Cellmates

4

The next morning she awoke with a renewed sense of energy. Maybe things weren't so bad, she thought as she was reminded of Loki's near tortured aura the night before. Subtle details proved so much in an otherwise well concealed hunger. His teeth were clenched tighter than the hands fisted into an ever-whitening grip at his sides, unmoving except for the twitch in his fingers as he was smothering a subconscious need to touch – to reach for. Her skin had warmed at the thought, but the power he offered her kept the blush at bay. His positively possessive nature was almost endearing. Almost.

This was the first time she'd actually caught him asleep, sitting up and habitually ensuring he wasn't creeping or doing something otherwise awkward and mischievous. Up until now, she'd simply assumed he was rooted to the floor where he usually sat, unless he was harassing her of course. But with the remarkably early hour he was still asleep, laid out on his comfy looking bed – jerk. He looked dead. Like a corpse. Sleeping flat on his back with his hands folded across his stomach, he was reminiscent of a vampire peacefully awaiting nightfall. Like at any moment his eyes would snap open and he would swiftly sink his teeth into someone's neck. Then he would laugh with a stereotypical Transylvanian accent. No. Probably not that.

Odds were he wasn't even sleeping; his expression never seemed to relax. But he came a bit closer this time. His chest rhythmically rose and fell. If she was quiet enough she could hear him softly breathing, undisturbed by the morning to come. She checked her phone. She had maybe half an hour before the lights woke him up. Stashing her things, she quickly slipped into the tiny private bathroom she had been afforded. It was only half private. The guards could see her if they had been present, but Loki couldn't – thankfully. It was barely an airplane bathroom. With an additional space for a shower. There was a towel folded on the toilet and there were a few amenities sitting behind the sink. How kind of them, she thought. Have the decency to provide me a toothbrush but no food. That was painfully ironic. She tried to push the hunger pangs aside, wondering briefly if toothpaste was edible, only to find there wasn't any. Stupid dry toothbrush. Stupid useless dry toothbrush. Stupid stomach. Stupid hunger. There was nothing to be done about it and she could only hope she'd be over the hump soon. Glancing over her shoulder to ensure she wasn't being watched, she began to undress.

Her shirt was a mess, still stained with blood from her first day here. She ran the fabric under the open faucet and rubbed at it until it dulled from ruddy brown to a pinkish hue. Her shorts were all right, aside from needing to be washed. She briefly rinsed them as well and hung them beside her shirt. Finally stripping off the rest of her clothes, she untied her hair and started fussing with the shower. The thing was barely a showerhead and a drain.

The water was almost lukewarm when it finally turned on and she instinctually recoiled with shock. After a few minutes of getting used to it, she started scrubbing herself down, in the hopes of feeling slightly less gross. It was unlikely. The thought alone of being locked in a dungeon made her feel grimy and disgusting. She worked the water through her thick hair, down to the scalp, her fingers catching on all the knots that she didn't have the means to untangle. This was why prisoners maintained shorter haircuts. Her curls were going to turn into dreads in the very near future.

Naomi imagined the look on her mother's face the first time she came home with all of her hair chopped off. It had been both terrifying and hilarious at the same time. Every time afterward, through her teenage years, it became less startling. Although the time she came home with a novel shade of rainbow, she had actually threatened to dye it over again for the sake of her social life. Her mother was almost fond of it after a time, but it pained her to think about it now. The very notion stirred a hundred other disheartening thoughts.

Surely they knew by now that she was gone – kidnapped. The authorities were probably involved now. But there'd be no trace of her to find. No trail to follow. And no one would believe that she'd been abducted by aliens. Although it was more plausible after New York. But even if someone considered it, they wouldn't find her. They couldn't reach her. And as of now, she was doomed to spend the rest of her miserable life barking obscenities through a pane of glass at a man who claimed to be a god and had tried to take over the world.