Authors: S.L. Simps
Then, then they were cold, frozen claws of ice clawing into her body, deep inside of her. Hurting her, not literally, but in everyway figuratively.
Lacey's eyes slowly opens to meet the exact concrete wall she had been seeing for the last three months. She blankly stares at it, letting her hazy thoughts clear.
She then slowly sits up, her hair falling over her shoulder, she glances towards the thick door across the tiny room, still shut tight. A thread of anger rumbled inside of her.
He had no right to do this.
A sigh escapes her. It was pointless being angry, she had been everyday, every minute the last few months. Nothing had actually changed. He was still keeping her locked away.
She got onto her feet, her white night gown tumbling down to her lower legs. She moves to the big box sitting in corner of her prison, her socks silent. Looking through the box she finds a pair of pants and slides them on under her night gown, before finding a grey T-shirt. The girl pulled off her gown quickly, tugging the T-shirt on, not wanting to be walked in on... again.
She neatly folded her night clothing and put them away, then, she walks to her bed and grabs the coat on the bed post. Then she brushes her hair in the tiny mirror on the wall. Once finished another sigh escapes her.
Her gaze finds the nightstand pressed beside her bed, frowning at the tall stack of books sitting on it. The idea of reading another one of those books again made her ill.
Gently shaking her head, her gaze lifts to the tiny widow feet above the nightstand, way to small to fit through and way to high to see through. That tiny window mocked her.
She flinches upon hearing the metal door behind her begin to scrap open. She quickly turns to face her kidnapper.
To Lacey, it honestly seemed like he changed with each visit. This one was no different. His complexion was darker, like he had recently spent a lot of time outside. Tired bruises marred underneath his eyes deep, as if it had been years since he had any sleep. His hair was in a messy tail. But it was his eyes that made her frown. They were a dark sea during a storm - sad.
Briefly, she wondered what could have happened, but the girl forced her sympathetic thoughts away. She couldn't allow herself to care about his feelings when he had her locked up in here. Not when he was keeping her from her family and not even telling her why.
"When are you going to let me go?" She asks this question every morning, without missing a beat.
The boy smiles, forced, as he enters further into the tiny room. He closes it's door quickly. He's carrying a plastic bag. "You're up a little early."
She folds her arms as he walks to the bed and sets the bag on it, beginning to remove tubs from it. "Come have breakfast."
"I'm not hungry." She tells him dryly. "I'm not going to eat anything until you let me out of here." His shoulders tense at her words, he glances at her.
"Please, can you not be like this today, Lacey?"
She glares at him. "How am I suppose to be? You have me locked away in here night and day, I haven't breathed real air in months! I sit in this stupid room wasting away, Henderson!"
His back straightens and he fully turns to look at her. "I'm protecting you, Lacey."
The girl scowls at him. "Is that your freaking excuse any time you do something bad?"
He only stares at her, which unnerves her a little. Those eyes which had once looked at him so lovingly... were now shaded by something heavy and dark. She wonders what could have brought on a change like this.
"Will you please eat?" He finally says, he tugs at his hair. "I went through a lot to get that..." He trails, biting his lip.
Lacey frowns, he was obviously going to say more. Though she ignores that, once again telling herself not to worry with his affairs. "Can I call dad? He's probably worried sick." She had asked at least one-hundred and fifty times since waking up in this room.
His face takes on an unreadable expression. "You honestly forgot everything..." It's not a question really, but the girl feels as if she needs to answer anyway.
"What in the hell is it I'm suppose to remember?" His dark gaze flickers down then up, his lips pressed into one another. He's not going to answer her. Like all the other occasions she'd asked, he wouldn't answer. Anger flares up inside of her. "It's not fair," Her voice lowers with the weight of her anger, "doing this to me isn't fair!"
"I'm protecting you," he answers, shoulders sagging, his brows furrow. "I'm protecting you, Lace..."
"Who asked you to?" She nearly scowls. "Who asked you to do all this and not tell why?" She closes her dark brown eyes, a shuttering breath wiggling through her lips. "You have to understand... You have to understand how all this seems to me..." Her lids open, locking on him. "I broke up with you... a week later I wake up here... You have to understand, Henderson... I'm afraid."
Her admission seems to affect him in the way she had hoped. His body tenses and lines form around his left and right eye. "I'm sorry, Lacey." He finally says. "It's better if you remain ignorant... at least for now." He begins gathering the things, including the food.
"Hey..." She trails.
"We can't afford for you to waste another meal by throwing it against the wall in your anger." He turns from her. "When you're willing to eat, I'll bring it back." He leaves, locks sliding into place as her prison door glides shut.
The young woman is left to blankly stare at the closed door, her hands find her face. A moment later, she loudly screams.
Henderson usually only appears in the morning and sometime when she assumes is nearly dark, with meals, books, never offering him companionship, nor an explanation. So, when the iron door began to scrap open in-between those two times of his visit, her body stiffens and she quickly sits up on the bed quickly, book falling from her fingers.
It's Henderson, though honestly, she had been expecting someone else. Who? She couldn't tell. But it's her prison guard who stands just in the open door, breathing heavy, wetness, which looks a lot like blood, red, red blood on the front of his grey T-shirt, his long brown hair a mess on his head. His irises are wide, wild.
He takes a step in her direction and she flinches back. He looked desperate, crazed. She's never seen him look like that before, ever. Henderson was 'always' calm and relaxed, nothing bothered him, nothing ruffled his feathers. It was in a sense why she had broken up with him. He never showed his emotions, she couldn't handle it anymore.
"We..." He breathed out a shuttering breath, gaze going to her nightstand. He walked quickly to it, blindly shoving the items into a backpack she hadn't noticed before. "We have to go," he tells her upon finishing. "Now." She flinched as he, in one quick step, was in front of her, grabbing up her book and shoving that into the bag as well. He tried for her arm, but the girl moves, backing back on her bed. "Please, there's no time..." He begged, brown eyes boring into her.
"What's going on, Henderson?" She asks quietly, voice uneven.
"Listen to me for once," his voice broke off. "We have to leave now."
It was his weakened voice and shaking body which had her left hand finding his offered one. Quickly she was nearly lifted from the bed and yanked after him. She nearly falls, her legs numb and her own panic increasing. He never acted like this. Something was wrong, very wrong. Was she finally getting rescued, was he freaked about being caught?
They dart quickly down a narrow hall and up a flight of wooden stairs, falling into a basement clogged with boxes and dust. There wasn't enough time to really look around before her body was being yanked up another flight of stairs and into a kitchen. It was Henderson's kitchen, his parents. She had no idea she had been in his house the whole time. It was a startling realization.
He lets go of her once they are upstairs, moving to the island's counter. He grabs a gun - her body stiffens. He quickly tucks it into a holster on the counter before clipping it to his waist. A thick backpack also sits on the counter, he grabs it, quickly shoving canned foods into it, as well as a flashlight, a map, and other items. She blinks, her mind slowly lifting from the heavy fog enclosed around it.
His wide eyes land on her before he quickly stalks to her, grabbing her by forearm and dragging her into the living room. It's darker inside the living room, the windows, once large bay windows which had allowed sunlight in were covered by thick planks of wood. Mrs. Henson's expensive couch was disheveled, cushions in disarray; the coffee table was littered with empty cans and books. It wasn't Mrs. Henson's tidy home at all. It was then she completely understood something was wrong, very wrong.
"Henderson..." Her voice was painfully loud in the abnormal silence in which she finally noticed. "What's going on?" Her voice trembled, suddenly the fact that there was something she was missing became horribly obvious.
Not answering her, Henderson tugs her quickly to the window by the front door, pulling her behind him he bends, peering through the tiny slits between planks of wood. He quietly pants, his hold on her nearly painful.
Her patience and her panic were intertwining and feeding off of each other. It wasn't fair how he was keeping her blinded like this. What in the hell was going on?
"Henderson... tell me."
She folds her legs underneath her, wincing quietly. A sigh escapes her lips as she looks down at her fur, blood soaked hands. They were numb and painful simultaneously, she had pricked herself while clumsily skinning their food dozens of times.
A frown settles over her features. She looks up as 'he' comes in, grabbing up four of the ten rats not cooking in the iron pot, tearing into them with sharp animal like teeth, raw. Blood squirts out and onto the floor and seeps from his mouth, she watches him, her lips lifting backwards in disgust. He catches her watching and she quickly looks away, crawling to the boiling, iron pot of rat, checking on her meal.
A growl from him has her attention once again finding his hunched frame. Her indifferent facial expression twitches as she takes in the tail of a rat hanging from his lips. She waits for him to do something, usually his growls meant 'Hey, skin this', if not 'Now, get on your back'. Being here, it was fairly simple, horrible, but what was expected of her was simple.
Her body shivers, cool air seeping through the cave and digging into her flesh. It had began to cooler recently, her lack of clothing made it worse. Her arms wrap around herself as she waits for him to do something.
Finally, after a few minutes of staring at her, with almost a questionable look on his face, he growls and lands on top of her, forcing her back onto the ground, his nose finds her neck, he then sniffs in deeply. She completely stills.
It's cold, so cold she can barely move from her balled up position beside the fire. Her body constantly shivers and her fingers are numb, she's sure her lips are blue. A cough tears painfully through her and she feels light headed.
A growl from her left has her slowly lifting her head, blue eyes landing on 'him'. He's staring at her, his head is slightly tilted, very much like a confused dog. She looks away from him, not at all feeling up for what like likely wanted. He would beat her, but her body was numb from cold.
She balls into a tighter ball, waiting on his blows. He once again growls and he's standing over her now, she can feel him. She forces herself to look up at him, her body shaking horribly.
"Cold..." She whimpers out brokenly. "I'm cold," she tells him. "I'm to cold."
He looks down at her, his confusion raw and real. It halts her in thought. He honestly doesn't understand what it's like to be cold.
What exactly is he?
He understood the need for a fire in the first place and he understood she ate her food after it was cooked, but he couldn't understand her being cold?
He wasn't human. He couldn't understand her and she couldn't understand him.
Her gaze leaves him, as she once again balls into herself. If things continued like this, she wouldn't last too long, which scarily, wasn't a horrible thought. A sigh leaves her. She would soon catch hypothermia if not become violently ill. This monster wouldn't be the one to kill her, and honestly, that gaze her happiness.
She thinks she'll finally be able to escape this awful existence that her life had become, finally be free again. She falls asleep with that on her mind.
She wakes up, which is fairly disappointing, but there is warmth, which confuses her. She opens her heavy eyes, seeing the fire's flames dancing a few feet from her. Her stomach churns as she quickly sits up, a blanket, thick and blue tumbles off her shoulders. She looks down at it with a frown, her fingers grip at the fluffy material. Movement across from her draws her attention to 'him', he's across from her, legs crossed as he watches her.
A little unnerved and very confused, she gently swallows and licks her lips.
Why was he...?
His gaze falls down to his left, he then tosses a bag at her. She catches it, brows furrowing. Chips, a bag of cheesy tuffs. Her mouth waters. She quickly looks up at 'him' and he only stares back as if she's a painting to be thoroughly studied.