Chapter 38 Grace
The bars press into my spine as I slide down, and my knees crack against the floor. On the far side of the room the other women sprawl across their cots, their laughter thick and syrupy in the damp air. Free. Unbroken.
I fold myself into the tightest ball I can, my ribs pressing into my thighs. This cage is a tomb, just tall enough to sit, just wide enough to choke in. If I tuck my head just right, I can pretend the ache in my neck is a pillow.
My blanket is so small it barely covers me but I’m grateful for the warmth it gives, even if it’s not nearly enough to stop the tremors.
Mistress locked me up as soon as we returned. She didn’t even let me use a toilet, and my bladder feels impossibly full. Apparently, that’s another privilege I haven’t earned.
A whisper cuts through the dim, oil-lamp glow. ”Look at her. Like a fat rat in a trap.”
I don’t move, don’t blink.
“Think she’s asleep?”
“Let’s find out.”
Cot springs groan as weight shifts. Bare feet slap against the stone floor, slow, deliberate. The air changes, thickens with the stink of overly perfumed skin. A shadow bleeds over me, long fingers stretching through the bars like spider legs.
“Dog?”
I don’t answer. I lay still, torn between playing dead and trying to defend myself. Both options have consequences. Both options will only end in more shit coming my way.
A hand darts in, snags my hair, and wrenches. Pain erupts, white-hot, tearing through my scalp. I bite down on a scream, my teeth sinking into my tongue until the taste of blood floods my mouth.
“Oh, she’s playing statue.” Another says, honey-sweet with cruelty.
Then hands. Everywhere.
Fingers pinch the tender flesh of my inner arm, twisting until the skin threatens to split. Nails rake down my calf, leaving fiery trails. Someone grabs my earlobe, yanking hard.
I jerk, and my temple cracks against the bars. Stars burst behind my eyelids.
“Please…” The word slips out, weak, pathetic, and I hate myself as much as them for saying it.
“Please what?” They grab a fistful of my hair again, slamming my head back against the cage. The impact rattles my teeth. ”You want us to stop?”
I don’t answer, because I know they don’t actually want one.
A slap, open-handed, sharp, snaps my face to the side. My cheek burns. Then another comes, and another.
“Cry, bitch,” someone demands.
I won’t.
I won’t.
But my body is a traitor. A tear escapes, scalding my bruised cheek.
They crow, like a chorus of hyenas. ”There it is.”
The assault surges, hands claw at my blanket, ripping the fabric. Fingers dig into my ribs, my thighs, the soft dip of my waist. Someone spits; the glob lands hot and wet on my collarbone, sliding down like a slug, making me almost throw up.
“Pathetic,” someone sighs, almost bored. ”Fat pathetic bitch.”
The words lodge in my chest, like a thousand knives twisting so slowly.
Then, like ghosts, they retreat. Their hands vanish. Their laughter fades to whispers, to silence.
I don’t uncurl.
Even when the light fades out.
Even when the darkness swallows me Again.
I don’t close my eyes.
I count my breaths.
I count theirs too.
And I wait.
Because this cage isn’t the prison.
They are.
And I’m certain they’re not done with me.