Yesterday (18+)

10

Gloria

I hugged myself as I rocked back and forth. Every time I moved, the chains rattled. The bitch had chained me to the wall by my wrists.
Why was this even happening to me? What had I even done?
I looked all around the room. There was a small chair, a table, and one cot. A framed photo of a window was hung up. I wanted to laugh at the irony. The walls were all of brick with seemingly not a single crack to use for escape. 
I looked at the mysterious person who was still scrunched up in the furthest corner.
I couldn't tell if it was a man or woman. It had semi-long hair.
At least I wasn't alone in this, I comforted myself.
I shivered slightly. It was fucking cold.
"Are you gonna eat that?"
It was a man's voice. The mysterious person was a man. For some reason I backed myself up until I hit the wall.
"No," I answered glancing at the tin platter. The woman had gotten a glass of milk, peanut butter and jelly bread, and an apple.
"Can I have it?"
"Yeah."
The figure unfolded itself and turned around.
I couldn't see his face with all of the hair. He crawled forward, slowly, cautiously, until he was about a foot away from the platter. His chains wouldn't let him go further. He reached his hand out and pulled it to himself.
He grabbed the bread and wolfed it down in seconds. Next he downed the milk in two gulps.
"Stingy bastards," he mumbled staring at the empty glass.
"You still have the apple," I said.
"I don't like apples."
"Oh."
He whipped his head to the side so that his hair was now out of his face. Cuts and bruises decorated his face. His eyes were sunken and dead. Once upon a time they must have sparkled, but now they remained lifeless even though he was still breathing.
He looked at me quizzically. I felt uncomfortable at how closely he was studying me. After tonight I don't think I could ever trust another man.
"What?" I asked.  It came out more as a snap.
"You look juss like her."
"Excuse me?"
"The last girl he kidnapped. From your hair to your body build."
"What are you talking about?"
"He got a type. But he's ashamed of it because he believes that races shouldn't mix. That's why he got her."
He jerked his head upwards. "Mariah."
"Oh."
"You should know the rules 'round here though," he said. "Do respect him, Mariah doesn't really give a fuck, she okay. Don't give him dirty looks. Do let him touch you. And when his brother comes over, same thing, let him touch you but I don't think you have anything to worry about."
Was he calling me ugly?
"His big brother likes touching little boys." He said it so casually as if he had been talking about the weather.
Oh.
He set the cup down on the platter with a clatter and went sullen and quiet.
I looked at him trying to figure out his age. His hair was dark brown, there were no gray streaks. His face was smooth, no wrinkles. 
He looked like a teenager. Seventeen, eighteen.
He finally spoke again. "Was your name?"
"Gloria. What's yours?"
"Tristan." 
"How old are you? "
" Twenny-seven."
I was shocked. He didn't look that old at all.

"How long have you been here?" I asked. 

He shrugged. "Too long. I stopped keeping track long time ago. Not like I'm ever going to leave this place."

"Don't think like that," I said. "Have some hope." If he never got out, neither would I. I needed him to be more optimistic for the both of us. 

I shivered again.

"Yeah, it gets pretty cold down 'ere, but he don't give us no blankets."

"That's cruel," I muttered. The walls had moisture, it would turn into mold any time soon. 

"Yeah, well," Tristan let out a short, bitter laugh. "Lemme ask ya? Did anything from the events of tonight make you think that maybe he weren't a cruel psycho?"

"No."

"Exactly." He ran a bony hand through his hair. "Less jussshope you don't fall for 'im like the last one."

"What the hell?" I snapped. "Never."

Tristan laughed again. This time he sounded more amused. "That's what she done said."
"Why do you talk like that?" I know I was being judgemental, but quite frankly I didn't really care.

"Like what?"

"Like you're black?"

He laughed out loud. "How the fuck do you talk a race?"

"You just sound ghetto is all."

He shook his head in disbelief. "Woooow. Okay then." 

He moved back to where he had previously been still shaking his head. "She sayin' I talk ghetto. Okay then."

All of the sudden I felt so tired and sore. I touched my hand to the side of my face where Mariah had bandaged it. Tristan was right. She wasn't bad. She was gentle with fixing my cuts and bruises up. Like a professional. She had made him turn all the way around as she undressed me and dressed me back again. Through the whole process she kept singing 'Amazing Grace' under her breath which kind of annoyed me though. 

As sweet as she may have acted, anyone who stayed here and turned a blind eye to what Adam was doing was truly a wretch. 

At one point she commented on my beauty, which made me feel very uncomfortable. I wasn't called beautiful often without there being lust behind the words. This time though, it sounded genuine and innocent. 

If there was one thing I learned, not everything was as it seemed. Not everyone was as they appeared. 

Almost all were wolves in sheep's clothing. 

I sighed as I crawled over to the cot, my chains rattling as I did. The cot was fitted with a fresh sheet. It was white with black polka dots. There was no covers. I decided to strip the sheet off and use it as a protective layer from the cold.

"Like that's going to help," Tristan said, watching me carefully. It's as if he viewed me as a threat. 

"You don't have to be so pessimistic," I said getting under the covers. It was cold against my skin and slight damp. I shivered again and closed my eyes forcing myself to go to sleep. 

Maybe tomorrow would be a better day. 

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