Page 20 of Chained

Don't cry. They don't deserve your tears. Do. Not. Cry.

A tear escapes regardless of my orders, my body betraying me, too. Exhaustion takes over in a way that floods my body. I feel so weak, so worthless. So goddamn pathetic.

I stare at the wall, watching the cracks fade into small patterns until my eyes struggle to stay open and eventually, the darkness swallows me whole.

"I love the way you braid hair, Amora." Rosa's soft voice fills the room, and when I open my eyes, I'm in my bedroom. The soft pink walls are scattered with all my favourite posters. The smell of tulips that my mother bought every Sunday fills my nostrils. Rosa sits between my thighs, and I have my fingers combed through her hair. "It's no fair that you got the better hair out of the two of us," I joke. My voice sounds different, and for a second, I forgot that's how it used to sound when it wasn't full of fear.

"Come on, girls, dinner's ready," Mum's voice calls from the kitchen. My heart flutters in my chest as Rosa runs through the threshold. I wait by the door for a second, their laughter singing in my ears. I close my eyes, soaking it in. I know this is a dream; my mother has been gone for years. But I'm not ready to leave, not yet. I finally feel free.

But the memory, the dream—whatever it was—is soon snatched away by the sound of screams. My eyes fly open, blood draining from my face as I stare ahead, the little brunette girl in the cell next to mine writhing in her cot, her tone raw from screaming. I lace my arm through the bars, stroking her soft hair. She flinches at first, but I don't stop. I need her to know I'm here.

"It's okay..." I whisper. "I've got you, I'm here. It's just a dream."

Her body rattles with sobs, her eyes wet as she looks at me.

"It's not a dream if I'm still here when I wake up."

I swallow. She's not wrong. Every second we're here is a second too long in this nightmare. My hand slips to her cheek, thumb wiping softly at her tears.

"What's your name?"

"Hailee," she hiccups back, her breathing unsteady. Her eyes widen with every breath, and I know what's coming. I've seen Rosa have panic attacks so many times—I would sit and stroke her hair, talk her off the edge. I know it's coming, and I know what to do.

"That's a lovely name. Can you sit up? Place your head between your legs." I smile at her, watching as she does what I say. "Now count out loud. One. Two. Three. Can you do that for me, Hailee?"

"One. Two. Three," she counts, her breathing beginning to stabilise. I try to push my arm further into the bars to rub her back, but it grips hard against my upper arm, sending pain through me. I bite it down. She needs me.

For a second, I let my gaze stretch out into the room. The guards are nowhere to be seen; there are no windows, nothing inside except the cell gates and a single stool in the centre of the room with a table beside it.

I glance over at Hailee, my chest tightening instantly when I spot the empty cell in between her and the redhead.

Annabelle. She's gone.

"Annabelle?" I call out, panic rushing through me. I grip the bars, holding on tight to the cold metal. "Annabelle, can you hear me?"

"They took her about thirty minutes ago," the redhead calls out from the far end. She's sat against the wall, one knee up. "You were asleep."

"No—" I let out a small sob. They'd taken her. Whoever owns us now has her, and I'd been asleep. I didn't even get to say goodbye. Anger replaces the hurt, the fear, and I begin pulling at the bars, kicking my bare feet against them as they rattle. "Bring her back!" I scream so loud that blood rushes to my ears. "Bring her back to me, you sick fucks!"

"There's no point in hurting yourself. She's gone," the girl says. I turn to her, snot dripping down my nose, and glare. The entire time we've been together, she's been nothing but a fucking bitch.

"For once, can you just stop being so fucking negative!" My voice is dripping with venom, but I don't care. I turn my back to her again, gripping against the bars and listen for the footsteps, praying she'll return at any time.

"I know you think I'm a bitch. But I'm trying to be realistic." I hear her say, her voice less annoying this time. I turn to her, and I can see she's just as scared as me. I soften, knowing that the only way we survive this is if we stick together.

"What's your name?"

"Jade," she replies, softer. "You?"

"I'm Amora."

I want to ask how she got here, to hear her story, but before I can, the thuds above grow louder. The door opens at the top of the stairs as multiple steps make their way down. I don't move; I need to see her.

But she isn't here—it's the guards. The ones with the filthy eyes and disgusting mouths. I drop my gaze for a second, but a third man enters.

His aftershave is strong; it hits you straight away with a scent that screams expensive. He wears a suit that probably costs more than half a year's rent. He's attractive, extremely—the kind of attractive that forces me to drop my eyes for a second before returning my gaze to study him again. He runs a hand through his hair, fixing it in place. His hair is black and pushed back, shaved at the sides, and has a rose tattoo on his neck. His eyes flicker between the cells, a smirk on his lips which looks far from friendly.

But I stand my ground. I don't move.