With the remainder of humanity in chains, Shasta keeps her head down and tries to weather the storm. Servicing the filthy needs of a superior alien race, each day passes in a blur, the struggle to survive outweighing everything else.
After ten years...
"Oh, god." The two other women in the room with me cling to each other. "Where are they taking her?" "I wonder what they are doing to her?"
Closing my eyes again, I try not to think about what they are doing to her. They are frantic, talking a mile a minute.
There is something about these aliens. It unsettles me. Monturians were brutal—absolutely savage beasts. There was never a moment in the years we were with them that I personally felt like they cared, even in the smallest measure, whether we lived or died.
These new aliens seem more elegant and sophisticated. They are terrifying and somehow alluring. That combination is frightening. They are like a deadly flower or one of those poisonous frogs that attract you to them with their looks, then they kill you. I'm not sure what I should be more afraid of. I've seen the aftermath of their brutality; it should be feared.
When the door opens again, my spine stiffens, and I sit up.
The man that comes in has a freshly bandaged wound on his arm and a long scar on his face. He looks over each of us, checking our teeth and closely inspecting our feet, before he grabs me by the arm.
My body dangles above the ground as he carries me out, pulling me onto the ramp. I feel like a ragdoll being swung around.
Another alien is standing there, and he steps forward, blocking our path. They snarl at each other before I'm dragged back into the room and dropped. He lets my body hit the floor hard.
He grabs one of the other girls without even looking at her and pulls her out. She's screaming and crying, but he doesn't appear to notice.
"Why did they bring you back?" She grabs my hand, looking at me like I'm holding some secret key to our freedom and safety.
"I don't know." I shrug, wondering the same thing.
"Maybe-" whatever she was about to say is stopped by another man entering. His eyes move between the two of us before he grabs her, and I'm left alone.
I wait for several minutes. Nothing. Time ticks on, minutes turning into what feels like hours, and no one comes.
The longer I sit here, the hungrier I feel. I'm stuck here, completely at their mercy. Looking around, my shoulders slump even further. The room is empty.
Curling up on the floor, I cover as much of my skin with the fabric as possible.
Restless sleep finds me slowly. I drift away with my head pounding—from my injuries, from hunger and dehydration, from too much adrenaline. When I do fall asleep, my dreams are haunted by crystal blades covered in Monturian blood.
I wake up several times to find myself in the same place, alone in the dark. Maybe they forgot about me, or they think I'm too damaged to take.
My mouth is dry, and I can feel my lips starting to crack. I don't know how long it's been since I ate or drank anything, but I think it's been at least a day. My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth, and my vision is starting to get hazier.
A rough hand on my arm startles me from a strange place between consciousness and darkness. I didn't hear the door open, but I'm not fully asleep.
I'm lifted from the ground more gently than I was expecting. I'm not dangling by one arm, at least.
I try to look, to see who is carrying me and where I'm being taken, but my good eye is covered, and I'm too weak to move my head.
It feels like we're moving forever. The slight bounce of steps rocking me back into unconsciousness. I don't know if I'm safe, but I have no fight left in me. I hope this guy didn't pay too much for me, it looks like I'm not going to make it through the night. A rough, gurgling laugh bubbles up in my throat as I imagine his disappointment. His new pet isn't going to be worth the trouble.
He shifts, and I am set down on something soft and warm. A low, rumbling voice speaks a single word that I don't understand. He repeats it a few times before I feel something at my lips. Whatever it is, it instantly makes me feel a little bit better, like it rejuvenates me as soon as it hits my tongue.
Gulping down as much of it as I can, I try not to let myself feel relieved that he's doing something kind for me. This is probably not an indication of what is to come. He doesn't want me to die before he gets his money's worth, that's all. I don't expect kindness, that way, when you don't receive it, it's not as painful.
When he steps away, I brace myself.
He speaks again, a single word, the same one as before. Then the glass is back at my lips. I gulp down the second glass, not even stopping to take a breath.
He steps away again, and I wait. Sitting in the near-perfect darkness, listening for something.
I sit straight up, frozen, afraid to move or even breathe too loudly. After at least several minutes, I hear a noise.
It's quiet and hard to hear. A rhythmic whisper. One, two, then a pause. One, two, pause. One, two, pause.
When I realize that it's just his breathing, I panic slightly. This situation is completely new. With the Monturians, I knew exactly what to do and what was expected of me. Is he just sitting somewhere in this dark room, waiting for me to do something?
It's so dark and quiet that it's unsettling. I know he's still in here somewhere, but the only sound is his soft breaths.
My mind is moving too quickly, I can't grasp onto any of the thoughts.
Closing my eyes, I focus on his breathing and try to match it. Slowly, my mind gets quieter, and the spasms in my muscles subside.
My eyelids start to feel heavy. When my head starts to nod and I can't sit any longer, I curl up on the ground, nuzzling my face into the softness beneath me.
--
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