Taken

Chapter 9

I sit up, blinking my eyes rapidly to get them to focus. What stirred me was rapping on the door. I thought it might have been Calvin or Drake, but the feeling in my stomach told me otherwise. Even though it was churning, I still called out, "Come in," which I immediately regret, An older man, maybe somewhere in his fifties bursts in, the door being slammed wide open.

His eyes size me up while I slowly scoot back in my bed. He smiles with crooked teeth, then starts towards me. I stand up to try and run out of the room, but the man grabs my wrists and throws me onto the bed. I call out for help, and that's where everything dissolves into a bad dream. 

It was a sharp scream that brought me back, pulling me out of the Hell that my mind creates for me.

What the hell? Who was that?

The taste of blood in my mouth refreshed my nightmare. I shudder.

I try and look out the window, it's dark with a high moon. Almost a full moon...It's so calming.

I go to rub my eyes, but stop short at the touch of water. Why is my face wet? I wipe away the tears, I was crying in my sleep?

Soon enough, I hear a knock on my door. I get out of bed to try and open it. I forgot, doors are locked until 6 AM.

"Come in," I choke out, my throat scratchy and my mouth dry.

I step back as the door open inwards to find Drake in black sweats and a grey shirt, "You ok?" he asks urgently.

"Um... Yeah?" I turn and sit on my bed, "Who screamed?" I try and swallow my anger.

Drake looks puzzled, "Kendal, you did."

"I was fast asleep and it woke me up," I protest, confused and just barely waking up.

"I promise, it was you," Drake sits down next to me, "What happened?"

I stare at the ground, "Nothing of your concern."

He sighs, exasperated, "We will talk today.

Right, today is Saturday. The past three days were terrible. I only talked to Skylar during meal periods while we watched someone get hit for overcooking their eggs and making the room smell rotten. 

"I don't want to," I say stubbornly. The words fall out of my mouth before I realize how childish I sound, but I have been mad at Drake for not letting me tell everyone what is happening. 

He rolls his eyes, "Why?"

"I have nothing to say," I lie. I have a lot to say, some of it just isn't that nice.
Most of it, actually.

"Well I do," he admits. Drake checks his watch, "It's 2:30, go back to bed."

"Alright," I lie once again. I wasn't going to do that. I've been barely able to sleep and what I do get is awful.

He gets up and leaves me to my devices with no words. I lay back down, pulling the heavier blanket over me. It feels like maybe 50 degrees out, but the blanket is refreshingly cool against me. The past few days have been torturous. Besides absurd lessons about how to obey and not fight back, the girls have not been able to get off my back lately. I've seen so many of them get hit, and told there is no hope in leaving, that their family won't come after them. It is heart wrenching, but I don't listen in when I don't have to. 

Anxious, I get up and begin to pace, the drug of sleep finally wearing off. Out of curiosity, I walk over to my door. I don't recall him locking it, so I try my doorknob. The metal handle twists in my hand, and miraculously it opened. Lately I've been sticking to socks, muffling what sounds bare feet would be making as I walk out of my room. I still have not found out why there are shoes if we stay here, inside, for the full month.