Talk Less, Write More | Hamilton One-Shots

Captive

Alexander woke up in a cold, damp, dark basement. Where was he? He tried to make sense of what was going on, why he was here. He tried to move his arms but to no avail. It seemed like he was bounded at the wrists.

He moved his wrists around and felt them burn due to the rope. Dammit, He thought. He pulled against the ropes with all his might, but they wouldn't give.

"Don't bother," a voice said. The voice sounded feminine, but why would a woman be trapped down here? He looked up to discover a thin girl bounded with the same rope. Although it was dark, he could see her bruised eyes, failed to be covered by her hair, and her bloody wrists.

"I already tried," she said.

Alexander's POV

Who is this woman? Why is she in here too? Those are the questions I asked myself after she had spoken to me. Her dress was tattered and torn beyond belief, and I'm afraid I might not look much better than she.

"Why are you here?" I asked her. She looked at me, a judging looking coming across her face as if she was debating whether or not to tell me.

"This is my husband's basement," She said sorrowfully. Her husband's basement? What did she do to deserve this? She must've read my mind. She continued, "It all started probably two months ago..."

I waited for my husband to come home from work. He's been working later shifts because our finances have been getting quite low. I had my evening wear on and I had reserved us a table at a fancy restaurant, thanks to my friend who decided to pay. I was wearing my signature red dress. It was very well made of amazing silk. Even while I waited, I kept making sure I looked perfect for him.

When he finally came home, he walked through the door looking like absolute death.

"Darling? What's wrong?" I asked him. He's usually happy when he comes home from work because he typically likes his job.

"My boss keeps giving me more and more work. It's my fault, though. I did ask for more stuff to do so I'd get paid more," he replied and sat on the couch, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

"Today may not be a good day, but I was able to get us a table at Chambre d'amour," I said, sitting next to him. He looked at me with wide eyes.

"How do you think we are going to be able to pay for that?!" He yelled, standing up. I flinched back, not used to him being aggressive or yelling at me.

"My friend offered to pay..." I trailed off, looking down. He growled and slapped me, knocking me back. I put a hand on my cheek, feeling the spot he hit me. I looked at him, anger in his eyes. I always knew he had a short temper. A short temper that takes a long time to calm down.

"I spend all day making us money, while you do what? You obviously don't clean this damn place, so what do you do? Go shopping with the little money we have left?" He sneered and walked towards me more. I shuffled back until I hit the wall. I shook my head, too scared to speak. "Why can't you make yourself useful and get a job or something instead of wasting all of our income," he growled one last time until he stomped off into our room.

"I didn't sleep in our room that night. I was too afraid..." she said. Even though I could barely see her, I could tell by her voice that she was crying or about to. I wanted to comfort her, but I couldn't.

"That still doesn't really explain why you're down here now," I said, wanting to get as much of the story as I could.

"I wanted to get money to help us out like he said. But there was one problem: I never finished highschool. I didn't have the smarts nor the money to actually attend school. So without a education, where could a pretty girl get money? A strip club? Prostitution? Yeah, those are the only options. So, I did both. I alternated every other day. The days I wasn't a stripper, I was a prostitute. I made good money too. About..." she stopped to think. "Maybe a thousand dollars a week? I was one of the best strippers and people paid a high price for me to escort them. Prositution also contributed to my weekly salary, but not as much as being a stripper did." I nodded and followed along, listening intently.

"But, one day, he found out. One of his friends saw one of my shows. At first, he didn't think it actually was me, but then he saw me on the side of the road in my sorta revealing clothing," she trembled. I think this is where it's going to get really bad. "I begged him not to leave me. He didn't. But he beat me senseless every day. As time went on, I had spent so much money on makeup to hide the marks made by him. Eventually, I didn't try to hide them. People loved me more because they like broken women. He quit his job because I started bringing in, like, two thousand a week." Her voice cracked during her story. She was crying heavily now. It must've been like reliving a bad dream.

"H-He decided he didn't want anyone else to have my body without his consent, so he made me quit my job. He had started extorting many military veterans for money behind my back. He decided that I would get him even more money by luring them in and then him threatening to tell their partners what they did unless they paid a certain amount..." She looked at the wall, staring into space. "Our first victim was Alexander Hamilton." I froze.

"That's me," I said to her. She looked at me. "You're Maria Reynolds?" I asked her. She nodded and looked ashamed.

"I-I'm sorry for ruining your life, sir," She cried, a southern accent appeared.

"Maria, I ruined my own life. Don't worry," I said.

"It's prob'ly my fault that you're here!" She yelled and cried harder. I was taken back, having never heard her before scream like that. Suddenly, I heard a door creak open and footsteps coming down. If this is really Maria, then I know who this is.

"Well, well, well. Seems like both of my girls are up," I heard a heavy southern accent echo in the room.

I glared at the man. "James Reynolds."