Always Trouble

Chapter Two; Trouble in Trouble

Hours passed, I didn't know how many. My back was sore. I was shivering. My skin felt raw and heavy, like clinging plastic wrap covered it. I kept my eyes closed, my head down for as long as possible, and shifted on my stool. I got used to the way it would rock back and forth. At one point, I tried to twist my body so it would move. It did, about an inch. The stool tilted so badly I was afraid it would fall over.

I was tempted to let it. I twisted my body to look behind myself. If I fell in one direction, I would crack my head on the faucet. If I went the other way, I would be on my side, still tied up and helpless. If I tried falling out of the tub, I would probably end up upside down and still unable to move.

My hands felt numb. My feet did, too. I wasn't even sure if my feet were still up on the vertical spokes of the stool. I wondered if I was doing more damage to my ankle and the bruised bones. My butt was asleep as well. Every piece of me felt so cold. When the air conditioner kicked on, it got so much worse that I was shivering, rocking precariously on the stool.

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I was slumped over, almost passed out when the stool started to careen forward. With my heart in my throat, I leaned back, trying to balance myself out. I caught it just in time and rattled back into stabilizing. I couldn't fall asleep. I willed myself to stay awake. I bit my tongue, my cheek, anything to force my eyes open. I stared off at the wall. How long was she going to keep me in here?

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More time passed. I tried counting the minutes. My throat was scratchy, and despite sipping the water falling around my face, I still coughed it up. I tried my voice, but I couldn't hear myself.

My skin felt so tight and sore, I wanted to scrape it from my body. Every little drop of water against my face felt like a sting.

I moved my arms, hitting the edge of the stool and slapping my hands against the wood of the chair. I wasn't sure if my mother or Marie could hear me if they were nearby, but I was desperate. Would my mom come back and do something else?

I was desperate enough to take that risk. I wasn't sure what time it was, but it felt late. I'd do anything to get out of the shower.

If I passed out, I knew I would die.

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I stretched my arms against the resistance of the cord toward my hip pocket. I didn't know if I could reach anyone. I didn't know if the phone still worked. All I knew was that my mom had forgotten me.

With what little give the rope allowed, I scrunched my biceps and tugged my shorts down to better access the pocket where my phone was. My fingers clipped the edge of the phone and it started to slide out. I clutched it, gripping at it tightly until I heard a crack. With numb fingers, it was hard to manipulate. I was shaking badly, afraid I would drop it. I had one shot.

I bit my lip and held the phone up. I straightened my body against the onslaught of cool water to block the spray the best I could from reaching my back and the phone. It was difficult to not peek over my shoulder to find out if the screen lit up.

I used my thumb to punch at it, trying to remember exactly what I needed to select to reach the guys. I had never needed the two emergency apps that the boys downloaded before now.

Please, please, someone. Anyone. I don't care who. Please work.

If it wasn't broken, I only had seconds before the water spraying around me might break it for good.