Those 7 years: Missing One Shot Chapter

5

The night in the shed was interminable. The cold, harsh concrete floor pressed painfully against my body, and the thin blanket I had wrapped around myself offered little protection from the chill that seemed to penetrate every corner of the room. Despite my best efforts to curl up into a tight ball for warmth, sleep was fleeting and restless. Each time I managed to drift off, a jarring wake-up—whether from a shiver or a sudden creak of the shed—would jolt me back to the harsh reality of my confinement.

As dawn approached, the faint light filtering through the cracks in the walls offered little comfort. My body ached from the unyielding floor, and the constant shivering had made me feel as though my bones might snap from the cold. I sat up, groaning softly, and tried to stretch out the knots that had formed in my muscles.

The bathroom area, with its modest fixtures—a makeshift toilet, a small sink, and the old bathtub—stood as a stark contrast to the cold, unforgiving space of the shed. The tub, though old and stained, had offered a glimmer of hope the previous day. I approached it with the intention of finding some comfort, and turned on the faucet, watching as cold water flowed out, gradually warming to a more pleasant temperature.

The sound of the water filling the tub was soothing. It was a small luxury that provided a brief respite from the stark reality outside. I waited patiently, testing the water with my hand to ensure it was warm enough before stepping in. As I lowered myself into the tub, the warmth enveloped me, offering a reprieve from the cold that had settled in my bones.

I let out a contented sigh as the water reached just above my shoulders, providing a soothing embrace. The steam rising from the surface created a soft mist that mixed with the cool air of the shed, a comforting contrast. I allowed myself to sink deeper into the water, the heat easing the tension in my muscles and offering a rare moment of peace.

The bath was a sanctuary, however modest. I used the time to wash away the grime that had accumulated over the past days. The soap was simple, but it lathered well enough to make me feel somewhat clean and refreshed. The water turned murky with the dirt of the days past, but with each rinse, I felt a small measure of relief.

After soaking for what felt like an eternity, I reluctantly climbed out of the tub. The towel I found was rough but warm, and I wrapped it around myself, relishing the softness against my skin. The clothes provided were basic—a pair of sweatpants and a loose shirt—but they were clean and comfortable compared to what I had been wearing. I dressed quickly, the fresh clothes offering a small but significant comfort.

Returning to the main room, I took in the sight of the minimal furnishings—a wooden chair, a table, and the television in the corner. They were reminders of the twisted rewards system in place. The presence of these items, though modest, was a small victory in itself. They signified that perhaps, in this cruel game, there was still room for hope and small comforts.

As I settled back onto the floor, the blanket wrapped around me, I could hear the faint sound of footsteps approaching. My heart raced, a mixture of anxiety and anticipation filling me. The door to the shed creaked open, and the men from the previous night stepped inside, carrying a small bundle.

One of them held out a pair of socks—thick, knitted, and incredibly soft-looking. The sight of them made my heart leap. I hadn't realized how much I had missed the simple comfort of warm socks until now. The man's eyes met mine, a hint of satisfaction in his gaze.

"Good morning," he said, his tone carrying a strange mix of casualness and condescension. "We've brought you a little something. Socks, to keep your feet warm."

I reached out hesitantly, taking the socks with trembling hands. The warmth of the fabric against my skin was a welcome sensation, and I slipped them on immediately. The socks were a perfect fit, providing a comforting layer of warmth that had been sorely lacking.

"The rule is simple," the man continued, his tone businesslike. "If you continue to be cooperative and follow the rules, you'll keep earning little rewards like this. It's not just about comfort—it's about making sure you understand the seriousness of your situation. Good behavior gets you more, bad behavior... well, let's just say we don't want to see any of that."

I nodded, my heart still racing with a mixture of relief and apprehension. The socks were a tangible reward, a symbol of the small victories I could achieve if I played by their rules. I slipped the socks off again to show my gratitude, placing them carefully on the small table. The warmth they provided was a luxury I hadn't expected, and it made me resolve to continue adhering to their demands.

The men left, their footsteps fading away, and I was left alone once more in the dimly lit shed. The cold still lingered, but the warmth from the socks and the brief respite of the bath offered a small measure of comfort. I wrapped myself in the blanket again and tried to find a comfortable position on the floor. The small improvements—the clean clothes, the warm bath, the socks—were fleeting but meaningful.

I spent the rest of the day trying to make the best of my situation. I cleaned the kitchen area, tidied up the bathroom as best as I could, and made use of the time to regain some semblance of normalcy. The socks, now a symbol of hope, kept my feet warm as I moved about the shed.

As night fell, I settled back onto the floor, the blanket pulled tightly around me. The warmth from the bath and the comfort of the socks made the cold floor slightly more bearable. I tried to focus on the small victories, each one a step toward maintaining my sanity in this confined space.

The television remained off, but I allowed myself to imagine it being a source of distraction or comfort in the future. For now, the warmth of the socks and the small moments of comfort were enough to keep me going. As I drifted off to sleep, wrapped in the blanket and with the warmth of the socks surrounding me, I clung to the fragile hope that each new day might bring more small victories and, ultimately, a chance for freedom.