Page 34 of Pose for Me
Before my mind can further descend into madness, I start to feel sleepy. I slowly turn to my back and see the faint wisps of smoke coming from the pipe above me. He’s drugging me again, but why? What does he plan to do with me? Is he going to kill me now because he’s tired of me?
Surprisingly, I don’t care. If he offs me, I won’t have to live with being invisible. And I’ll win, right? I won’t have to handle the shame of giving in to my captor.
Why does not granting Ryell what he wants fill me with more dread than dying?
I welcome the drowsiness and sink happily into the drug-induced sleep.
When I come to, I’m in a tub of warm water. I don’t want to open my eyes, just want to relax in the water. But I want to be clean more than anything else, so I crack my lids and look around. I’m in a small bathroom that has the same minimalist feel as the room where my cell is, so I’m probably not far from my new home. Ryell is sitting in the corner, looking bored and in the direction of the door. I stare at him, trying to catch his eye, but he doesn’t look at me.
Not having the cuffs on my wrist and ankle is freeing, but I’m so weak from hunger that I can’t even marshal excitement about my temporary freedom. It’s hard to muster any emotion right now. Even though the thought is jarring, I fear all my fight is gone.
Ryell still won’t look at me, so after I swallow back tears, I look elsewhere, and my eyes snag on where a bar of soap and a cloth rest in the holder attached to the side of tub. So quickly water sloshes out of the tub, I grab the materials and lather the cloth and start to scrub my body. Visible grime comes off,floating in the water, but I don’t care. It’s been weeks since I’ve been clean.
While I wash myself, I study the room more. There’s a mirror attached to the wall, but it’s not made of glass. It’s that reflective metal used in prisons. The sink that’s mounted to the wall is constructed of the same metal. There’s no toilet here, so I assume this room was built as a bathroom for the occupant of the cell, though Ryell told me he didn’t hold his victims for long.
I want to stand and wash my legs more thoroughly, but I’m not sure if I’m allowed. If Ryell thinks I’m trying to attack him, he’ll kill me. Or worse, he won’t let me have another bath.
Again I try to catch his eye, but he doesn’t even acknowledge me. “Can I stand to wash the rest of my body?” I ask, my scratchy voice almost unrecognizable to my ears.
Still, Ryell doesn’t look at me or even show any signs that he heard me speak.
Slowly, I rise on wobbly legs, keeping my eyes on him. He doesn’t even glance at my naked body.
Tears prick the corners of my eyes as I wash my legs.
After spending most of my life being ignored, having it happen now hurts more than I can say. I hate being this weak; I hate how my mind has latched on to the only person that’s here to give me attention.
Once I scrub myself almost raw, I rinse the soap off. When it’s all gone, I stand up again, placing my hands over my dick. “I’m finished. I’m…I’m clean.”
Is he wanting me to get clean so he can fuck me? Even in my weakened state, my blood heats thinking of Ryell hovering over me, taking what he wants. It will help me feel less invisible, like he needs me forsomething.
If he wanted me scrubbed down so he could take me to bed, I won’t fight him. I’ll let him do what he wants. I just…want him to touch me, to pay me some attention.
More tears spring to my eyes, but with happiness when Ryell peels himself out of his chair and grabs a towel for me. I try to at least graze his skin when he steps closer, but he drops the material before he can get within arm’s reach of me.
I climb out of the tub and grab the towel, drying myself, then wrapping the towel around my waist. I look around again and see a basket behind me that I didn’t notice earlier. In the basket is a change of clothes, but more importantly, a toothbrush with toothpaste rest on top.
It’s been weeks since I’ve used toothpaste. Running a baby wipe around my teeth and gums to keep the plaque away isn’t the same as cleaning my teeth with a new toothbrush with minty toothpaste.
Hurrying over to the clothes, I scoop the toothbrush up and squirt a line of toothpaste on it. I waste no time shoving the toothbrush into my mouth, scrubbing my teeth and tongue furiously. I push the toothbrush so far back on my tongue that I gag, but I don’t stop trying to get clean.
Tears spill over at these simple pleasures. Something most people take for granted has been denied me for weeks. It feels good to have it back.
I brush my teeth furiously, wanting to chase away the nasty taste that’s been lingering since I haven’t been able to clean myself properly. After the third time, I feel like they’re as clean as they’ll get.
Dropping the towel, I pull on the underwear, socks, sweatpants that are a little too big, the undershirt and the long-sleeved shirt Ryell left me. It’ll be annoying with the chain if I want to remove the shirt, but I can work with that. It feels good to have on new clothes.
When I’m dressed, I turn around to ask Ryell a question, but when I do, his hand—with a syringe in his grasp—comes towardmy neck. I feel a pinch, then my legs give out before I can utter a word.
Fifteen
Lane
The basement door opens,but I don’t turn around to look at Ryell. I simply pull my legs closer to my chest, my damp fingers pressed against my lips, trying to will away the tears that have gathered at the corner of my eyes.
I don’t even know how many days have passed since my bath, but it’s long enough for my mind to feel fractured. It’s like I’m two people—a member of law enforcement that’s fighting to get his freedom from a maniac and a boy that spent his entire childhood ignored by everyone.
I’m not sure the law enforcement officer is winning.
