Young and Beautiful

Chapter Four

Hattie woke to a pounding headache and a faint thudding sound somewhere in the distance. She raised her body slowly off of what seemed to be a grimy black floor and blinked, squinting her eyes. The room was dark and sticky, humid beyond the point of warmth, and her perspiration had her brown hair sticking to her forehead. 

Fear raced through her veins as she opened her mouth. When her lips parted, she felt a deep crackle in her throat, and realized that her lips were as dry and chapped as those of a street singer in New Orleans. 

Another bolt of fright shot through her. Hattie was not used to these conditions. For as long as she could remember, her hair had always been perfectly styled by Wanda, the family hairdresser who worked at a beauty salon near their home, and she had always been kept in impeccably clean surroundings polished and dusted by young parlor maids in short black-and-white dresses. The family gardener, Thomas, was a good one, and whenever she pleased, she had a lovely view of blooming rosebeds, colorful tulips, and a long, neatly trimmed and manicured green lawn.

"Up yet?" 

The rough voice startled Hattie. A whimper escaped from her mouth, and she scrambled back into the shadows. Her feet were cut deeply, she noticed in the middle of her fear, as she dragged them along the charcoal-colored concrete.

"I said, up yet?" Soon, a face to match the voice came out to face her. 

Hattie gasped. It was the same boy whose arms she had fallen into at the party, the same boy whose eyes had entranced her and left her as breathless as a flapper after a performance. 

But now, the boy was not smiling flirtatiously. His thick lips were curved downwards, and he had the worst leer on his face. His eyes sparkled, but not with happiness or excitement, Hattie knew. With a twisted sense of humor and mischief. 

She knew that look so well. After all, she had a best friend--

Hattie gasped yet once more. Flo. She had not had the chance to apologize to her, to tell her it was all a foolish mistake and that they were both acting ridiculous--

But before she could think anything more about Flo, the boy thrust a finger dangerously near her face and leaned in close. His hot breath smelled of mint-flavored chewing gum. When he opened it to speak, she could see the chewing gum hidden underneath his tongue. "I asked you a question. Usually, when people ask you a question, you answer it. Unless you're mute. Are you mute, little girl?" 

He folded two fingers and set them underneath her chin delicately. Hattie held her breath, not knowing what to expect. After a moment or two of him holding his fingers there, she relaxed imperceptibly. His voice had carried a taunting note, but perhaps he had changed his mind...

She looked up at his face but found herself unable to, because just as she rose her jaw, he tossed her face upwards with a sharp twist of his index and middle finger. There was no pain in the action, just a deep cracking sound in her throat and another whimper from her mouth. 

Hattie looked at him with round eyes and moved backwards, escaping into the shadows. She expected him to come after her, but he did not, staying where he was and surveying her as if he were a cheetah and she were his soon-to-be-prey. There was a hungry, taunting, wicked gleam in his eyes, and she was frightened more than anything.

When she realized that he was not coming closer, Hattie gingerly touched her jaw where he had twisted it upwards. She felt a miniscule jolt of pain when she applied pressure with her fingers near   her earlobe, but other than that, her jaw was painless. She traced her fingers down to her throat, then turning them around and fluttering them down her neck as delicately as a butterfly's wings. What had that cracking sound been? Her mind raced to all sorts of frightening possibilities, and she shuddered and tried to move back even more.

But her back was met with a cold brick wall. Hattie could tell without even looking at it that it was dirty, filled with dirt and sealed with insects in between the ancient bricks. She felt the hot, familiar rush of tears race to her eyes, prick at the back of her pupils.

No, she steeled herself, sitting up straighter. She ignored the sudden pain in her back and adjusted her eyes as best as she could to the dark room. She would not let him see her cry. She would face defeat if she did, even though she had nothing left to lose. He had already taken her, hurt her, brought her to this disgusting place without any way of reaching her beloved. He had already left her without a chance to mend her friendship with Flo, the only person who might have cared enough to come after her.

Hattie sighed softly. It was almost an inaudible sound, but she heard it carried on the room's stagnant air like a bird's feather. Her parents were much too busy with their socialite lives to worry about where their daughter had gone. She knew they would assume she was spending the night at some friend's house, or getting dizzy with a champagne glass and accepting mock proposals from gentlemen. They encouraged that sort of behavior, and she knew they would not worry about her untill...until it was too late.

She gave a shudder at the thought, but before she could try to reassure herself and force back down the tears that had risen again, her head was knocked roughly against the wall behind her, and she slumped to the floor as easily as a rag doll.