Black Lace And Other Short Stories

The Girl

The Girl

Seven weeks ago, she had been a fighter. The first two days of their attempts to break her only brought forth a few tears. But then it almost became too much. Still, she did not tell them anything. It had been important not to tell them anything. No matter what. Now, after all these months, she could not even remember her own name, let alone any information. Now there was only now, no past, no future. Only the pain, the screams, the burns, the cuts, the horror, of now.

They had broken her, totally and completely.

She is tied, upright, to a chair, her arms tattooed with a pattern of burns and bruises, her legs broken, face covered in cuts and burns from the knifes they had pressed against her skin, torso so battered and bruised it’s a miracle that her organs still work, breasts bloody from the pins that have been stuck in them. They untie the knots, and drag her to a dark room. They throw her into it, leave a bite of food and close the door. Before she completely looses conciseness, she wonders what fresh hell this is.

After hours of lying on the hard ground she notices another girl on the other side of the room. They make eye contact, but she is too exhausted to even think of going over to her.

A time later, after dragging herself to the door on her forearms to get the bit of food, she pulls herself over to the other girl, who stares at her, confused. Reaching out her fingers, she tries to touch the other girl’s hand. But her fingers touch something else. Something smooth and as clear as the sadness in the other girls eyes. It takes her a minute to remember the word – long forgotten – for the cold, clear thing between them, holding their hands apart. Slowly it comes to her. “Glass.” She whispers. “Glass. Glass. GLASS.” Then she collapses to the floor, spent.

When she wakes, she turns head to see the other girl looking at her, their noses almost touching. They reach their fingers out and touch the glass dragging their fingers in a slow wave. They smile. Suddenly a small hole appears in the door and a morsel of food is pushed through, landing on the floor. She stares at it, slowly making her way to it. She places a little bit of it in her mouth and eats it. Slowly she consumes the whole thing. She turns to the girl and smiles, before she once again collapses. This pattern of waking up, spending time with the other girl, eating food, and then falling asleep continues for several days. Slowly, she becomes accustomed to it. The two girls find something as close as possible to friendship as can exist in this place when they spend time together, as having a companion does help ease the pain, all though it does nothing to mask the screams coming from down the hall. 

One day, the doors on both sides of the glass open and the two of them turn and blink in the sudden brightness. A guard, illuminated, stands at each door. “Well, little miss perfect is finally going to the hangman’s noose. She stares, a dull horror beginning to overtake her body. The guard spits in her face and laughs. She turns her head and sees the other girl’s eyes staring, as they always do, right into hers, her face mirroring the horror that must be evident on her own face. Momentarily forgetting the wall of glass, the girls lunge for each other. They fight to get to each other and away from the guards, who have grabbed their wrists. The guard’s hands tighten on her wrists, nails biting into her skin. He chuckles and begins to drag her, sobbing, from the room. She makes one last feeble attempt to get to the other girl. The guard smirks again.

“Finished staring at yourself in the mirror, sweetheart?”