Paint You Wings

Chapter Three - Jakki

I stepped out of the van after the men who saved me got out. I looked around at the suburban homes and the tall walls. It was also exactly like before. You know, in the rich white person way. I was white but not rich. I spent most of my life in a trailer park and living paycheck to paycheck with my dad.

The one who seemed to be the leader of the group pulled the one with the crossbow aside. The Asian man walked over to me.

"How are you feeling?" He asked softly.

I shrugged a bit, really not wanting to talk to him, or anyone else for that matter.

He nodded and looked at the other two. "The one who's talking is Rick and the one with the crossbow is Daryl. What's your name?"

Now it was time for me to talk. I kept my head down. "Jakki." I cracked out. I hadn't talked in ages, never had a need to.

"We're going to take care of you here, I promise. Nothing is going to happen to you. If something does, Rick will take care of it."

I closed my eyes, feeling tears burn at them. This was the nicest anybody had been to me in such a long time. I gave him a silent nod.

Rick came back with Daryl. "Okay, she is gonna sleep in Daryl's house. He has an extra room he can spare. Is that okay?"

I look at Rick and then Daryl. Daryl looked at me with a soft expression, his hair falling over half of his face. He seemed almost harmless. I agreed to the rooming situation.

"Okay. C'mon." Daryl instructed and walked down the paved road. He stopped when he got to a small house and he let me in before closing the door.

The house had a faint smell of cigarettes. It wasn't completely messy. The kitchen counter had some stuff scattered across it and the couch had a couple bags sitting around it.

Daryl walked upstairs and down the hall to a bedroom that held a dresser, a chair, a bed, and night stand. "You can stay here." He said in his gruff voice and stood in the frame of the door.

I walk in and set my bag down on the bed. I slowly walk around, studying the walls. I go to the dresser and open a drawer. It's full of clean clothes. I smile to myself a bit. I look at Daryl who was looking at me with his arms crossed. "Thanks."

He let out a small grunt. "Bathroom is next door if you want a shower." He informed me and walked away. There were footsteps down the stairs.

I took advantage of this moment. I rifled through the drawers. I picked out a long sleeve black shirt and some blue skinny jeans. I went next door and started the shower.

The hot water coursing through my hair and cascading down my back was the best thing I have felt in a while. My muscles relaxed under the heat as I brushed the dirt and grime off my pale skin. I untangled my hair to the best of my ability with my fingers. I finish and step out, drying myself off with a soft towel. I look in the mirror.

A black eye, a busted lip, hickeys littering my neck and collarbones. I look down and find all kinds of bruises on my hips, thighs, and arms. I shake my head and quickly dry off, putting on the clean clothes. I look through the cabinets until I find a hair brush. After about twenty painstaking minutes, my red hair was free of tangles.

I walk back to the room and shut the door, taking a seat on the bed. I look down at the jeans that hugged my thick thighs and the shirt that was baggy over my large torso. I close my eyes and lay back on the bed. I don't know how but I dozed off.