by Kaitlyn Hoyt
WHEN I WAKE UP, I am sprawled on the floor and shivering. Disoriented, I slowly sit up, my body protesting with each movement. The left half of my body is throbbing and feels bruised. I was probably dropped on this ground. I look around, and all I see is concrete. Concrete floor, concrete walls, concrete bench on the far side of the cell. There is a small door on the opposite side of the room with metal bars connecting from floor to ceiling. I’m trapped. I can see men walking outside of the room, but no one looks at me.
My toes are going numb. I look down, and notice that I am barefoot. They took my shoes? My hair is also no longer in its ponytail anymore. They have taken everything that I can use as a potential weapon…or at least a distraction. I stand up and walk around the room, starting to pace. I don’t know where I am or how long I have been here. I hope that nothing happened to David or Colton, or anyone else for that matter. I reach back into the thought box, as I like to call it, and turn the lock. I open my mind to unleash the thoughts to try and hear what everyone is thinking, but I can’t hear anything. Only static.
Shoot.
I pace around the room for hours, scraping my bare feet against the concrete, until I finally hear the sound of a lock turning, and the door opening. Two men walk into the cell. One of them stays by the door, and the other walks toward me. I back up as far as I can go. He continues to come at me until he is standing inches from my face. I morph my face into a neutral expression, but inside I am terrified.
“This can go one of two ways. You can listen to everything we say, and tell us what we need to know, or we can get more creative when it comes to getting the information out of you. It’s your choice.” I spit in his face. I’m not going to go down without a fight.
His hand comes up, and smacks me across the face. I fly into the wall beside me, and gasp as the pain spreads across my cheek.
“Who were you staying with?”
“No one.” He hits me again. I feel blood start to trickle out of my nose as the right side my face numbs.
“Don’t lie to me!” he yells, and fists the front of my shirt in his hands. Shaking me, he continues, “Tell me the truth. I want the names of the people you were staying with.” When I don’t reply, he pushes me back against the concrete wall. My head slams into it, and my vision blurs. My body crumbles to the ground, and I can’t think straight. I am in a hazy stupor of confusion that I can’t get out of.
I hear footsteps receding, and the man mumbles, “We’ll come back later with Dravin. She’ll be more likely to talk then.” A door opens, and is bolted shut again. I try to move, but a blinding pain shoots through my head.
I black out.
