Number Thirteen
Page 4
What’s going to happen to me?
CHAPTER TWO
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 uatxwith 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 then, 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 rooI ct of thm, 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.
CHAPTER TWO
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 uatxwith 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 then, 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 rooI ct of thm, 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.
