“Let’s go,” she says, leading me to the end of the hallway.
The ground is cold and wet under my bare feet. I’m ushered into a large shower room. Five others are there as well. We exchange knowing glances, but none of us dare to say a word.
We have exactly two minutes to wash our hair and bodies. After that, the water turns off automatically and the guards throw us a small hand towel to dry ourselves.
It wasn’t that long ago when I worked at an office all day hating my job.
It wasn’t that long ago that I thought that I didn’t have any freedom.
Now, I know better.
Now, I know what real imprisonment is like.
Now, I know that the life that I hated so much before is one that I would do anything to get back to now.
After drying myself off, C leads me back to my cell. The walk back is even colder than before, but I appreciate being given the opportunity to clean myself.
“E will be in shortly,” C says. “It’s your turn to be shown.”
My throat clenches up in fear.
To. Be. Shown.
What does that mean?
Chapter 2 - Everly
Being shown.
I’ve heard whispers about this, but none of the prisoners really know what’s going to happen. The guards? They know. Of course, they know, but they aren’t talking.
When C leaves, I put my pajamas back on and sit down on the bed. I wrap my hands around my knees, resting my head on top.
I wait.
A few minutes later, E comes in. Her hair is cut short, blunt at the edges, right by her chin. Her eyes are severe, without an inkling of compassion. Her skin is pale. Her bright red lips stand in stark contrast to the gray monotone uniform that all the guards down here wear.
Besides the bright red lips, she is not wearing a smudge of any other makeup.
She lays a garment bag and a big black makeup box on my bed.
“Strip,” she says, sternly.
I do as she says. I know better than to resist. Once I’m completely nude, she looks me up and down. She brings her hand to my chest and bounces my left breast up and down, examining it for…something. I don’t know what.
“Lie down on your back and open your legs.”
I want to punch her. Kick her. Smash her in the face. But I remember what happened. Besides, I can’t escape. The door locks automatically, and the only way out is through her fingerprints. Even if I could get out into the hallway, I wouldn’t know where to go. And I can’t very well drag a body with me to open the other doors.
I lie down on the bed as she says. I spread my legs.
She leans over me and again examines me.
“Stay just like that,” she says and brings over her toolbox. My heart jumps into my throat, anticipating what she is about to do to me.
But I calm down a bit when I see her pull out a waxing kit. She warms the wax and carefully applies it to me using a wooden applicator stick.
A moment later, she puts on a strip of cloth and rips out my hair by the roots.
“Ouch!” I moan from the pain.
“Be quiet,” she dismisses me.
The next strip she applies, I bite my tongue and keep quiet.
I’ve only been waxed once before and I ran out of there before the woman could finish. It was just too painful. But today, I don’t have a choice.
She applies the hot strips and peels them off with expert precision. A few minutes later, I’m completely bald on top.
“Get on your knees.”
“Why?”
“Do it.”
I flip over.
“Stick your butt in the air and spread your legs.”
I take a deep breath as she applies the hot wax to one of my ass cheeks. When she pulls the strip off, I can’t help but yell out.
“Be quiet.”
Trying to stay quiet as she finishes, I bury my face in the blanket and muffle my cries.
“Flip over.”
“Is it over?”
She pushes me back to my back.
Then she spreads me wide open, exposing every last bit of me.
“Does it look like it’s over?” she asks, pointing to the little hairs.
“You’re taking all the hair?”
“Every last strand.”
As soon as she wipes the hot wax inside of me, I realize that this is going to hurt way worse than any of the strips before. I grab onto the blankets with my hands and hold my breath.
“You’re done. Get dressed, you big baby,” E says. “Wait, before you do, lift up your arms.”
I do as she says. She examines my armpits and then runs her eyes down my body, looking for stray hairs.
“Here,” she says, handing me a razor and a bottle of liquid soap. “Go shave yourself.”
I walk over to the small sink in the corner of my cell and do as she says. I run my hands down my legs and ask for permission to shave them. She nods. When I’m done, I let her examine me again. Finally, she gives me a nod of approval.
After washing and drying her hands, she opens her makeup box. The box is so large that it has wheels like a suitcase. She gets out a big spotlight and shines it in my face. There is no mirror here, so I cannot see what she is doing as she starts to apply foundation to my face. All I see are the tools. Foundation brush. Concealer brush. Eyeshadow primer. Eyeshadow brush. Highlighter. After a few minutes, I lose track of everything that she’s doing.
“So…how did you get this job?” I ask. Partly out of curiosity and partly out of boredom.
I haven’t talked to anyone in days and life gets tedious that way.
But E ignores me.
“You’re just not going to answer me?” I ask. She gives me a little shrug. Progress.
“Are you not allowed to talk?” I ask.
“Of course, I am,” she says. Apparently, I have insulted her.
“So, why don’t you answer me?”
She shrugs again.
“I applied for it.”
“You applied for it?”
“Did I stutter?” she asks.
Now, it’s my turn to shrug.
“So…you don’t live here?” I ask.
I don’t really know where here is, but I hope that she can help me figure it out.
“I just work here. I live on the mainland.”
Wow. There’s that word.
Mainland.
How long have I been here? I’m not sure exactly. But in all that time, I didn’t realize that we were on an island.
Do you know what happens here? I want to ask. Do you know that we are all prisoners? You must. Of course, you do.
I want to ask, but I don’t know who I’m talking to. She’s a stranger. And just because she’s a woman, doesn’t mean that she is necessarily on my side. She is an employee, after all.
So, I decide to ask something else instead.
“So, what does E stand for?”
“It’s just a letter.”
“You don’t have a regular name?”
“Not here.”
“Why?”
“No one here has names. Privacy reasons.”
I look straight into her eyes. Is she trying to tell me something? Reach out? Or is she just stating the facts?
“My name is Everly,” I say. I need to make a connection, any way I can.
“No.” E shakes her head. “Your name is Number 19. And you will never mention Everly again, if you know what’s good for you.”
It sounds like a threat, but it’s not. More like sound advice from someone who has a little sympathy for me. At least, I hope so.
If she won’t tell me anything about herself or this place, then maybe she will tell me something about what is about to happen.
“Why are you here?” I ask. “Why are you doing my makeup? Dressing me up?”
“Because that’s my job.”
“But what’s it for?”
“You are going to be shown.”
“What doe
s that mean?”
“There will be a competition. A contest with judges. Only, it won’t look like a contest. Everyone will want to be there. It’s a privilege just to be chosen. You will all live in a big house together. Play. Have fun. But every few days, someone will leave.”
The way she says the word ‘leave’ sends shivers through my body.
“What do you mean by leave?”
“There will only be one winner. And the winner will get to leave with her life.”
“And…go home?”
“No.” E shakes her head. “You will never go home. You will be his.”
“Whose?”
“I’ve already said too much.”
“That doesn’t exactly sound like a contest you’d want to win,” I say after a moment.
“It’s not. But it’s better than the alternative.”
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* * *
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Debt Series (can be read in any order)
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DEBT
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About Charlotte Byrd
Charlotte Byrd is the bestselling author of many contemporary romance novels. She lives in Southern California with her husband, son, and a crazy toy Australian Shepherd. She loves books, hot weather and crystal blue waters.
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Copyright © 2018 by Charlotte Byrd
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