Senseless

broken

The number of marks on my mirror grew.

With each mark, each time the sharpie moved on the mirror, I felt another part of my hope chipping away. My soul was so alone, and I'd resorted to doing nothing but reading or looking out the window.

Or sleeping. I did that quite a bit.

With each piece of hope gone, the image of Nash grew blurrier. I didn't know what my saviors looked like, but what I was imagining was fading. What if they never found me? I'd live alone, with only Sophie's visits to look forward to.

She was in my room then, babbling about some new book she read. I didn't say anything; I didn't usually. I just looked at the trees, the tall statues I'd never related to more than I did then. Sitting still, swaying with the breeze and hoping not to get chopped down. Waiting for nothing to happen.

Waiting for everything to happen.

I didn't know which was true, really. Either nothing would happen and I'd die in that room, or Nash would come and everything would go to pieces. I hoped the latter happened. I hoped I was just being over dramatic and wouldn't die in there. It was a pretty place, but I didn't want to die in the midst of people who hated me and wanted my family to suffer.

The cat was really the only person I talked to. Sometimes, if I thought hard enough, I could hear her respond. But I knew it was just my imagination, lonely and desperate. She was so small and rarely left my lap unless it was too eat from the Oreo container. I hid it when Sophie came.

Sometimes, I tried to let the cat leave because I didn't want to hold her against her will, but she didn't go. She stayed right with me, almost as if she knew what it felt like and didn't want to leave me alone. I supposed she was alone; I hadn't seen any other cats on my midnight outings. Every morning, I showered and she waited on the towel that sat on the toilet. Then, every night, she'd sit on the edge of the tub while I relaxed in the bath. I fed her as often as I could, splitting off part of my meals that I knew wouldn't make her sick and letting her eat it.

Finally, turning to Sophie, I spoke for the first time in days. "Can I have a sketch book?" It felt kind of weird to talk. Sophie frowned hesitantly.

"I'm not sure. He doesn't exactly want you to be happy. I doubt he'd be okay with knowing that he is letting you live in luxury."

"Obviously," I murmured. It was apparent that I had the face of pure happiness in that instance. I looked down at the solid gray puff of fur curled up in my lap.

"That cat never leaves this room," she remarked. "Where does it use the bathroom?" I looked at him lovingly. After finding the kitchen, I'd located a small closet with a litter box. It turned out someone actually did care for her. I took her down to use it every night. Since she was only getting as much to eat as I was, she didn't have to go all that often.

"I don't know," I lied, closing my eyes. "Can she have a litter box in here?"

"You know she's toilet trained?" Sophie seemed amused, smirking down at the cat. "Liam was sick of the nasty litter smell and bought some thirty dollar thing to toilet train her."

I was quite surprised, considering I'd never caught the kitten squatting over a toilet seat, but I figured it was plausible. There were a few times when I'd gone in and thought I'd forgotten to flush the previous time I'd gone.

"What is her name?" I murmured. Since I'd been calling her "Cat" as a name, she always responded when I said that.

"Not sure. I don't see her often. She's just kind of a little ghost cat around here. The maids feed her."