Page 41 of Talk to Me

Shit. I couldn’t remember. I’d lost track of days and I was losing the thread of what happened on those days. Whether I liked it or not, they were chipping away at my sense of self. No one was interrogation proof.

No one.

I’d done too many studies, seen the research. Talked to my clients after. Everyone broke—eventually. Breaking might be easy, at least then it would be over. I turned away from that tempting thought. Hating myself a little that it even sounded inviting.

The screech of metal ripped through the quiet. I flinched. It couldn’t be time already. How long had I been lying here?

Slitting my eyes open, I tried to take in what I could in the gloom. The only light in the ugly little room came from the hall. The thud of footsteps accompanied by the rasping drag of clothing on the bare floor seemed unnaturally loud.

Then a body hit the ground not far from me. In the half-shadows I made out long hair, bruised face and then the door slammed shut with another scream from the metal. The dark was an unforgiving companion.

I hadn’t recognized the new arrival, but I also hadn’t gotten a good look at them. With agonizing slowness, I pushed my hands to the floor and gradually got myself up to my knees. It took nearly every drop of my energy.

Checking on the other woman was an option or getting away from her. I couldn’t do both. I wavered, I had to make a decision. I would collapse again very soon.

With a mental apology to someone who might be an ally but was probably a ploy, I crawled over to the wall. Stopping only when I reached it. Panting, I sat with my back against it.

Like someone cut my strings, I sagged. My eyes closed and my chin dipped.

I must have passed out because when awareness swarmed back over me, I could barely move. My head hurt and my neck was so stiff. My hands were curled into fists, and I couldn’t seem to stretch out my fingers.

Something cold dripped down my face. Flinching away from it, I smacked my head against the wall. It barely registered beyond waking me up further.

“Sorry,” a female voice said in a dry husky whisper. “Was trying to give you water.”

There was moisture on my lips. I touched it with my tongue out of reflex. It was cold. Fresh. Maybe a little metallic, but that could be the cup. I wasn’t sure I could talk… even if I wanted to, so I said nothing.

The few drops of moisture in my mouth were like a gift. I swallowed slowly, it was like downing glass shards. Right now, I’d take the blood if I could spill it.

“Want more?”

A warm hand touched my shoulder. I didn’t think she was that warm, just that I was that cold.

“Here.” She didn’t wait for my answer. She must have used her grip on my shoulder as a guide because she pressed the tin cup to my lips.

I shouldn’t drink. It could be yet another trap. Or poison. Or…

What did it matter? It was either water and it would help or it was poison and it would kill me. I wasn’t that far off breaking. Could you administer sodium pentathol via a drink?

I should know the answer to that, but it didn’t seem to register. I parted my lips. The cracks in them stung, then relief raced over them as water spilled into my mouth.

Like a desert in the rain, I sucked down as much as she let me have. I swallowed with care, not daring to inhale it. When she pulled the cup back, I almost grabbed her wrist so I could keep it.

But that would take more energy than I possessed. Her hand left my shoulder then the soft gulps of sound indicated she finished whatever was in the tin cup.

A ploy to prove there were no drugs or maybe she was thirsty. I’d gotten a glimpse of her bruised face, but not how badly it was bruised. My cheek was swollen and I had three splits in my lips at last count.

I had cigarette burns on my arms. Cane marks on my back and my legs. Bruises criss-crossing my thighs and my abdomen. Even my toes were battered at this point.

The drag of sound as she moved to sit next to me filled the silence. Her breathing wasn’t ragged or coming in short pants. I doubted she was in pain.

Her long sigh offered more proof. She could take deeper breaths, filling her lungs. I had to keep my breathing to shorter, shallower breaths. I wasn’t sure if my ribs were broken or only bruised, but they weren’t fans of oxygen.

Bastards.

“My name is Kathy,” she whispered, like it was a highly classified secret.

How nice for her. Kathy needed to learn to conserve her energy. Or maybe she didn’t. I was going to be careful with mine.

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