Page 3 of The Shape of my Scar
And no one knew where she was.
Chapter 2
Faolan
The room was dark, but not dark enough to blot out the pictures that went round and round in her head, like that spinning thing with the pictures. What was it called again…? Callum had made one with her once.
A zoetrope. Yeah, that.
The single lightbulb in the far corner cast a low, yellowed glow. It looked like when the fire at home was almost out, with just that last orange glowy bit left. It didn’t reach the scary corners; it barely touched the mattress shoved against the wall—thin, stained, foam peeling at the edges. A ratty blanket with the threads sticking out of the ends lay across it. There was a bottle of water beside it, warm, half full, laying on its side.
She didn’t like to drink too much. You never knew when they decided to come back.
A cold water pipe ran to the corner where a crooked shower head stuck out like someone’s neck if they fell funny. It made her tummy twist painfully. It had no curtain, just a square of tile anda drain that didn’t always work. Sometimes the water had a fishy smell.
There was a toilet, too—not a real one, just a cracked one on the floor on the far side of the room behind a thin plywood divider. You had to squat down to go. There wasn’t a door, and the flush didn’t work. A red plastic mug sat on the floor beside it, always half full of icky water. The room smelled bad after too many days without cleaning, just like her old bathroom at home.
That plywood divider pretended to hide her when she went, but it didn’t, not really.
The dresses were hung on a twisty hook just outside the divider. They were stiff like cardboard and smelled weird, kinda like when you put coins in your mouth. They made her put one on after she had washed in the cold water while they watched with scary eyes. There was a bar of soap that didn’t make any bubbles, and the water bit at her skin and made goosebumps erupt all over her body.
They gave her a blue dress the first time, with a satin ribbon, puffed sleeves, and a lace collar. The ribbon at the waist matched her eyes. “Like a little doll,” one of them had said.
He had brought it especially for her, he had said.
She hated the man who asked her to call him ‘Uncle’ the most—the one with the damp smile and the slow voice, who brought her the dress and a doll.
She hadn’t screamed. She had been too scared. She’d gone numb the way she did when her mother used to scream her name with a glass in her hand. But later, when she could breathe again,when they left her alone in that dim room with the crumbly walls and the thin mattress, she’d torn the doll apart. Ripped off its stupid head. Jammed the spoon into its glass eyes until the stuffing poured out like smoke.
They hadn’t liked that.
They’d dragged her out by the hair and said she had to learn. One of the men had slapped her so hard her mouth bled. Another one said, “Don’t go too hard on her yet. You will ruin the merchandise. He wants to see her again next week.”
After that, she didn’t fight as much.
She hated them, but she had learned how to hide away inside herself. They gave her something before they took her to the room—something bitter in a cup that made her feel light, like the world was foggy and far away. It made it easier to count.
She counted dogs in her head. She imagined their names and collars and wagging tails. She liked the ones with big floppy ears the best. She had a favourite puppy called East.
It helped.
But it didn’t happen in this room. This room was safe.
It happened in the other room—the one with white walls and brown cushions with the framed print of a sailboat that didn’t go anywhere. She didn’t think about that room, not if she could help it.
She had been here for at least thirty-seven days. She counted time by the food. She was given one meal a day. Bread, sometimes rice, but it was never enough. Her tummy always felt empty and rumbly.
She counted the foil trays like she counted the broken tiles on the wall when she was bored.
Thirty-seven and counting.
***
She was just drifting off, snuggled under her blanket and thinking of East when she heard it. East was going to be a big golden retriever; he would run like the wind and turn on his back for belly rubs.
Tap. Tap.Then a pause.
Faolan sat up straight on the mattress, blinking the dark away from her eyes. Her head was thick from the drink, and her legs still ached from yesterday.
