Page 36 of Her Sloth

I get out of the car and into the elevator leading directly into the penthouse suite.

There is no emotion I feel, only exhaustion.

But there is no room for it. I am not allowed to be exhausted, because of all the responsibilities.

I get into the bathroom, undress, and shower. I put on makeup to hide the marks of what happened and dress up as it is expected of me.

I get into a taxi followed by paps.

Get escorted into the glass enclosure.

Bred in captivity.

Back in captivity.

I sit at a table with nine men.

Not a single woman.

Each of them looks as if they eat souls of small children at night.

I can’t do this, says a part of me.

You have to, says another.

“Straighten up, fighter girl,” says Luke somewhere in my memory. It was back when I was close to breaking under the pressure of the industry, with everyone wanting something from me, while everything I wanted was peace and a car to speed in.

I lean with my elbows onto the glass desk.

Close my eyes for a second.

I am so tired that I want to fall asleep right here, right now. Except for the four hours in that holding cell, I haven’t slept for two nights.

I get up without a word and walk out of the meeting room without a glance back.

I take a taxi to the hotel.

Exhaustion creeps up on me, and I almost don’t make it to the bed.

I just sink onto it, shoes on and in my coat.

When I wake, it is with bright sunlight stabbing my eyes. I cover them with my arm.

I thought sleep would make me feel somewhat better, but everything feels just as horrible. Pointless.

I get up.

Shower.

Get dressed.

Sit in a cage all day.

Get a new phone from someone.

A laptop.

One I’d happily throw from the balcony when I’m back in the hotel.