Page 18 of Trig

“Jealous? No. I’ve already had him,” she says. I snap my neck up and we lock eyes for a few seconds. She smiles. “Who’s jealous now, little mouse?”

“I never knew he wanted to fuck concrete, you cold cement bitch.”

She grabs me by the shoulders, pulls them into her chest, and viciously rears her knee up into my stomach. A red river runs down between my legs and it feels like my insides run right along with it.

“Broken is a good look on you,” she says into my ear.

That’s it. That’s the final blow. My body, my mind, and my soul give out, and that’s the last thing I remember before I shake hands with what feels like death itself.

***

My eyes flutter before opening to what sounds like someone habitually clicking a pen. It takes a few seconds for my blurry vision to focus as I stare hard at the fancy red and black flowers on the gold wall. I then slowly look down and take notice of the oversized bed I lie in. The minimal movements I make remind me very quickly how sore and weak I am. I try to comfort my confused thoughts by taking in my surroundings but it’s useless. It’s all unfamiliar. I stare down at the needle in my arm that runs up to an I.V. What the fuck happened? What type of hospital is this? I reach up and feel a damp rag that lies across my forehead. My head pounds against the fabric. A man with brown hair and dark eyes in a long black coat sits at the side of my bed watching me. Behind him I spot a small silver rolling cart carrying needles and other operating tools; some of them look rusty and bloody.

“Are you hungry? You must be. Do you remember what happened?”

I stare at him in silence.

“You lost your baby. You took a bad fall down the stairs. No broken bones but you do have several bruised ribs and you suffered a lot of blood loss.”

He reaches over to the end table closest to my bed and grabs a plate of food.

“My baby died,” I mumble.

“Sandwich, okay? If not, we have some crab or fruit,” he says, ignoring me.

I grab at my stomach. My eyes widen. I feel my blood run cold and every hair on my body stands up straight. It all comes crashing back. Every. Painful. Second. My breath catches in my throat before panic sets in.

“Get me out of here. These people are punishing me. They hurt me. Carmen and that blonde did this. I have a little girl that I need to find. Her name is Mya. Have you seen her?”

I nervously grab onto the man’s arm. He shakes his head.

“Miss. You just lost your baby. You’re in shock. There is no Mya.”

“They are going to sell her if we don’t get to her. My fiancé Trig could be here too. He’s tall with tattoos, has a big attitude, and is built for tackling people,” I ramble. “Wait! What the fuck did you just say about my daughter?”

I search his face for answers, and there’s nothing.

“Take it easy,” he says. “There’s no Mya, and there’s no man named Trigger.”

I attempt to sit up but the pain in my ribs slows me down. I look down at my left hand, my engagement ring is gone. I look back up at him in distrust.

“I never said his full name.”

In a panic, I start ripping the needles out of my arm.

“Please don’t do that,” the man calmly requests.

“I’m getting the hell out of here,” I say, as I attempt to move my legs.

I can’t allow you to leave. I’m sorry,” he says.

The man quickly stabs a sharp needle into my upper arm. I stare at him in shock as he sits there unbothered. I fall back against the bed just as Carmen walks into the room. He stands behind the doctor and stares at me in frustration.

“I told you that you’d need to sedate her. She’s a fighter.”

I push my hardest not to pass out but my eyes grow heavy and the room becomes dark. The next time I wake up again, I’m handcuffed to the metal frame of the bed with my arms over my head. My entire torso hurts. I grit my teeth as I move and wiggle in the bed. Carmen speaks up from the corner of the room. He’s in my face before I can even speak.

“I took the time to have someone come clean you up so you don’t look so…abused. That doesn’t sell well with clients. No one wants your sad little fucked up face looking back at them when they’re considering buying you to get off. We just need to put a little cover-up on those facial bruises and you’re good to go for pictures. So, for that, you can thank me later. Another thing…I hope you don’t mind, but we made some preferred changes to your look. I personally love a picture we obtained of you with red hair so we dyed it back.” He shows me the picture on his phone. One he probably got from my old house in Vegas. “It’s sexier, I think. I feel like it screams fuck-able. In time, it will grow out again, just like this picture. It’s like the old you is almost back. This is what you wanted, right? The old you? Didn’t you say you missed it? Well, you will miss no more, sweetheart. I am here to help you.”

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