by Bella Jewel
I know what she’s telling me.
It’s no use.
~*~*~*~
NUMBER THIRTEEN
The aches radiating through my body rouse me from my haze. It takes me a few moments to be able to blink my eyes and force them open. When I do, I’m in complete darkness. I try to move my body only to feel that I’m still bound, but the gag in my mouth is gone. I force myself into a sitting position, and cry out in pain as my body fills with a prickling sensation. My arms are numb from lack of circulation, and every slight movement is complete agony. It only confirms that I’ve been in that position for a long time, possibly overnight.
I press my back against a cold, possibly stone, wall. I try to focus on the noises around me, but there are none. I can’t hear the other girls; I can’t hear voices. I can’t hear anything at all except the sound of my own breathing. My throat is dry and burning, and I feel as though I’ve not had water for days. It’s likely I haven’t, and with all these drugs, my body must be going into protection mode, trying to save what it can.
I sit like that for more than two hours. I know this because I start counting, waiting to see when my next dose of drugs will be, and trying to get some sort of understanding on how this works. If I know when to expect them, then maybe I have more chance at escape.
I hear mumbled male voices, and then a light flickers on. It takes my eyes a moment to adjust to my surroundings. I’m in a tiny room, with no windows and only one door. That door is solid metal, with minuscule bars blocking a window at the very top. The floor is concrete, and the walls are, in fact, stone. This isn’t a room; it’s a cell. Even in my haze I know that.
The door rattles, and slowly creaks open. I set my eyes on the space, waiting to see who will come in. Three men enter the room, all with their faces covered by masks with eyeholes and a tiny nose slot. They’ve each got two girls, clutching them by the chains that are shackling their wrists together. They thrust the girls onto the ground, and then they disappear, coming back a moment later with another two each. They dump them on the floor, too, before turning and slamming the large, metal door, leaving us alone together.
Once my eyes fully adjust, I look around and take in each of the girls. I try to see some sort of similarity that would help this all make sense. There’s no pattern between us; the only thing I notice is that they’ve all got a number on their hands. It seems to be tattooed on. Curious, I glance down at the back of my hand, and I see a bold black 13. I stretch my shackled hand over, and run my finger over the raised skin. It’s sore, which tells me it’s very real. I peer around at the other girls, whom are all keeping to themselves. Most are staring at their hands, refusing to make eye contact.
I study their hands, and their faces. Number One is a short, plump girl, sitting in the far corner. Her hair is mousy brown, and she’s got a light scattering of freckles on her nose. I can’t see her eyes, because she won’t look at me.
Number Two is sitting closest to me. She’s an attractive Latin American with hazel eyes that slant upwards, giving her an exotic look. She’s got long, brown hair that is ratty and unkempt. She looks like she’s been here a while. I think she was in the crate with me.
Number Three has tears tumbling down her freckled cheeks. She’s got flaming-red hair, and pale-blue eyes.
Number Four is a dark girl with skin that reminds me of pure silk. Her eyes are as dark as her skin, and she’s got locks of frizzy hair.
Number Five is a blonde, pale girl. I can’t see her eyes, but I would imagine they’d be blue; she’s that kind of fair. Her body is frail and tiny, like she’s not eaten in weeks.
Number Six has raven-black hair, cropped into a pixie cut. Her eyes are emerald green, and she’s probably one of the most stunning girls on the ground.
Number Seven is an Indian girl, with long, thick brown hair and milk chocolate eyes. She has a tiny dot in between those eyes, and when I look in her direction, I feel instant warmth towards her. She’s the only one who has connected her eyes with mine.
Number Eight is a tall, skinny girl with light-brown hair. She looks like an athlete, and her body is extremely muscular. She’s tensing and un-tensing her jaw in rage.
Number Nine is a tiny, petite girl who couldn’t be more than five foot. She’s got bleached blond hair that’s cut around her ears. Her eyes are brown, and her skin is tanned, as if she’s spent a lot of time on the ocean.
Number Ten is an Asian girl, with a tiny body and that beautiful, unblemished Asian skin. She’s curled up in the corner, her hands turned just enough for me to see her number, she’s not moving, not looking at anyone.
Number Eleven is a very butch girl. She’s got short, black hair, and pale skin. Her eyes are a hazel color, but edging more towards brown. She glares at me when I look at her, so I quickly turn my eyes away.
Number Twelve is staring at me, and she’s also a tiny girl with dark-red hair, and green eyes. She gives me a wobbly smile that I can’t bring myself to return.
That brings me to myself, Number Thirteen. I’m couldn’t tell you what I look like, because I don’t remember. I know I’ve got blond hair, because I caught a wisp of it in my vision. I have olive skin; I can see that, too. I’m very short compared to some of the girls, more resembling the pixie girl in size and height. I’m what they’d call petite. Even my hands and feet are tiny versions of a normal person’s hands.
So here we all are, ranging from stunning to average. This makes it more confusing, because there’s no distinct pattern, and that makes it even scarier. And out of all of us it’s only me, Number Seven, and Number Twelve who seem curious about our surroundings. The other girls act like zombies, like they have no personalities left. Like it’s been stripped of them. This causes a shiver of fear to run through my body.
What’s going to happen to me?
CHAPTER TWO
NUMBER THIRTEEN
My head throbs at the sound of Number Six’s obstinate screeching. It’s been four hours now, and her screaming hasn’t diminished. She’s by the door, banging her tiny fists against the metal, like it’s going to make it move. Aside from me, she’s probably the smallest of us, yet she’s screaming as though she’s ten times her size, and beating the door like every pummel with her tiny fists will somehow break it down and change this situation. My nerves are shot, and we’re all feeling the same fear she is. Her screaming isn’t helping.
“Please stop,” Number Twelve whispers, closing her eyes as if in pain.
I meet her gaze, and she shifts closer to me. A part of me wants to reach out and take her hands, but the other part is too terrified to move. I’m trying not to think of all the awful reasons we’re here, but with Number Six screaming the way she is, that’s impossible. Numbers Three and Eight are sleeping, as though they can’t hear Number Six’s carrying on. Either that, or they’re extremely patient. Me, I’m not. My entire body is tingling with a building rage, the kind that will have me shrieking at Number Six in a short time if she doesn’t stop.
Then I remember that we’re all in this together, and yelling at her for expressing her fear would make me a bad person. So I lay down on the unsympathetic, hard floor, placing my bound hands underneath my head. My back sends sharp intense pain through my hips and right down my legs, and my ribs ache from laying on such a hard surface. I try to press my hands over my ears, because Number Six’s screaming just picked up. She’s also decided that her fists aren’t going to work, so she’s leaning back and kicking the door with everything she’s got. When she gets nowhere doing that, she begins banging her head into the bars, sending sickening thudding sounds through the air. I spare her another quick glance.
I feel sorry for her.
Her panic has taken over.
I hope I never get so desperate.
I manage, somehow, to fall into a light sleep. I can hear Number Six screaming, but eventually it turns into a croaky scream, that slowly fades into a hoarse rasp. She’s determined, I’ll give her that much. Every now and t
hen, when my mind wakes up a touch, I hear the thump as she still occasionally tries to kick the door. When she quietens down, my body falls into a deeper sleep, and I stay that way for what I imagine is about eight hours, because when I wake, it’s morning out—I can tell this by the light coming through the tiny bars—and Number Six has started her screaming again.
“Let me out, please, let me go!” she screeches.
I see there’s dried blood on her knuckles, and her face is red and puffy. I feel bad for her; it’s hard not to. She’s hurting, and she’s terrified. She doesn’t know why she’s here, and instead of keeping it together, she’s letting it show. I can’t entirely blame her. It’s taking all my inner strength not to walk over and join her at the door. The only reason I’m not is because in my moment of full clarity, I want to take in everything I can. If I scream, the chances are I’ll get drugged again, and I’ll miss something vital.
“Will you shut up?” the butch girl, Number Eleven, snarls.
I let my eyes travel over to her, and then back to Number Six. I stare between the two of them. Number Eleven has her fists clenched, and she’s glaring at Number Six, who is still screaming, albeit hoarsely, and kicking the door.
“Didn’t you hear me?” Number Eleven roars. “God dammit, shut the hell up!”
The other girls are all sitting. Some of them are crying, and others are staring at their hands still, as if they’ve not moved. I push my sore body into a sitting position, and I try to croak out a ‘stop’ to Number Six, but my throat is so dry it just sounds like I’m squeaking. I close my eyes, taking a deep, painful breath. I hear the lock to the door click, and my head snaps up. Everyone watches as the door swings open, and Number Six is sent soaring backwards.
She lands with a thump over the other side of the room, and when she gets to her knees, she’s bleeding from her lip. Her eyes are frantic, and the moment two of the hooded guards step in, she charges them. Even though her hands are bound, she still tries. She doesn’t make it close enough to hurt them, because one of their hands launches out, slapping her across the face. A scream escapes her throat as her head twists sideways, and she lands with a loud crash on the floor. One guard swoops down and takes hold of her by the back of her shirt. He lifts her into the air, and shoves her towards his friend.
Then they step out of the room, slamming the door again. We can hear Number Six’s screaming all the way down the hall. We hear another door slam, and then the sound of another slap. My stomach coils tightly, and a silent tear comes out and falls down my cheek. Number Six’s broken screams turn into strangled sobs, and desperation takes over. I want to press my hands to my ears, and block it all out, but I can’t. I have to sit here and listen, and from a glance at the other girls and their pale faces, I can tell they’re feeling the same way.
“Please no,” Number Six screams, her voice truly petrified. “I’m sorry, no, please...don’t.”
Her begging increases frantically. “I won’t do it again. I’ll be good. Please, don’t.” A loud bang sounds. Every single one of our bodies jerks in fright at the sudden noise.
Then nothing.
As if as switch has been flicked off, everything is silent. A sob escapes my throat, because I know the horrible truth of the situation. I close my eyes, pressing them together so tightly they burn, and I try to focus on any sound I can. I hear nothing. Number Six’s screams were just cut short. I hear the sounds of retching, and I lift my eyes to see Number Two lean forward and vomit onto the cold, empty floor. My tears get heavier, and I press my bound hands to my mouth.
Number Six is gone.
~*~*~*~
NUMBER THIRTEEN
Number Six doesn’t come back. Instead, she’s replaced with another girl. We don’t know where she came from, or what happened to the original Number Six, but we all fear the worst—Number Six was killed. The very idea has everything inside me churning, so much so that I have spent a majority of the day dry-retching. I’ve not had anything to eat or drink, and my body is exhausted. No one has said a word; we’re all in a room together, yet we’re not speaking.
It’s all kinds of fucked up.
They finally come in towards the afternoon. We hear the door open, and we all stiffen, our bodies on full alert. Three hooded-men enter the room, and they’ve each got a line of chains in their hands.
“Don’t move,” one of them barks. “You move, you get punished. You will learn very quickly that the best way to survive is to do as you’re told.” Then they step in and lean down, hooking our hands into the chains. When we’re all in a line, they tug, and like dogs, we obey.
We step out into a long, fully-secured hall. I can see cameras up on the roof, and I tilt my head back to look at one, hoping whoever is on the other end can see what kind of shit he or she is putting us through.
“Eyes forward,” one of the guards barks. I lower my eyes, and stare at the back of the head in front of me.
I turn my eyes slightly to the right when we climb some stairs and come out inside a massive, rather beautiful home. This is not at all what I expected. I thought we would be in some rundown warehouse, or underground, but not this.
As we walk across the perfectly buffed marble floors, I take in the array of artwork on the walls: girls, all black and white, curled in strange positions. All of them broken. Like us.
The furniture is expensive looking, and rich in color: maroon, navy, and even some dark green. The house has been decorated professionally, that I don’t doubt.
We step into a narrow hall that leads us to a large set of double wooden doors. The guards open them, and take us into a gigantic ballroom. My ragged shoes squeak on the polished wooden floors as we cross it to the middle.
The guards come to a stop, and turn to us. “Kneel,” one commands.
Slowly, as if in a domino affect, the girls begin to kneel. I can’t help but go down with them, even against my will. It’s humiliating. My hands land with a slap onto the shining floor, and I bite my lip to stop myself from crying out as my already raw knees hit the hard surface.
I hear the sound of footsteps, but I don’t dare look up. I’m too afraid of what might happen. After seeing what little mercy they showed Number Six, I certainly won’t be pushing my boundaries, not until I at least understand what those boundaries are.
“Welcome, girls,” a voice says. I’m not sure if it’s a guard, or someone else.
I try to raise my head, but I see nothing.
“My name is George, and I’m second-in-charge. While I’m sure you’re all wondering why you’re here, that’s not what we’ll be discussing today. Why you’re here is an irrelevant point in the scheme of things. All you need to know is you’re worthless in your lives—you have no families, and this is your second chance at life, if done right. For now, we own you, and you will do as you’re told.”
“The rules are rather simple, and if you follow them, you will be rewarded handsomely. If you disobey them, you will be punished accordingly. And let me assure you, girls, that punishment is not something you wish to experience.”
We’re silent. The only sound I can hear is the deep breathing of the girl beside me. Boots squeak across the floor as the guard walks up and down, pacing, as though he’s a person of great authority.
“Your time here won’t be spent like a holiday. You’re here to work, to earn your keep. Each of you will have duties, and those duties will be picked by your master, William.”
He stops talking a moment, and the room falls quiet, then he starts again.
“He will put you into the positions we feel best suit your strengths. You do not get a say in what your position is, and as I mentioned earlier, if you fight, you will be punished. This can run as smoothly or as roughly as you choose.”
Who is Master William? My heart stutters, and I swallow down the bile rising in my throat. My mind drifts to the other girls, and I can’t help but wonder how they’re feeling about this right now.
“You’ll be paired off into grou
ps of three, with one having an extra. Each group will have a daily task they must carry out. After a few weeks, you will have free-range of the grounds, girls, but know that there is no escape, and those who try will wish they didn’t. We have every level of security, and we have no devices that are able to make calls out, so don’t bother. You will share a room with your chosen group, and at night you will be locked in, unless Master William requests your presence.”
Requests our presence? A feeling of mortification fills my body, and I hear the gasps slip from a few of the other girls’ lips. This only confirms they’re feeling the same fear as me. We’re all wondering who this Master William is, and why the hell he has decided to buy thirteen girls. Why not twelve? Or ten? Or hell, even one? Why the hell has this crazy man picked the Number Thirteen?
“You will earn your meals by carrying out your duties as ordered. If you don’t, you won’t eat. It really is a simple circle to stay in the middle of.”
His voice is firm, and unyielding.
“The numbers for your rooms and groups are as follows. Take note of your partners, because if one of you screws up, the rest are punished too. So I suggest you all learn to work together,” he says, then walks over and undoes all of our chains before standing back and ordering, “Numbers One, Five and Ten stand please.”
Three girls stand, their faces a mass of fear and confusion.
“Stand to the left,” he orders them.
They shuffle to the left, heads down.
“Numbers Six, Two and Eight, stand.”
They do the same as the girls before.