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“Yes, sir,” Clara's voice sounds devastatingly familiar. She’s been trained too.
“Go with Clara. I will see you when it’s time to be transported.” He starts to walk away but stops before he reaches the door. “And don’t try to run. Clara learned the hard way,” he tells me before walking out and leaving the door wide open.
I feel something tug inside me, drawing me to the door with an overwhelming urge to run on my weak legs. A fight that's been missing from inside me for a really long time returns, but just as I’m about to move, I feel something wrap around my wrist. It’s warm, soft, and feels so out of place on me. The only contact I remember ever having has been his. I stare down at the hand, pale and smooth-skinned, and follow it up to an arm, then shoulders before I settle on her face. I don’t mean to make the loud gasp when I see her helplessly looking back at me. One-half of her face is perfect, with bright green eyes and long lashes. Smooth skin. The other side is ruined, blistered, and cracked, with no eyebrows or lashes. I want to cry for the girl who I've only just met. She doesn’t seem affected by my reaction as she shakes her head in a warning. And when her hand slides into mine, the worry in her eyes shifts into something warm.
She leads me out of the room into a corridor that I never knew existed. And I take a look back over my shoulder at the empty, cold room that’s been my home for so long. The corridor walls are deep red, and there's an elegantly painted ceiling. I count at least eight doors on either side before we reach the door at the end, and Clara opens it into a large bathroom.
I struggle to take everything in at once. The vanity unit is stocked with products and in the center of the room is a giant tub that could easily fit four people in it. I’m still taking in the room and all its splendor when she shuts the door behind me, heading straight for the tub and turning on the faucet. She’s generous with the amount of bath soak she pours into the running water, and I watch her drop some essential oils in that make the entire room smell warm and comforting.
“Come,” she stretches out her arm and smiles at me.
I wonder if it hurts her to smile through her cracked lips?
Stepping toward her, I take off the stained undershirt that's been the only thing covering me for as long as I can remember. Then, after peeling the urine-damp panties down to my ankles, Clara takes my hand and helps me step into the tub.
I submerge in the water, allowing the heat and comfort to consume me. This has to be a dream. Any moment I am going to wake up on the cold, hard floor. With only that rough, scratchy blanket for warmth.
Clara takes a clean, soft sponge and begins to wash me systematically. Lifting up my arm and not missing a single spot of skin, the soft lathers of the bath soak smell so good. This is a vast contrast to the daily showers my trainer allows me. They were always with freezing cold water that made my skin sting and a hard bar of soap that smells like disinfectant.
When she’s finished washing me, she starts with my hair. Massaging my scalp through the shampoo before rinsing and applying lots of conditioner. I watch her take a comb and very patiently, starting from the ends, she starts to tackle the knots.
“What happened to you?” I ask, despite it being against the rules. I’m not surprised when she doesn’t answer me. I heard what my trainer threatened to do to her, and his threats aren’t to be taken lightly.
After what seems like ages, I feel the comb slide through my hair easily, and I thank Clara not just for her efforts but for being so gentle as she rinses out the conditioner with the large porcelain jug.
“How long have you been here, Clara?” I ask another question. What I really want to know is if this auction is going to change my life for the better or send me into a fresh hell.
But right now, knowing anything would be enough.
Just when I’ve given up hope of getting an answer, Clara holds up her hand in front of me, displaying all five of her fingers.
“Five,” I ask, and she nods. "Five months?”
She smiles sadly and shakes her head.
“Five years?” I hear the shiver in my voice.
Clara nods at me before moving toward one of the vanity stations.
“I know he said you weren’t to speak to me, but I’m so scared. I need to know what’s going to happen to me so I can prepare myself. Why can’t I remember anything? Do I have a family? Are they looking for me? Please, can you help me?”
“I can’t help you.” Clara’s voice is weak, but just hearing it gives me hope.
“Please tell me who I am?” I plead, and Clara moves to the door, opening it slightly and checking the hall before coming back to me.
“I don’t know who you are. I'm sorry. They use a drug to make you sleep when they need you to. It can make you forget things,” she whispers, and I touch my neck when I think about the needle my trainer gives me each night. It doesn’t make me forget, it makes me sleepy.
“How long have I been here? I can’t remember anything from before.”
“I’m not sure. I just know that for me, parts are missing. What I do remember seems like a jigsaw in my head.”
“Do they still drug you?” I ask, and Clara shakes her head back at me.
“Will my new master drug me?” I know by asking her so many questions, I’m putting her at risk, but I’m desperate for something, anything, that might help me remember who I am.
“I don’t know that,” she tells me weakly.
“What happened to you?” My hand moves to touch the thin skin on the deformed side of her face, but she moves away before I can reach it.
