Page 103 of Get to You
27
Samantha
I'm no longer tracking the trays. I leave the rotting food piled next to the door. The smell is disgusting, but it can't be that much worse than me. How my body has gotten so filthy in this tiny room gives me something to ponder before I doze off.
Banging and shouting wakes me up. I'm sluggish and can't be bothered to listen to the yells.
My eyes close again.
A crack to the cheek jars me. My eyes are cloudy. Someone’s standing right over me, shaking me violently. Screaming. I have no idea who it is or what they are saying, confusion clouding my thoughts. My body jolts against the thin mattress of the bed. My head is wrenched back, and liquid is poured down my throat. I cough and sputter, gagging.
I turn over, trying to get the water out of my lungs. A fist hits the side of my head.
"You fucking bitch," he sneers.
I'm overwhelmed. I try to pull oxygen into my body between racking coughs. My vision flares bright white. The next blow comes and then another.
I curl forward into a ball. I put my hands over my head, but nothing protects my back as hit after hit rains down on me.
“This is your fault. You should have just listened to me!” He continues to pound his fists on my back, “You’re just like your whore mother. She made me hurt her too.”
He pants.
He finally stops. My body releases. I sag into the mattress. I can't take much more. I feel myself fading into unconsciousness, maybe even death.
I hear him stumble away.
“I thought if I gave you time, stayed away, you’d see. We could have been happy, but you are just like her. You disgust me.” His words are sneered at me. My eyelids feel thick as they fall closed.
I wake up in pain, unlike anything I’ve ever felt. I can't open one of my eyes, and the other is barely a slit. I can’t breathe through my nose. My nostrils feel like they are packed with thick paper towels. I try to moisten my lips. Breathing through my mouth, I feel a few slices and dents along my inner cheeks with my tongue, likely from my teeth sinking into my own flesh.
My shirt is still damp, cold in places and dry in others. I haven’t been out that long. My jeans are loose from weight loss. The fabric feels heavy against my body from the moisture they retain.
I wiggle my fingers and toes. It hurts. I'm pretty sure my right hand and wrist are broken. I peek down through my good-ish eye. My hand looks strange. There is swelling, so pronounced my skin looks like it might burst.
My stomach revolts when I spot a thin white bone tip poking out from the underside of my forearm.
I swallow quickly, knowing if I dry heave it will send my body into spasms of pain. I want to cry, but instead I whimper. I'm so ashamed of myself, finally met with the opportunity to fight back, to face Darryl, and the only thing I managed to do is not die. Evennot dyingfeels like failure.
I close my eyes and remain as still as possible. I keep my breaths shallow and short.
Darryl’s face swims in my mind. He’s filled with such rage. His voice screaming at me. I don’t know if this is from the past or present.
Sometime later I wake again. I’m cold and clammy. I have a fever. I try to turn on my side to alleviate the pain in my back. A sharp pain in my lower stomach, stops me. My hand moves to cover the injured area, the fingers of my good hand making contact. I scream. My stomach feels unnaturally bloated. I know what that means. I have something much more serious than a few broken bones.
I am going to die in this room.
My thoughts turn morbid as I let myself wonder how long it will before someone finds me dead in this hell hole.
My eyes are dry, but I'm sobbing.
I will myself to think of the few people I've called friends over the years. Rita, Jude, Jess, and George dominate my good memories. I'm so relieved, I made Jude a partner. I hope he's able to keep the store running after I’m gone. I know he'd take good care of it.
I allow myself to think about Beau.
The way his eyes crinkle at the edges when he grins that cocky grin of his, how his lips always tip higher on the right. How he always seems to welcome my touch. The feel of him curled up next to me. I turn my head to the side, pretending he’s there next to me.
His face is the last thing I see, and the memory of his warmth surrounds me.
