Ablaze

03

As the men stopped laughing, silence blanketed the room. A tense awkwardness lingered in the air, but I'm sure it was one-sided. Interrogation was likely a common occurrence for these men. Thus, I was confident that they had moved past any need for bashfulness.

My face had flushed, and I knew my cheeks were bright red. Even though I had makeup to cover the blemish, I was still hyperaware of the prickling sensation. I couldn't tell how much of my makeup had faded, but I was acutely aware that it wouldn't be in the same condition as when it was applied. 

I don't think a man had ever laughed at something I've said unless it was in a condescending manner. Men in the Above Ground would chortle at you constantly. Then their grimy poison-laced hands would pat you on the head as if what you said was so outrageously adorable. Something that wasn't actually funny, but rather something they deemed imbecilic.

The men would all turn to each other, subconsciously seeking validation that what they heard was collectively foolish because it came from a woman's mouth. That our thoughts and words were contaminated with toxic pollutants.

It left you with the sour taste of degradation, meant to encourage you to keep your mouth shut.

Flushing cheeks were a sign of shame and humiliation, and the last thing I wanted was to give these men further ammunition. They could currently weaponize anything against me, and I was not in any position to defend myself. 

However, it was hard to ignore that these four men's laughter didn't carry an undercurrent of condescension. It was hard to understand their genuine humor. It caused a dissonance between reality and expectation, clashing with my innate survival instincts. 

Perhaps that was a part of their tactics. Lull the victim into false security. 

Then annihilate. 

"So, what are you going to do, Harry? She is obviously from Above." The boy with mousy brown hair spoke for the first time.

My glare settled on him, taking note of the birthmark on his neck. His tone was severe but held an undertone of exasperation. I knew instantly he was a voice of reasoning. 

He held a sense of responsibility to make sure nothing ludicrous happened, yet, based on this situation, I would say his threshold for tolerance was relatively high.

If I needed to beg for my life, which I was unlikely to plead to remain alive at this point, my words would be directed to him. He seemed most likely to experience remorse under the stare of a scared little girl. 

And now, I finally knew the boy's name with eyes resembling a burning forest fire. Life and carnage bundled together, fighting over who would survive. The one who radiated all things lucrative and vicious masculinity. 

Harry.

Harry refused to deviate his glower, watching my face like a hawk ready to swoop on its prey. He remained silent, not bothering to answer the pivotal question that would seal my fate.

Harry's unresponsiveness cast anxious suspense over me. My heart thumped erratically in my chest, and my fingers shook uncontrollably against the smooth silk that concealed my legs. 

I stayed ungracefully clutching my knees to my chest, immobile on the itching carpet that burned through the silk covering my backside. I sat beneath them, so far below them in a metaphysical sense that it was as if I was already six feet under. 

Their seated positions, on their intricately designed chairs, resembled ferocious monarchs. Intimidating statures towering over me, ready to serve me with bittersweet karmic justice.