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Holding Out For a Hero
Doyou ever hear screaming and realize it's actually you inside your own head? Like some tiny figure inside is just clamouring to get out, bashing against the walls of your skull and yelling at the top of their lungs. But it takes you time to realize that’s what it is. You clutch at the straws of sanity, but it’s so loud it seems to echo around the room and not just within your mind.
When I wake up, it's to the sound of shouting in the hallway. I groan, my throat raw, and there’s an unfamiliar ache between my legs and on my shoulder. The next thing I notice is the warm and good smelling fabric around my shoulders and I pull it around myself, inhaling deeply.
When I shuffle across the room, I’m grateful again for the jacket which provides modesty while I pee. The voice in the hall gets closer, and I realize I must have slept a long time if they are here already. I have no way to know the time, but usually there’s a few hours between when I wake up and when they take us to get ready.
It suddenly occurs to me I am clueless as to what will happen today.
The rituals of shower and makeup have become routine and, in a way, comforting in their relative normality. At least normal for here. Now that the auction has come and gone, what will they do with me?
Atlas told Ivor he said he could “have” me. My face heats at the thought of how he very much did “have me” on a stage only yesterday.
Eli spoke to me many times about possessing and owning me, but despite what Atlas did to me on that stage, I get the sense that his idea of having me for himself, is quite different from Eli’s. At least I hope so.
Keeping the jacket around me, I step out of the room. Right away, Jaime catches my eye from across the hall and raises a brow at the jacket on my shoulders. The other girls usually wear little more than underwear, but until today, I’ve been marched out naked.
I wish I could ask her what to expect or if what happened yesterday was normal, but with the guards’ eyes on us, I don’t dare. We simply communicate with our eyes, and I hope she understands my signal.
By the time we’re being led out of the showers, my anxiety has spiked through the roof. Will they take me back to Arturo? To do my own makeup? And then what?
Where is Atlas?
I push him from my mind for the time being while going through the actions. I need to focus on what’s in front of me, not the possibility that he’ll actually come back for me. I swallow deeply at the thought as I hand in my towel.
“Hold on,” the guard says. Mark, I think I heard his name was. He turns and grabs one of the small piles like the other girls get, a small faded robe and underwear, and hands it to me. I stare at it for a moment, and he has to shake it at me before I take it.
“Boss’ orders,” he tells me, and I nod gratefully and hurry to put them on. Despite the comfort of not being naked, and since the jacket already seems to be gone, the change of routine makes me uneasy.
My stomach is in knots even as we’re led to the makeup room like usual, and my movements are jerky and hesitant. Mark gives me a nod as I take my seat next to Jaime.
I look at myself in the mirror and even when I look the same, I feel different from the last time I sat here.
In the last twenty-four hours, I don’t know if something has been taken from me or given to me. My skin doesn’t seem to fit, and if I could jump out of it and run, I would.
“Am I allowed to cut my hair?” I ask suddenly, running my hands through the long silver locks. Jaime looks at me, surprised.
“They don’t let us have scissors in here, but we get proper stuff done every few weeks from a real makeup artist and hairdresser,” she tells me. “We’re due in a few days, and you can pretty much get what you like done as long as it's something the clients will like.”
My teeth clench a bit at that reminder, but I nod.
“What are you thinking?” she asks, stepping up behind me and looking over my shoulder in the mirror.
“I don’t know, just something different,” I tell her. “Not the colour, maybe just the cut.”
“You know, where I come from, there was a saying about how girls after a heartbreak always cut their hair and dye it red,” she says with a hint of a smirk.
Our eyes lock in the mirror and I see the empathy shining in her eyes for me.
She may not know what I went through, and I can hardly claim to know what these girls endure daily, but the sentiment is there. When you have no control over your life, there can be comfort in taking control of the smallest things, even if it's just how your hair is done.
I suppose it’s by the same logic that I put my makeup on heavier than usual. Dark and smokey shadow covers my eyes, and the black liner circling them makes the grey pop on my face. Unlike the usual bright red lips, I go for a darker purple, almost black.
By the time I’m finished, I hardly recognize myself, this sultry-looking creature. She glares back at me in the mirror, daring me with her eyes. I like this Kinsey.
I’m so lost in changing my face that I don’t realize immediately when the other girls start to stand, ready for their days. My movements are measured and slow as I rise, standing up with the others to see what they have in store for me. I tilt my chin up, exhaling deeply through my nose.
“Let’s go.” Mark ushers us all forward. I pause as the other girls pass me, and Jaime darts me a ‘get your ass moving’ look. “You too,” Mark tells me, nodding me forward.
