and leans in to me. His lips are close to my ear. I feel his arm come around my neck. He places his hand over my heart. I can feel heat radiate from his skin.

“You feel that?” he says.

“My heart?” I ask, trembling.

“No, not your heart. I could see it thumping through your chest from across the room. I’m talking about the little prickles that run across your skin…now that’s fear,” he whispers into my ear, as he drags his fingertips across my chest.

My throat instantly dries up and I can’t think straight. Trig quickly removes his arm from me and stands up. I watch him walk toward the door to leave.

“Yeah, and what on my body shows you I’m in pain besides all of these bruises and cuts?” I yell out. I expect him to say something long and winded, but he doesn’t.

He slows to a stop, but he keeps his back to me. “It’s not your body, baby. It’s your eyes.”

Chapter 4. Hero Syndrome

I’ve been trapped here in this basement for days now. It’s windowless and lonely. Trig comes in to examine my injuries, force food and medicine down my throat, and ask questions I refuse to answer, but that’s it. I don’t even know why he bothers. He could just kill me, but instead he’s wasting his time doctoring me up. I don’t get him at all. Nonetheless, I’m still confused and frustrated. It’s just me, my thoughts, and the silence of these four walls. I feel like I’m going crazy. My thoughts run reckless in this room and I hate it. I hate that every memory I’ve ever buried has resurfaced purely out of boredom, and I can’t make it stop. It pains me. I blame Trig for it, for keeping me caged up in this room like a wounded dog.

I’m completely out of touch. I’ve lost track of what day of the week it is, and these small things are enough to make me feel displaced and forgotten. Although I’ve convinced myself it’s morning time, based off my internal clock, I really don’t have a clue. My stomach rumbles and it reminds me that I’m hungry. I feel weak and my body still hurts, but at least my appetite has returned. I get up from the bed to stretch. My head briefly throbs, but nothing like before. I lick my cracked lips and try to swallow my saliva to coat my raw, dry throat. All it does is make me cough. I’m thirsty and I also need to pee. I look down at the wobbly makeshift toilet and frown. I’m not using that raggedy-ass red bucket that Bones brought in. Yesterday I squatted on the thing and almost tipped it over on the floor. It makes the whole room smell like piss anyway.

I begin to pace back and forth and the red piss bucket of doom is looking better and better. Just as I contemplate using it, I hear the door being unlocked. Trig walks in. He’s showered because I can smell clean shampoo, and he’s definitely changed. He’s now sporting some jeans and a white tee. I see a tattoo on his arm peeking out from underneath his shirt. He comes toward me with a plate of food¸ a water bottle, and some rope. I can smell eggs and pancakes. My stomach rumbles again. He sets the plate on the table while looking at me. I’m holding my crotch uncomfortably and wiggling around.

“Would you like to go to the bathroom, Nine?”

“Unless you’d like me to piss myself.” I smirk.

“I take it the bucket isn’t good enough for you.”

I glare at him.

“I figured that much. The bathroom is upstairs and down the hall. I’ll have to tie your hands.”

“Is this really necessary?” I ask, as he steps forward and grips my wrist.

“Yes, I believe if given the chance to, you’d kill me to get away.”

He wraps the rope tightly around my wrist, and walks me over to the door. He takes his gun from his lower back and points it at me.

---