I might not have the kung fu moves to help these girls and Hunter, but I will go down swinging. Any part I can hit, I will. And I’ll make it count. I’ve got no proof other than a gut feeling that says they’ll have no problem hurting one of the kids just to make me watch and see what my attempt at heroic antics amounts to.
So I wait. I hate myself each time someone goes, but I breathe easier when they come back. Not much, but a little. I talk to them; they don’t say much to me. Even Hunter shut down completely after what they did to him. But I talk, try to soothe them with stories of better times and how they need to be strong. How they need to think smart. That karma is real, and these people will get what’s coming to them.
The creak from the floor on the other side of the door is the only warning we get before the door opens. I don’t make a move but notice the glee on the guard’s face when a few of the girls scurry farther away from him. They’re already up against the back wall, but a few still try to become the wall with how close they get.
The sick fuck chucks stale bread at us. The girls just cry when it hits them, but they still take it. We haven’t eaten in hours. We need to. They always bring a jug of water, but thankfully they don’t throw it at us. It’s only one jug. We have to share, and there’s never enough for anyone to quench their thirst, but it gets us through.
Fuck. I should be able to do something. I should be able to help more than just tell stories.
I’m tired of hearing them scream for mommies and daddies who won’t come. I’m more than sick to my stomach. I’m devastated. If Troy wants to hurt me, this is the best way to do so—making me watch and knowing I can’t do anything.
Bread is tossed at my face since I refuse to turn my back on the guards. He laughs when it bounces off my forehead. I look up and see him chuck another one, and on instinct, I reach out and grab it before anyone else gets hit.
The girls are still crying, but I notice Hunter’s watching, and the guard has stopped throwing food. I look at him, and his eyes narrow. I see him trying to work it out. Trying to decide if it’s worth it to speak up and say something or not. I’ve seen that look in my class, usually when a student is debating if they want to chance possibly saying something dumb in front of their peers or not. But this guy’s alone, and he isn’t worried about looking dumb. He’s just trying to figure out if I’m worth the fight.
As I slowly stand, I make the decision for him. “There will be no more throwing food at us.” I feel the voice I use on my troubled students rise up. Not sure why, but of all my crazy parts, I didn’t think the teacher would come out of me in this. But it does, and the guard hesitates. Makes me wonder if he’s just one of those types that needs to be told what to do. He doesn’t seem that bright, especially since he can’t hit most of us half the time and we’re only twelve feet away. “We aren’t animals.”
“Yeah? Well, you sure as hell smell like them.” He gains some of his false bravado back, but I note he still hasn’t thrown the rest of the rolls at us.
“Whose fault is that? You gave us a fucking bucket and put it in the corner and never change it out.” I inch closer. I’m hoping he thinks nothing of it, but while I have him thinking about us, I’m thinking about a million other things.
The first being that this is crazy and I’m going to get us killed. The second is that it sounds like no one is upstairs. I don’t hear the other voices I can sometimes make out when we get fed like this. I also notice that the jug is only a few inches away. I don’t see a gun on this guy, but I can’t see all of him, so I have no clue if he has one tucked into the back of his pants. It’s a fool’s hope, and it might cost the girls more than just the death of me, but I have to hope they want them alive. They keep talking about how much someone will go for when they come in and get one of them. Saying they need to sample the goods before they put up a price. If they want to sell them, then they have to keep giving them food and water. Even if I’m about to use said water to knock this guy out.
The ground shakes, and I hold my hands out to keep my footing as I hear a loud crash from above. The girls scream and I don’t think, just react.
I grab the jug and use everything I have to swing it high and at the face of the guy in front of me. His head turns on the impact but nothing else. As if I’m watching a horror movie, he slowly turns his face back to me.
Rage. All I see is rage. He might not need brains to be a goon, but he needs to be psychotic, especially if he has no issues with keeping kids locked up and then selling them. And the look on his face as he takes one step forward and clutches my throat with the other is proof he is one.
I grab at his hand as he pushes me into the closest wall, using both hands now to squeeze my neck as he lifts me off the ground. I’m tearing at his flesh, feeling blood, but he still holds true.
“Did you think that would work, bitch? A fucking water jug? Boss says the buyer ain’t interested in you and won’t pay, no matter if we break you in or not. Don’t see a reason to keep you. Doubt anyone would miss you.” He pushes in and squeezes harder. The air that was barely getting to me before is somehow cut off even more.
I kick at him. I hit him. I do anything to survive, even as the black closes in at the corners.
“I would.”
The guy jolts and then falls over.
I barely have time to realize I heard a new voice, much less a gunshot, before I’m being pulled into someone’s arms. I fight on instinct, but they don’t let go, just wrap their arms around me tighter, and it’s then that I hear them talking. Only then does it sink in.
“I’ve got you. It’s okay. You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”
I push my face away, and through my blurry vision, I see the best thing in my life.
“Reese,” I cry out as the tears come and I wrap my arms around him tighter.
“Yeah, babe, it’s me. Jesus, Troublemaker, I fucking thought I would be too late. Fuck. I got you, babe. You’re safe.”
“I didn’t know if you’d come. I didn’t know if we’d ever get out of this,” I cry through my tears.
“I’ll always come for you, babe. Always. You’re my girl. You’re my Troublemaker. I’ll always come for my Troublemaker.”
He pushes my face back just enough to kiss me, and I cling to him like my lips do. I don’t want this to end. If it ends, it could be a dream and none of this is real. I’ve dreamed enough times while in here for something similar only to wake up with disappointment.
“It’s not a dream, baby. It’s real. I’m real. I’m here, and I’m never leaving you again.”
I didn’t know that I spoke my thoughts out loud, or even that I stopped kissing him. Part of me hurts, and I don’t feel well, probably from the lack of food and fresh air, but I nod. I don’t have to be cognitive right now. My man will take care of me. He’ll take care of everything.
