Chapter 5 #2
I ignore her. “If I can use his favor to get more of an allowance then I might earn enough to have savings. We’ll finally be able to stand on our own.
We’ll finally be able to afford a new, safer roof over our heads.
” I glance pointedly up at the cracking beams above our heads. “How’s that for a plan?”
Tears swim in her eyes, making them look almost comically large. There’s nothing funny about this though.
“How do you do it Vay? How come none of this gets to you?” Her voice is barely above a whisper.
I squeeze her hand. “It does Isi. I hate it here. Hate what I’ve become.
But I have hope. Sometimes it’s a small hope, like getting my first cup of coffee in the morning and it not smelling like fish.
Once that hope comes true, sometimes even if it doesn’t, I move on to the next one, then the next.
Even the big hopes, like getting out of here, keep me going.
“It’s all about hope. And you, Isi, you give me hope every day.
I know you’ve never told me as much, but I can see how much you hate selling yourself.
But you do it anyway to keep yourself breathing and fed.
You learn to fight, even though you despise it.
You fight for a better life every day. That gives me hope.
So, you see, it does get to me, but hope makes it all bearable. You make it all bearable.”
She stares at me for a long moment, her eyes brimming with tears, but she doesn’t let them fall.
“Hope.” She sniffles and rubs her nose. A small smile tugs at her lips. “I can do that.”
I throw my arms around her and hug her tightly to me. She squeezes me back before pulling away and wiping her eyes. Her sadness, her despair, slowly morphs into mischief. I know that look.
“Well, what shall we ask Bottom for then?” she asks.
I laugh, take her hand, and drag her up three flights of stairs to my room.
There’s no way we can discuss any of this out in the open.
There’s too much risk of being overheard, if we haven’t been already.
I burst through my bedroom door and throw myself onto my ugly, old mattress.
Isi closes the door behind her and perches on the end of the bed.
“So.” She folds her hands neatly in her lap. Isi always acts like a lady despite her circumstances. She really is the best of us. “What do we ask for first?”
I tap my chin with my index finger in a mock thinking gesture as I look around my tiny space. “We should start small. Maybe I should ask him to let you bake. It’s beneficial to everyone if everyone gets to eat it, right? How can he say no to that?”
She thinks for a moment, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “Sounds like a good start.”
I sit up. “Should I go talk to him now?”
“Why not?” She smiles.
I return her grin with a wide one of my own.
I scurry off the bed and down the creaking stairs.
I slow as I approach Otyx’s office door, nerves dancing in my belly.
Despite my earlier bravado and Isi’s assurances that he treats me better, I’m wary of his unpredictability. I steel my nerves and knock anyway.
“What?” he barks from behind the wood.
I gingerly open the door and peek my head in. “I was hoping I could have a word?”
He grunts and motions for me to enter the room. When I do, I notice he’s sweaty and has a twisted look on his face. He grunts again and exhales on a shaky breath.
One of the artifacts slowly rises from under his desk, wiping her mouth. I inwardly cringe. She scurries out the door, not looking at me while Otyx buttons up his trousers.
Poor woman.
He looks at me and motions for me to sit in one of the mismatched chairs at his desk. “What do you want, Red?”
I swallow hard and sit. “I wanted to talk to you about Isirae.”
He raises an eyebrow, waiting for me to continue.
“I think she should be permitted to bake. It benefits everyone anyway. It keeps your artifacts fed and healthy, able to take on more clients and earn you more coin. And besides all that, it makes her and everyone else happy. You allow us coffee so we’ll work longer, why not allow us good bread so we’ll work harder? ”
He chews on his lip with rotted teeth, thinking. Hope begins to swell in my chest. Maybe he’ll listen to me after all. Isi was right.
After a moment, he stands and rounds his desk, leaning back on it directly in front of me. “You think I don’t feed my whores well enough? Is that it, Red?” His voice is calm, and my stomach churns.
This was a bad idea.
“I didn’t mean that. I just meant—”
His fist moves faster than I can see and connects with my jaw. My head snaps to the side at the unexpected blow, pain ricocheting around in my skull. I quickly bring my face back to his and look him in the eye, swallowing the blood in my mouth.
“You think because you’re a decent thief, you’re not expendable?” He kicks out his booted foot, connecting hard with my chest, sending me and the chair flying backward with such force that I tumble backward when I hit the floor. My head collides with the wall behind me. Stars explode in my vision.
“You think because I didn’t punish you in front of the little bitch, I won’t punish you at all?” His foot finds the soft part of my abdomen and I curl around myself, trying desperately to protect my vital organs.
“You think you can demand things of me when I’m the one keeping you alive?” He bends over and wrenches my head back by my hair, glaring into my face.
I need to shave my head.
The thought brings a small smile to my face. I would be giving Otyx less control over my body when he already has far too much. I doubt he’d be pleased.
Misunderstanding my smirk, he loses his tenuous grip on his control. I’m not sure which body parts of his are connecting to mine. All I feel is agony.
Mercifully, darkness begins to crowd my vision until I’m taken away to a place in my mind where he can’t hurt me anymore.
Slowly, the room starts to come into focus.
I recognize Otyx’s desk and the chair still on its back in front of me.
I’m dizzy, confused, disoriented. Then everything comes rushing back.
The pain, the rage, the terror. I lift my head slowly, searching for the man that caused it all. He is gone. I’m alone in his office.
Thank the gods and goddesses.
I slowly try to sit up, but the bile climbing up my throat has me laying my head back down on the cool stone floor. Berttom has really done a number on me this time. I take a deep breath, trying to swallow the rage I feel burning up my bruised spine.
Gently, gingerly, I test my body, checking everywhere for broken bones or life-threatening wounds. I stretch each muscle, each limb, and while they scream at me, I don’t think there’s anything to be concerned about.
I try to pry myself from the floor once again, forcing down the nausea. I reach for my face. My fingers brush tender areas and come away red. I need to check it out in a mirror. While I’m sure none of my body is broken, I’m fairly certain my nose is.
I rise to my feet, groaning and peer into the hall, only now noticing I can only see out of one eye. The other must be swollen shut.
The hallway is clear, so I head for the stairs. Mercifully, I don’t run into anyone on the agonizing two-story climb up to the bathroom. I stumble through the door and practically drag myself to the cracked mirror over the vanity.
I was right. My nose is broken, my eye is swollen shut, there’s a cut on my cheek that continues to bleed, and my bottom lip is so fat it would almost be comical under different circumstances.
I have to set my nose or it might heal at a strange angle, and I don’t think Berttom would appreciate that, despite the fact he was the one to do it.
I grab a couple of threadbare, linen towels from the cabinet in the corner by the door, close the door to the bathroom, and shove a stool under the door handle. No one needs to walk in on this.
The pain flowing outward from each bruise, each place his fist or foot connected with my flesh is nearly overwhelming as I stumble back to the mirror.
I fold the towel over itself several times, shove it in my mouth, and bite down.
I grip both sides of my nose, look closely in the mirror with my one good eye, and twist.
The towel in my mouth muffles my scream.
Blood soaks into it, causing me to gag and spit it to the floor.
I snatch the other towel and hold it under my nose to absorb the rest of the blood.
I check my nose in the mirror again through a watery eye.
It’s a little crooked still but it will have to do.
I turn toward the tub and notice it’s still full of water.
One of the workers must not have emptied it.
I peer down into the liquid. It looks clean enough.
I’m in so much pain I just want to crawl into bed and sleep it off, go to a place where it can’t touch me anymore. But I worry if I don’t clean myself up, Otyx will be more enraged. He likes his girls to look presentable, even when he’s the one to cause the damage.
I strip out of my bloodied dress and underclothes and leave them in a pile on the floor along with the now-red towel. They’re all ruined anyway.
Slowly lowering myself into the water, I hiss through my teeth as the cold liquid hits my aching muscles. I gingerly wash my face and watch the water turn pink, then take a cold, wet cloth and place it over my aching face.
I must have fallen asleep because when I remove the cloth, the room is in pitch darkness. I can barely see my hand in front of my face.
No one has come looking for me. No one cares. All I can hope is that Otyx didn’t do to Isi what he did to me, but I can’t think of another reason she hasn’t come looking for me.
I rise from the tub, the water sloughing off me in waves, and fumble naked through the dark room, seeking the candle I know is on the vanity. My fingers brush it and the pile of matches next to it. I strike one, bringing the room into view, though the shadows still dance in the corners.
After lighting the candle, I take another of the linen towels in a cabinet hiding in the shadowy corner, wrap it around my shivering body, and slowly stumble through the hallway, fighting my fatigue, until I find my cracked door.
I push it open and collapse on the bed, not bothering to dry fully or dress.
The familiar emerald and gold eye swims behind my eyelids. I know I’m dreaming. The eye shifts again into two beautiful green eyes. Shame, pain, fear. It breaks my heart. I try to reach out.
The dream melts away.