25. Winver
TWENTY-FIVE
I’ve been up for about an hour now, losing my mind in this fucking cage. When I first woke up, I laid there with my eyes closed, trying to hear if anyone was in the room with me waiting for me to wake up just so I could probably get drugged again.
“Welcome to your new home.”
They couldn’t keep me caged forever. I have a fucking life…a job where people would grow suspicious if I didn’t show up having never missed a work day in my six months of living here. And what about Ansley? Are they forgetting I have a best friend who I share an apartment with?
She’s probably freaking out right now! What about my parents?
My mind is just one big, foggy mess. Clouded with the drugs that still linger through my veins and the pain that comes from my back. I also need to pee and if they think I’m going to piss in the cage like a dog, then I’m going to bite like a rabies infested one, too.
The door opens up, welcoming Weston who holds a glass of water and a bowl of oatmeal. The only guy out of the three of them who doesn’t have my blood smeared onto his mask.
“Good morning, angel. Sleep well?” he asks as if I just slept in the comfiest bed on earth.
“Weston…” I warn. “Get me the hell out of here.”
Sitting down on the leather chair in front of me, he puts the glass of water and oatmeal on the floor.
“I can’t do that, angel.”
“Why not?” I say, crawling to the front of the cage, wrapping my hands around the iron bars.
“It’s just not my decision,” he shrugs.
“What, it’s Harley’s? He’s the one that calls the shots while you and Motley just stand around waiting for his next command like the dogs that y’all are?” I growled, squeezing tighter around the bars feeling my knuckles start to turn white.
“No, it”s more complicated than that.”
Of course it is. All of this I’m sure is more complicated than it needs to be.
“My back hurts, Wes,” I say, relaxing my angered expression and lowering my tone.
He doesn’t say anything for a moment, tapping his index fingers on the arm rest.
“I also need to use the bathroom,” I add. If they give me a bucket, I think I might lose what little sanity I have left. But, I could also throw it at them which would be a fun sight to see.
No, Winver. Focus.
“You won’t run?” he muses.
“I won’t run,” I reassure him. I could roll the dice and run for the door praying that it unlocks, or more realistically speaking, pray that I escape fast enough before I’m dragged up here again. Stay on Weston’s good side, Winver. You don’t want to take that chance.
He lets out a dreadful sigh, standing up and coming over to unlock the cage. He reaches out to give me his hand. I swing my legs over the side of the little ledge, quickly stumbling as I try to get out.
“I got you,” he says, pulling me up a little by the hand. I feel so weak from the drugs my whole body feels like Jell-O. With his hand firmly around my wrist, we walk out of the room, passing through his bedroom and leading into his bathroom.
“I’ll be right outside this door. Yell out when you”re done with your business and I’ll clean and re-bandage your wounds.” Shutting the door, he leaves me alone.
Turning on the sink, I splash some cold water on my face, feeling more alert.
“Huh!” I gasp. Before me is the same sad woman in the mirror like I did yesterday. She stays hugging herself, but her cries are nonexistent as she just continues to stare right at me. Her once tangled, messed up auburn hair, now sits as straight as ever with no wave in sight.
“They know,” she echoes.
“Who knows?” I tilt my head to the side.
“He’s coming,” she weeps out, not answering my question. Great. Even the ghost in this place avoids my questions.
“Who is coming?” I say clearer and more serious, leaning over the counter to get closer to the mirror.
“Trust the darkness that only he shows. He’s capable of more.” She finishes off her last statement with a cry.
“But–” I’m cut off by the sound of my own shriek as she jumps to the mirror, trying to break through.
“What’s going on?!” Weston barges in.
I whip my head to him, then to the mirror seeing she’s gone. My chest is now rising and falling much faster than ever before. This time it looked like she was actually about to break through the mirror, shattering the glass that keeps her inside.
“Uhm, I just…went to feel the cuts and touched one that was really tender?” I guess, coming up with something on the spot so he doesn’t think I’m crazy.
“Take off your hoodie, let me fix it up.”
My waist up is met with the chilling air, causing my hair to rise up and my nipples getting hard. I face the mirror while he begins removing the gauze bandages, each one he takes off sends relief to the cuts.
“Well, it looks like they’re slowly beginning to heal. This might sting a little.” I breathe in through gritted teeth, feeling the warm rag pat along my back. He fans the wounds with his hands, before placing more gauze bandages on me.
“There! I’ll change them again later today.”
“Will it be before, during, or after I get drugged?” I spit out.
“After I bathe you,” he corrects.
“So after I get drugged again?”
He dreads out a sigh. “Angel, I can truthfully say I don’t like how this all played out. But as I said–”
“Yeah, yeah. It’s saving y’all’s lives and it’s your job.” I roll my eyes, now starting to put the hoodie back on when Harley also barges in the room. I don’t have the mental capacity or strength to take them right now.
“In the office. Now,” he commands, stomping out just as fast as he stomped in. Me and Weston look at each other, his eyes squinting like he, too, has no idea what’s going on.
Walking into the office, Motley sits at their desk while Harley stands behind him with his arms crossed, all of them still wearing their masks. “Sit, angel.” Harley’s voice is stone cold.
While I sit across from them, Weston walks over to them, now next to Harley. I feel like I just got called down to the principal”s office for doing something I didn’t even know or do. Because in this shit storm, chances are I didn’t really do anything.
“Anyone want to speak up and tell me what’s going on or are we all going to twiddle our thumbs and look at each other?” I demand.
“What did you do?” Motley says calmly.
“What?”
“I want you to think about this long and hard, angel,” Harley warns.
Think about what? What I did? What have I done?
Think Winver, think.
I’ve done nothing while also trying to do everything. I’ve tried to figure them out and I’ve tried getting answers only to be shut down. I’m not the one hiding behind a mask, terrorizing a girl because their “job” needs them to.
I mean who the fuck is their boss? What kind of sick job is this?
“Need a hint?” Motley asks, pulling my diamond necklace out of his pocket. How did he even get that? He was already waiting for you.
So what, he went through my box? Big whoop.
“What, a girl can’t have nice things?” I raise a brow, cocking my head.
“But you”re wearing it in every single picture,” Motley says, turning around the laptop that displays the images I never wanted to see again. Tears well up in my eyes while my bottom lip starts to quiver, remembering all those nights I was there while not being there at all. My breathing gets caught, and for the first time in a long time, emotional tears swim down my cheeks.
“Wha-what?” My voice quivers, being caught in between all those memories and the trauma that came with it. All of those weeks I thought I was just going insane because he failed to tell me that it was nothing but the truth. It was everything but a dream.
“You’re just as trapped as we are and this time, we’re in the same cage.”