Page 96 of Fallen Stars

Once I’m dried off, he sets clothes on an empty stool and turns away. My stomach cramps as I stare at the pile of clothes. Since I was taken, all I’ve worn is the same pair of underwear. Now, I’ve been given an entire outfit, including shoes.

“Can’t break one of our favorite toys before the big event.”

The new, pristine room, the bath, the clothes… they are cleaning me up for all the men who visited my cell. They are making mepresentablefor the sadistic perverts.

Acid claws its way up my throat. I press a fist to my stomach and bend at the hips. Unsteady on my feet, I teeter forward and start to tip.

The man wraps an arm around my shoulders and holds me upright. “Shh, Two Sixty-Three.”

I wish he’d stop fucking calling me that. My name is…

I close my eyes and pinch them tightly.

What the hell is my name?

Inhaling a shaky breath, I scour my mind.

Levi.

My name is Levi.

The man guides me to a stool and sets me on it. He helps me put on the underwear and pants. Unlocking one of my cuffs, hehands me the shirt and I tug it over my head. When the cuff is locked again, he gives me the socks and sets the lace-free shoes at my feet.

Once I’m dressed, he reaches for something on the table and hands it to me—a toothbrush. “Let’s get you finished up before they return.”

I stare at the narrow piece of blue plastic with a small patch of bristles. My vision blurs as I take in yet another simple part of daily life I’ve forgotten about so easily.

Mint wafts through the air as the man squirts toothpaste on the bristles. As he recaps the tube, I gingerly stick the brush in my mouth.

With gentle strokes, I move it back and forth over my teeth. My gums ache. My teeth wiggle too easily. I pinch my eyes closed as the unbearable pressure of the bristles ripples throughout my jaw. Once I’ve gone over each tooth, I hand him the toothbrush.

He hands me an empty cup to spit in, then one with water to swish.

After I rinse and spit, I drink the rest of the water.

The door flies open and the guard steps inside. “Almost like new again,” he says, a smile in his voice. “Time to go back to your room.”

Shuffling me out, he clutches my biceps and thrusts me down the hallway. As we move through the lifeless corridors, I scan the walls for any distinguishing marks. A chip in the paint. A nick in the plaster. Something identifiable that will remind me where I’ve been inside this endless labyrinth.

Several doors line the next hallway. Roughly six feet apart, each of them is painted with a number. As I read them, my stomach curls in on itself. The numbers in this hallway descend from three hundred.

How many hallways are there?

How many people are shoved in these closet-sized rooms?

How many people have been the same prisoner number as me?

Two hundred seventy-one.

Two hundred seventy.

The sound of countless footsteps steals the quiet.

Two hundred sixty-nine.

Two hundred sixty-eight.

Two hundred sixty-seven.

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