Fight or Flight

Chapter Nine

POV NOVA

So now what?

I'm sitting in this gigantic bedroom, compliments of Ashton whoever the fuck. It's plain but that's kind of what makes it pretty, although I cant imagine me being able to keep it this clean for long. Assuming I'll live long enough to mess it up.

What a weird guy, there has to be another reason I'm here. He doesn't seriously kidnap people to train his staff. Does he?

I was told to write a list of things that I would need to "effectively do my job", as well as clothing, hygiene and food preferences. I don't think I was supposed to add makeup, weed or cigarettes to the list but I figured it was worth a shot. The guy is loaded, he can afford it.

I'm kinda' afraid to touch things in here, my body is practically screaming for a shower and everything is just so white. Its a far cry from my usual dark walls and stained carpet.

I gaze longingly at the king sized bed adorned with big fluffy pillows and sigh as I head to the bathroom. What I see in the mirror is not fucking cool. I look like I've been hit by a mac truck.

My dirty hair is tangled and matted with blood that's not my own which is criminal in my opinion, smudged mascara rims my eyes and there's dirt all over me. I'm burning this outfit when I take it off I swear.

I run the tap and begin washing my face trying to be careful of the bruises on my jaw and cheekbones from all the fighting I've done in the past twenty four hours. I just finish when there's a light knock at my door, the same housekeeper who took my list enters and in her hands is a small laundry basket.

"I'm sorry Miss Brooks, its too late for any shopping. I managed to get some clean clothes as well as some stuff for you to shower, I hope that's alright for now." She say's politely before turning and heading back towards the door.

"Yeah, that's fine thanks. Uh wait, sorry I didn't get your name." I say, but she either doesn't hear me or she outright ignores me and closes the door behind her.

I look in the basket to find some grey sweatpants and a tee-shirt that obviously belongs to a man. There's no underwear or bra but I'll take what I can get. I make to grab the soap and shampoo, but then my eye catches something that immediately makes me want to do a happy dance.

There's a small zip lock bag filled with pre-rolled joint's and a lighter, wrote on the bag with permanent marker is a note from Mark.

"Some things never change, M".

I don't smile when I recognize Mark's crap handwriting, it is honestly like no one else's in the world. Well, unless you count third grade children.

I know I shouldn't blame him for this, but I wholeheartedly wish that he and his boss never saw me at The Den that night.

Grabbing my small bag of green gold as well as my other things, I go back to the bathroom and turn the shower on. I peel the dirty clothing off my body and grimace at the pain that aches through the majority of my muscles and bones.

I don't want to look at the mirror and see the bruises that coat my side and back. I wouldn't be surprised if there's a cracked rib or two underneath.

I step under the hot water and groan out loud as it stings the cuts on the bottom of my feet. I wash my hair as fast as possible, the movement hurting so bad it makes me hold my breath.

When I'm done scrubbing the dirt and grime off my body I move out of the water and sit on the floor of the bath, bringing my knees up to my chest. I grab the joint that I had laid on the side of the tub and light it.