“Could have fooled me. Now get up.” She pulls me to a stand and holds firm when I wobble. “Take these off. I brought you new ones.”
She gestures to my clothes and I hesitate a moment. She’s trying to…dress me? Not lead me to the next phase of this prison sentence?
“I assume you’re not embarrassed by undressing in front of someone?” She quirks an eyebrow in a silent challenge. She’s right. I’ve undressed in front of Addy every day for years, as well as every other handmaid that has helped me since I was a child, but she has no way of knowing that.
“I’m fine,” I grunt. Once I have my balance, I pull my hands from her grasp and start to remove my shirt. It’s disgusting, and deep down I’m grateful for a new set of clothes, even though I won’t admit it to her. First Fin, now this. I don’t want them to think that any of their manipulations through kindness are working.
“You’re washing too,” she says firmly. She gestures toward the privacy wall with the washroom behind it. I take a step toward it until I’m hidden behind the wall and waiting for her next instruction.
The room behind the wall looks very similar to the showers back at camp, with a spout high above and a grate set into the floor. I shimmy out of my pants and toss them in the corner, feeling a slight relief to be free of the clothing.
“Do you need help with those?” She crosses her arms, nodding at my remaining undergarments, and waits for my response.
I muster the strength to roll my eyes and then peel those off as well. Something hits the floor, and I look around for thesource of the sound. She bends next to me, quickly snatching something from under my feet, and my eyes track the folded piece of parchment clutched in her hand.
The map.
I’d been so focused on surviving and remembering my hostility training that I’d completely forgotten about the map. But now she has it. The Castaways are now in possession of a map that leads directly back to camp, and can use it to attack at any time.
She pockets it quickly, and I stop myself from reaching for it. There’s nothing I can do about it now, other than get back as soon as possible to warn Dane. He will be pissed that I went against his orders and drew one, but he can’t be too mad. The map helped me find the healing waters, so having it was worth it.
I step under the spout and welcome the warm shower of water that falls onto my head. A set of soaps appears in the basin next to me, and the woman reaches over to pick them up. She hands me a chunk of soap and a thick sponge and I get to work on my body, scrubbing my skin and ridding myself of all the grime I’ve built up since I’ve been trapped in here.
“I’m Signee, by the way. You can call me Sig.”
I don’t acknowledge her, keeping my eyes focused on scrubbing my skin with my mouth clamped shut. Assigning a name to her face makes her more human, more real in my mind, and that is the last feeling I need toward any of the Castaways.
I startle when I feel her hands reach into my hair and work up a lather to clean the greasy strands. When she came through the door and declared it was time to get cleaned up, I was expecting her to stand here and guard me, making sure I followed orders. I wasn’t expecting her to help me.
The hint of kindness is disarming, and thoughts war in my mind. It isn’t like me to be cruel to someone who shows me kindness, but I can’t figure out if her kindness is real or not. Ican’t tell if it is all part of Weston’s game, part of the mind tricks to win me over to his side. Part of me wants to believe that she is inherently kind, but my training tells me I can’t trust it. I can’t trust her.
I decide to give her a little back, just an acknowledgement with my words.
“I’m Lennox,” I say.
But you already know that.
Recognizing her kindness may be part of their plan, but maybe I can use it to my advantage. I may look beaten down and weak, and to be honest, my body may be, but my mind is not. I need them to underestimate so I have the best chance to get home, and maybe accepting parts of the manipulation will make them think I am changing sides and make it easier to escape.
We continue scrubbing in silence until I feel alive again. The few times I lose my balance, Sig is right there, reaching out to steady me. Her actions say she cares, and it is too much for my undernourished mind to assess.
I don’t even know her. There’s no reason for her to care, except to win me over.
A towel appears, and she helps me dry off, squeezing my dripping hair until it falls in damp waves.
“I brought you some new clothes,” she says as she reaches over to the pile on the cot.
She tosses me the undergarments, which I pull on quickly, covering myself up so I’m not still standing naked in front of a stranger. She hands me the shirt and I pull the linen garment over my head and slide my arms into the sleeves. The fabric is slightly thicker than the clothes Dawnlin gave us at camp, but still loose fitting. I look back up to see her holding a pair of pants out toward me, and I quickly grab them.
“These are going to be way too hot,” I say as I stumble to get my feet into the correct holes.
“They won’t be, I promise.”
The pants are soft and flexible, tight fitting, but comfortable.
I can definitely run in these.
I stand upright and tuck the baggy hem into the pants, and feel sweat already dripping down my back. She is definitely wrong about the clothes. They are only going to make Dawnlin’s heat worse.
