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13
BANKS
The lights have been on for what feels like hours. The windows are tinted, making it hard to tell if the sun is up yet or not.
I’ve tried to sleep to pass the time until my new friend returns to continue my torment, but my mind has been racing. Between that and the lights, sleep hasn’t come easily. I’ve been racking my brain. This has to be a case of mistaken identity. I have absolutely no idea why someone would want to do this to me. There is no reason why I should be here right now. What the fuck happened at the fire last night?
I remember pulling up to the Manor and snooping around. After that, nothing. Everything fades to black. My head is pounding. I squeeze it tightly at my temples, helping to relieve some of the pressure. Then I remember the water bowls left for me like I am some sort of pet. Rolling over on the bed, I crawl toward them. I am so fucking thirsty.
Tears well in my eyes as I look down at them. This is so degrading, but what other choice do I have?
Picking one up, I bring it to my mouth but instead of drinking it back like a cup of water, I slurp it, not wanting to risk wastinga drop. The water is cold against my tongue, and refreshing as it soothes my parched throat. Before I get too carried away and drink it all, I stop myself. Unsure of when I will get more, I don’t want to drink it all and then have nothing for who knows how long. Putting it down, a thought enters my mind. What happens when I need to use the restroom? Looking around the room, I spot a tall bucket equipped with a plastic seat with the words ‘Honey Bucket’ decorating the side and a roll of toilet paper next to it, giving me my answer. I’ll have zero fucking dignity left once I use it. Tears well in my eyes when frustration and the feeling of helplessness rush through my body.
I don’t understand why this is happening.
Crawling back to bed with my chain following me, scratching along the cement makes me wonder, what is this thing connected to?
My eyes follow where it goes, trailing behind me then wrapping around the top of the bed to the other side, where it is connected to an O-ring secured to the floor. Getting up, I scurry to the O-ring and try to yank it free. It is attached to a small, thick metal plate which has four screws going into the ground. I pull it a couple more times, but nothing gives. My effort is useless, but at least I tried. Feeling even more defeated I go back to the bed and lay with my back toward the stairs, hiding my emotions from him should he come back down. People like him only feed on this shit and I am giving him exactly what he wants.
HUDSON
I’m lettingher sweat a little.
It’s mid-afternoon before I decide to pay Banksy a visit, bringing her a pb & j sandwich, a banana, and a bottle ofwater. As much fun as it was watching her slurp water from those dishes these past few hours, murder is not on the agenda. She’ll need food and water to survive. We just want to play with her a little. Teach her a little… ok, a big lesson for fucking us with Coach and keeping the money. Did she think we wouldn’t notice? That we would just let this happen and there wouldn't be any consequences? And this is who is supposed to be advising us, the team, helping us maintain our grades. Fuck me, we are all screwed if she is the one responsible for our future.
I walk down to the basement with the lights still on, making it easy to navigate. Landon is still in his room, sleeping, I assume. Bro was up late playing with our new friend.
“Good Morning, Banksy!” I shout as I come down the last step.
Her back is facing me, but her head jolts up when she hears me. She must recognize my voice. She flips herself over to look at me, hope filling her eyes, and her voice becomes frantic.
“Oh my god, Hudson! You have to help me.”
Then she looks at me. I mean, really takes me in and sees what I am holding in my hands. Her brows raise. “What… I don’t… I don’t understand,” the words faintly leave her mouth.
Not responding, I walk closer to her and slide the plate, banana, and water toward her. She doesn’t move. Frozen in disbelief.
Yes Banksy, I won’t be helping you anytime soon.
“Think about what you’ve done. Then you will understand, won’t you?” I tsk at her while shaking my finger. Her face scrunches, as if she is dumbfounded. Completely oblivious. This little act of hers will only last so long. Turning on my heels, I make my way back upstairs, turning the lights off before closing the door behind me.
Grabbing my keys off the table to my matte black Mercedes E-Class, I take off. I have a few things I need to pick up for later. Oh, Banksy, your world is about to fall completely apart.
I throwthe black plastic bag over my shoulder when I get out of the car and head into the house. Landon is sitting on the couch in a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, with the television on. The patch work ink that decorates his arms on display.
I stand there watching and waiting. It only takes him a second to feel my eyes on him before he turns his head to look at me
“Have you gone down there yet?”
He shakes his head in response.
I wave the bag in front of him like bait. “Well, what are you waiting for?”
He smiles and gets up, leaving the television on. Jerking his head at the bag, “What do you got in there?”
“Oh, just a few things that will make Banksy regret some of her recent life choices.”
I go down the stairs with Landon following behind me, it’s still dark and I can hear the chain rustling with her movements. When I switch the lights on, Banks is looking directly at us, sitting on the edge of her bed.
