Amber

Chapter 16

Hailey

November 6, 2015

Talk to her. Find out what she's thinking. She's obviously scared. So are you. It's okay to be scared together.

Neither of us has said a word about what happened. If not for the still-wet blood on the floor and on our faces, it might not have happened at all. I lie still in the middle of the room, not moving until I feel the chill of Lauren's touch on my arm. She helps me to sit up and takes my head into her hands, wiping at my tears with her thumbs. She studies my eyes, searching for something within them. After a moment, she lets out a long breath. "It's okay. He's gone now."

We take turns washing our faces in the small amount of water that has collected into the bucket under the faucet, and then we make bandages out of our minimal supply of cloth to stop the bleeding. Lauren unties the rope around her ankles before helping me with mine.

The left side of my face feels like it's been peeled off in sections and then sloppily pressed back on with an iron. At least it's burning enough to make me forget about the cold.

Just an ordinary night in hell. No biggie.

Lauren is the quiet type. Not big on opening a discussion on all the ways our lives suck in here. She doesn't complain at all. She hasn't fully cried since that first night, and I'm starting to get the sense that maybe she's not as afraid as I thought. How am I supposed to protect someone when I'm more afraid than she is? I feel like I exist in pieces. What good is a force field with holes in it?

Aside from sleep, the only thing to do to pass the time is talk. Lauren and I have talked about our families and our lives outside of these walls, but not so much about life in here. Maybe that's how she thinks her way back to the people she misses. That's all well and good, but it doesn't exactly solve our problem.

How do we get out of here?

She had her chance. She could have run for it. She might have made it. She's lying in the corner—not sleeping, but dreaming while awake, which we both do a lot of—and I can't stop myself from asking.

"Why didn't you run when I told you to?"

She shifts slightly, enough for me to know that I disrupted a good daydream. "I can't run. You need me here."

I need her? What the hell is she talking about?

"Look—I appreciate that. Really, I do. But you may not get another chance like that. We have to be smart about this. You can't think like that. Next time you get the opportunity, you should take it."

"It doesn't work that way." She shifts again. "I can't leave. Not like that. Not yet. Not without you."

I can't believe how unselfish she is. She's been here for so long. She's been tortured, starved, and completely mistreated in so many ways, but her only thought is on us. On leaving together. How can anyone care so much about someone she just met?

"Lauren, listen. You don't have to worry about me. I'm older. I can handle myself."

"No. You don't understand," she says, the slightest aggravation in her voice. She looks to me briefly before fading back into the floor.

"Then help me understand!" I cry out. "Help me come up with a plan. Let's talk about this. Let's talk about how to get out of here."

She sits up and turns toward me, starting to speak but stopping herself before starting again. "Alright. Let's talk."

I come over to sit next to her, ignoring the uneasy feeling when her eyes search mine again. My eyes study hers back and notice for the first time the eagerness within them. She wasn't staying silent because she didn't want to talk about this. She just didn't know if I was ready to hear it yet.