5. Reign
“Y ou two! 7296 and 4682.” Elm and I look up from our trays to see the guard in his brown guard’s uniform. “Let’s go.” The guard’s tone is rushed—demanding.
“Go where?” Elm questions, his brows hitch together with concern.
“Now, inmates.” The guard’s tone is full of irritation.
We look at each other. This isn’t good, but we know what we are most likely walking into. Defiance laces my face as I slam my hands down on the table. Larah places a hand over mine and shakes her head, narrowing her eyes at me. I huff and shove my tray away, standing up as Elm does the same.
We follow the guard through the halls and locked doors until we get to one of the back rooms. Once we enter we’re left with three different guards, all with flasks in their hands. The smell of alcohol rolls off them, tainting the air.
Great .
Elm folds his arms, widens his stance, then lets out an irritated sigh. He knows what is to come as well as I do. Only three guards though… stupid of them. Elm and I could flatten this room in a matter of minutes if we wanted to, but who knows how long we would get sent to the hole again. I shudder just thinking of my last stretch of time in the hole.
One of the guards is big—bigger than Elm, and that’s saying something since Elm towers over most. We aren’t given enough food to bulk up, but I’m sure if Elm had a normal diet, he would be as thick as he is tall. Despite being malnourished he still has some bulk to his muscles.
“Strip. 4682, you are going to fuck her.” Elm looks at me, disbelief in his eyes, while the guards start to undo their belt buckles—the sound making me sick to my stomach.
“She isn’t exactly my type,” Elm says coolly, chuckling.
I still have not made any move to take off my clothes. This is different. They have never made us do… this. Usually, they pull one or two of us in the back where they do what they want and send us back, when they are finished.
“I said strip, now!” the guard screams, spit flying from his mouth, while he snaps a whip in the air. Its threatening sound echoes around us, making the hair on the back of my neck stand, while a shiver snakes down my spine. The other two guards laugh like this situation is funny.
Elm steps close to me and whispers, “I can’t. I can’t put you through it.”
“Just do it. I am used to them doing this.”
“Them—not me. I won’t.”
Thinking long and hard, I am unsure how to get out of this or what to do to save Elm.
I start to unbutton my oh-so-comfy gray tunic, hands trembling, yet my breath is steady. I am used to this. When I have some pig sweating on top of me, I take my mind elsewhere—to the brook between the Shadowed Forest and lavender fields, where my father used to take me before he died. It is one of my fondest memories. He would show me different plants and their uses, or take me to the theater. We couldn’t afford tickets, so we would sit outside and listen to the music.
Elm reaches over and grabs my hand, stopping me from pulling my top off. “We aren’t doing this.”
He is right—we can’t, but I have no idea how to save us from this. Maybe I can get the attention on me somehow.
“If you don’t, you will both get whipped and have to do it anyway. Maybe some time in the hole will keep you from being defiant, or maybe the tub?” the guard retorts, slurring his words and looking at the guard holding the whip, who nods in agreement.
“Strip!”
I immediately remove my tunic and use my arm to cover my chest. Elm just stands there with a feral look on his face.
“Just fucking doing it, Elm,” I plead. My voice is dripping with panic. They will certainly hurt him for this. If he just strips, I will try to get their attention on me.
“Fine! Have it your way.” The guard with the whip nods in our direction, and the other two guards head toward us. “Fight, and she gets it worse than you.”
Elm huffs as the two guards grip him on either side and force him to his knees. They bend him over, palms on the stone floor. The guard with the whip reels his arm back and slashes it along Elm’s back, splitting Elm’s tunic, tearing through his flesh. Blood splatters around us in tiny droplets.
“Stop! Stop this!” I scream. If they are going to hurt him anyway, I might as well try to protect him. I go to attack the massive guard with the whip, but the other two leave Elm’s side and grab me. One guard slams me to the ground. My teeth hit the inside of my cheek. I immediately taste blood, the familiar metallic warmth filling my mouth. I spit it out of my mouth toward the guard’s boots. The guard that slammed me, places his knee in the center of my back pinning me to the ground a few feet away from Elm, who is still on his hands and knees.
I hate them. I want to kill them all. Suddenly, I am pulled from my thoughts when I feel the knee ease off my back, and my pants being pulled down.
I know what’s coming—the perverted guard will have his way with me. It has been a long while since we got an influx of new inmates, but this is nothing new. I am glad we got more inmates in the Hollows. I do pity them—no one deserves to be raped or assaulted, but it is nice having a long stretch between dealing with the disgusting behavior from some of the guards. I’d rather they mess with me instead of Elm.
Not all the guards are filthy pigs, only a select few, but Big Al is by far the most malicious—the evilest. He’s done the worst, especially to me. If it wasn’t for Elm and Larah, Big Al would have broken me.
“You will lay there and watch. If you interfere, she will get a bunch of these”—the guard lifts the whip. “Then, I’ll throw her in the hole for days.”
“Don’t! Don’t touch her!” Elm screams out. His eyes are red and feral. His anger is tangible. The man with the whip gives him another lashing, and blood splatters all over my face.
I look at Elm, telling him to shut up with my eyes. My heart is in my throat. My steady pulse is now pounding in my ear. I don’t want anything to happen to him. He just stares at me. His wild eyes are unreadable.
“How about we take you instead?” The guard chuckles, while the others join in.
“I won’t fight it. Just leave her alone, please.” Elm says, defeat dripping off each word.
Please . Tears begin to sting my eyes. Such a simple word, one Elm never uses—yet he just did, to protect me.
Elm lifts his pained face from the ground and looks at me. His blue eyes plead for me to lay there and shut up.
I look at Elm and shake my head. My friend. My stupid best friend. The big brother I have always wanted. He was willing to take the pain so I don’t have to endure it. He holds my gaze, not saying a word out loud. He raises his right hand, crossing his middle finger over the pointer finger, and his pointer finger over the ring finger—three braided fingers, that meant so much to us.
It means, ‘I’ve got you. I am with you. We will be okay.’ But it’s also the three of us together: Elm, Larah, and me. We are strong together and can get through anything. Together. He brings those braided fingers to his lips and kisses them before placing his palm back on the stone.
As stupid as it is, it meant something—especially if one of us was alone in a cell, and the others couldn’t get to them.
He first muttered those words when I came back from my first experience in a back room with Big Al. I was soaked in blood from the disturbing acts he performed on me… to me. I didn’t want to be touched, but I couldn’t clean the blood off myself because it was everywhere, and I was too injured. Larah was in the hole, so she couldn’t help me. Elm helped me with mindful and careful hands, making sure to be deliberate where he touched—and didn’t touch. My mind is healing, but my body will bear the scars that tell the history of my abuse.
I know I will make it worse if I do anything. I do the only thing I can, which is… absolutely nothing. Since I can’t fight back, I braid my three fingers back and kiss them in response.
“Well, since you asked so nicely, let me oblige you.”
The big man with the whip opens his pants and reveals himself to us. He drops to his knees while the guard with no inmate in front of him yanks Elms pants down. The guard with the whip spits in his hand and wets himself, stroking himself a few times before he thrusts into Elm. Elm grunts but doesn’t holler out. He just looks at me, eyes glassy and filled with hatred. He is probably thinking of all the ways he would kill them. I know I am. I hate them.
The other guard begins fisting himself.
Gross .
Elm turns his face down, looking at the space between his tense palms, his fingernails splitting with the intensity of digging them into the stone below him. His jaw is taut, muscle straining. The guard behind him begins to pound into him, picking up his pace until he finally finishes with a grunt. He pulls out of Elm, and I notice blood all over the guard which is now also dripping out of Elm onto the floor.
The guard holding me gets up and takes his turn on Elm. All I can do is lay there. I stretch my arm out so my fingers barely brush Elm’s hand, which now feels tacky, moistened with sweat. His filthy blonde hair is now damp. He turns his head to me and barely raises the corner of his lips into a tight whisper of a smile, letting me know he appreciates the gesture.
Once the guards finish, they place a bucket of water and a washcloth on the table and leave us. We know the drill. We have only a few minutes to clean up and get out there, so they can take us back. How generous.
The door shuts as Elm collapses on the stone. I spring up, throwing my tunic back on and adjusting my pants. The air is filled with a mixture of alcohol, sweat, and blood. Elm’s blood. I hear him sniff, but he isn’t facing me.
“Elm?”
He isn’t responding or moving. I grab the bucket and washcloth. The water sloshes onto the floor as I set it down next to him.
I reach for his arm to help him up, but before I touch him, I ask, keeping my voice soft and low, “Elm, can I touch your arm? Help you get up?”
We are not strangers to this. However, sometimes in the moment right after such an act, the thought of being touched is crippling.
He nods. I gently and slowly help him to his feet. I give him privacy while he washes off the blood and bodily fluids that are leaking out of him. I hear him sniff a few more times, while I hear the water from the washcloth being squeezed out.
Once he is done, Elm wipes his eyes, and we walk out of the room, back to the guards, to our cells—to the double burning hells on earth we live in.
* * *
We are all ushered to the massive ‘ring’ room for yet another fight. In the packed confines of the stone room, the air hangs heavy and oppressive—thick with the scent of damp earth and stale sweat. Each breath feels like a struggle, as if the very air itself resists intrusion into its suffocating embrace. What I assume to be dust particles dance in the air, adding a gritty texture to each intake of breath that coats my throat and lungs. As I look over the packed room, I see inmates shoulder to shoulder, overlapping everywhere—a sea of gray. There is no space left. The room is filled to the brim.
Close to the stage, I spot the royal guards and a massively tall, muscular man dressed in all black, emulating formidable power. He isn’t wearing the royal colors of red and gold. I wonder who he is to afford protection from the royal guards. Maybe he is with Vanna; however I do not spot her tonight.
Elm and Larah appear on either side of me, just in time to see Big Al step on the stage. Gods and goddesses, I hate that man. The only things that have changed about him these last six years are the length of his beard, the severity of his cruelty, and the weight of the coins in his pocket.
“Good evening, everyone.” Big Al’s voice is oily. “Tonight, we have a special event.” He looks over to the strange man in black and the royal guards beside him, wearing an irritated expression. “The king has sent Prince Lukene here to retrieve a few of you.”
The strange man is a royal—Prince Lukene. I look to Larah and Elm; confusion is stitched onto their faces, that mirrors my own.
Big Al continues, “He will be retrieving twenty prisoners to compete in trials at the royal palace. He will be judging you on your fighting tonight. I have selected forty of you to compete in our ring night—twenty fights, twenty champions. The winners will leave tonight with the guards and head to the palace for the royal trials.”
Elm immediately looks at me and Larah. “This is it! This is our chance to get revenge on the royals for putting us here. If we leave the Hollows, we have a chance, a shot at a real future, and payback for what they did to us.” He is finally moving around normally after his whippings a couple of weeks ago, and thank the mother he is, because he needs to win tonight.
Larah and I nod, a real future—something other than the Hollows. I swallow hard, feeling my throat bob as I do. Finally, a chance at revenge. Dreaming about the sweet taste of revenge is what motivated me to keep on living these past six years in this hellhole.
“Fight fiercely. Fight mightier than you have ever fought. Our futures depend on this. We all need to make it,” Elm states with such seriousness in his tone.
I let Elm’s words sink in. He is right. If we get out of the Hollows, we have a chance—a real chance. I have no clue what these royal trials will consist of, but anything is better than staying here, underground.
Big Al calls the forty inmates he chose to fight, and he dismisses the rest. Once the room empties out, the fights begin. Pair by pair, the inmates fight. Elm and Larah both win their matches—not surprisingly. Now it is down to me. I am the last to go.
I step up onto the stage. I feel like I have a lead ball rolling around in the pit of my stomach. I usually don’t get nervous for fights, but I have so much to lose with this one. I steady my nerves and even out my breathing. I will win this fight. I will win for Elm, for Larah, for myself, for a chance at revenge, for… just a chance to leave The Hollows, no matter how brief the time away from here is.
My opponent walks on to the stage. She must be from another section of the prison. She is tall—at least a head taller than me. She is thicker than me too, but most are. Half of her head is shaved with the other half in a long black braid. I smile at her—widely and brightly. So many underestimate me because of my size. It’s always their downfall. Elm and Larah have trained me well over these last six years.
I bounce on the balls of my feet, fists up, and wait.
Gong.
I don’t even give her a second to breathe before I am on her. I rain down punch after punch, landing a good one, right on her jaw. Her eyes widen in surprise, as she didn’t expect me to be this good. What did she expect?
I fall back and let her get some shots in. We’ll trade a few until she thinks I am tired.
She comes at me. I deflect her first punch, and when I see the second one coming, I don’t dodge it, instead I let it hit me straight in the face.
Her fist connects with my mouth and nose as my head flies back. I can feel the warmth of my blood as it leaks from my nose and down my face. It dribbles out of the corner of my mouth, and I revel in the metallic taste of it. Using the back of my hand, I wipe it away and look at her with a smirk.
She grimaces. I suspect I am getting under her skin. She comes at me again, full force this time.
We trade blow for blow—mostly body shots.
Her fist connects with the right side of my body.
Damn .
I think she cracked a rib, or at least bruised it badly. I didn’t expect that. I hunch over just for a brief second—a mistake I realize. Now she knows she injured me. She thinks she has me. I see it in her face as her lips curl into a grin.
Perfect .
I steady myself—gathering my strength. Ignoring the pain in my side, I bounce on my feet and circle her. She kicks her muscular leg at me, right in my damn right side. I stumble a bit, but not before I land a solid punch to her thigh, causing her to pull her leg back. Her leg buckles when she puts her weight on it.
Excellent .
“End it!” Elm yells.
“Quiet 4682!” Big Al snaps.
I meet Elm’s stare for a split second. He nods his head. He doesn’t want me to play any longer.
I go in for the finale.
Right.
Left.
Right.
She deflects all but the last punch. When her head snaps to the side, I use the moment to spin around and kick her in her injured leg.
She must have seen it coming. She catches my leg, kicking my other one out from under me. She becomes hellfire as she jumps on top of me, raining punches down on me. Though her hits our mainly body shots, her fist connects anywhere she sees an opening.
Shit.
I may actually lose this fight. Lose my chance to feel the sun kiss my face and the wind in my hair. Lose my chance at freedom—my chance for revenge.