Chapter Nine
Serena
“Get up.”
The voice is muffled, buried somewhere between my skull and the fog inside it. I am so tired. My bones feel tired. My soul feels tired. I do not even know how long I have been here, wherever here is supposed to be. Days, weeks, months. Time has stopped meaning anything to me.
I try to ignore the voice and shut my eyes again.
I am starving. The kind of hunger that gnaws through skin and thought.
God, what I would give for a greasy smashed burger right now.
A mountain of French fries. A huge can of cold Coke.
I want that so badly my stomach twists. Maybe if I fall asleep fast enough, I will dream it.
Maybe my mind can feed me if my body cannot.
I close my eyes tighter.
A hand grabs my arm.
“I said,” he growls, “get up.”
He yanks me off the mattress. Not a bed. Just a thin mattress thrown on the floor. At least the sheets are clean. That is the highest standard of comfort I have had for months.
My legs shake uncontrollably when I try to stand. I try to hold myself upright, but I am too weak. Too hollow. Too gone.
The strangest thing is how little I remember. At the beginning I screamed until my throat bled. I fought them. I fought everything. I wanted someone to come for me. I wanted to be found. I wanted proof that my life mattered to someone.
Now I am not sure if I was too hard to find or if I was simply not worth looking for. The second possibility feels more realistic. It hurts less to expect nothing.
The man standing in front of me has been with me since the beginning. My carer and my tormentor. My handler. My guard. My shadow. Always the same monotone expression. Always the same cold eyes.
“Get dressed,” he hisses.
He throws a long dress at me. I stare at the fabric for a moment, waiting for him to turn around so I can change.
He always watches. Always. But today, he looks away.
He actually turns his back to me. The first time.
My stomach knots at the unfamiliar shift.
Something is different. Something is happening.
The dress is big, oversized, but when I slip it over my head, I am surprised it does not swallow me. Maybe I am not as thin as I feel. Or maybe starvation lies to you.
I have no mirror. I have not seen my face in months. I run my fingers across my cheeks and feel small bumps. Acne. My skin is breaking out. I have not used skincare since the night of the party. I barely remember that girl anymore.
I splash cold water on my face from the small sink beside the toilet, both shoved into the same corner where I sleep.
My hands tremble as I pull on the socks they gave me, unsure if it is cold or warm outside.
I do not even know what season it is anymore.
The last thing I remember clearly is that it was late summer before I disappeared.
They give me a big cardigan too. Thick, warm, soft. It feels strange on my skin, like my body forgot what comfort is supposed to feel like.
“Let’s go,” he says.
He sounds irritated. More than usual. But less aggressive. A different kind of tension. Something is off today.
He leads me out of the room, and for the first time in what feels like an eternity, I am out of that basement cell.
The hallway is dim and narrow, like an old abandoned hospital.
The walls are peeling. The lights flicker.
Every door has a small rectangular window, and through some of them I see rooms that look like dentist offices.
Cold metal chairs. Trays of tools. Harsh lights.
My stomach twists violently. I am grateful I was never taken inside those rooms.
The hallway makes my skin crawl. It smells like disinfectant and fear.
He walks fast, and I try to keep up, but my legs burn. My breath falters. When we reach the stairs, I nearly cry. Straight floors are already a nightmare. Stairs look impossible.
I climb them slowly, gripping the railing with both hands. My legs shake with every step. I stop twice to breathe. To not faint. Somehow, I make it to the top.
The air changes instantly.
We step into a different world. Gone are the cold walls and hospital stench. Now the hallways are beautiful, polished, bright. Victorian designs. Marble floors. Crystal lights. Fresh flowers. Wealth everywhere. My eyes sting at the contrast.
We walk for what feels like five minutes. I think we are going back to the old man’s office. The one who talked to me the day they dragged me to the basement. I feel his presence even before I see him.
The guard opens the door but blocks my view with his massive back.
My heart pounds painfully.
I do not know what waits for me on the other side.
“Let her in.”
The man’s voice cuts through the room, calm and commanding. My guard steps aside, and I force myself to walk forward, legs trembling from exhaustion and nerves.
The old man is there again. The one with the grey hair and the soft smile that never reaches his eyes. He studies me the way people examine art they intend to sell. Slowly. Thoroughly. With calculation.
I do not look at him. I cannot.
Because something catches my attention behind him.
Snow.
Through the tall window, I see soft white flakes drifting from the sky, covering the world in silence. My chest tightens painfully. I take a few steps toward the window, drawn to it like a child. I press my palm to the glass.
Snow.
I have not seen it in so long that I feel my throat close. It is the most beautiful thing I have seen since the night I was taken. Soft and quiet and gentle. The opposite of everything inside these walls.
My vision blurs. Tears spill faster than I can stop them. How can something so simple make me fall apart? How did I survive months without seeing the sky?
I stay there until my heartbeat slows. Until I remember I am not free.
I finally turn away from the snow.
That is when I see it.
In the far right corner of the room, by the sofa.
A shape.
A silhouette.
A human outline sitting perfectly still.
I freeze.