Beasthood

~Chapter 9 -Refuse~ Part 1

~Chapter 9 -Refuse~

Monday May 9th, 2011, 12:40 p.m. -Locked cell

The smell of food woke her. She forced her sore eyelids to open. The skin of her right cheek was glued to the sheet by dried salty tears. She peeled herself from it and sat up. Her brain flopped about in her skull making her feel nauseated.

The aroma of charcoaled red meat and potatoes filled her nostrils. She looked towards the door and then slowly trailed her puffy eyes downwards. A plastic brown tray had been placed on the floor. It wasn't long since it had been put there; the food was still steaming hot.

She took a whiff of it and her stomach gurgled and groaned.

There was also a plastic cup of water next to the matching cheap, plastic, blue plate. The only two things that stopped her from pouncing on the heavenly smelling food were fear and paranoia. They’ve drugged you before, she warned.

She had shuffled on her elbows and knees to the edge of the bed, now she leaned over, examining the plate of food as if a poisonous snake would suddenly spring out of it and bite her.

I’m so thirsty,she moaned in her head. She looked sceptically at the plastic cup. Drugs would probably be in there too.

She swung her legs round until they hung over the edge of the bed and rested the balls of her socked feet on the cold, light-brown floor. She started unconsciously tapping her right foot at least three times a second. She did that when she was nervous, troubled or in deep thought, but then stopped when her toes began to throb. She anchored her hands to the edge of the bed and fixed her eyes on the food, unblinking.

I need to eat,she persevered. My iron levels are already too low.

You can’t seriously be considering eating that drug-riddled crap? her fiercer mental voice argued.

I don’t really have a choice, do I?

Sure you do-

-And besides…it might not even be drugged.

The fierce voice gave an unconvinced ‘hymph!’ in reply before the reasoning voice asked, Okay then. What do you suppose I do?

You refuse to eat.Jaz’s mouth opened as she contemplated this worrying option. Then she frowned. This isn’t a game; you know how dangerous that is.

Would you prefer it if you spent the rest of your life alive, in here, being drugged and prodded and who knows what else?She didn’t like that idea one bit. Her whole group of emotional inward voices said in unison,I need my pills. I feel really ill.

Tell them then! the fierce voice bellowed.

Jaz cringed imagining that scenario. Ha! Tell my merciless kidnappers that my one major weakness- besides being locked up and given only the possibly drug-infested food they provide as my only sustenance- is that I happento be severely anaemic? Oh yeah, and um, you have my pills. Could you please give them back? The reasoning voice laughed without humour.

Ah…

Yeah…ah.

Her mind repeated profanities over and over again until she lashed out physically and kicked the tray so hard it whipped across the floor, smashing into the door with a thud. Her toes smarted but it didn't deter her feeling of satisfaction.

The water from the cup spilled into the tray, making it a murky brown swimming pool for ants. The steak and most of the potatoes were sloshed around a bit but otherwise unharmed. A few pieces of potato hadn’t been so lucky and were now little islands floating in the ant pool. It’s all yours ants. Enjoy.

*

Driver and Maria stared at the monitor. They had been transfixed on the screen ever since the hidden camera in Jaz’s room had shown she’d woken up, for the second time.

The first time, Driver had nearly crushed the frame of the swivel chair he was gripping, wishing they hadn’t had a microphone installed in these damned cameras. The sound of her crying out when she’d discovered her bloody toes still sent shivers down his spine.

It had to be done. He didn’t need to reassure himself of that. It was a fact.

Unfortunately, a lot of things he took no pleasure in doing had to be done.

If they hadn’t cut her nails from the skin, her feet would have been crippled forever. His frown lines deepened as he imagined the agony. She’d have probably never recovered in her current state. She was still 'un-Changed'.

So it was either that small sacrifice or the high chance she’d never walk again.

There was no contest.

The sound of something plastic crashing against the door of her room stirred him from his daydream. He looked up.

Maria, whose stern face was usually void of emotion, watched her granddaughter on the screen with a small hint of amusement in the sharp, lined face that Driver believed had once been very beautiful. She resembled an old Michelle Pfeiffer. Her silver hair was shoulder length, parted at one side in elegant waves. She wore little make-up apart from bright red lipstick. The corners of her red lips were now raised up just a fraction in a light smile.

“What was that?” Driver demanded.

“Guess she’s not hungry,” the old woman commented dryly.

A guttural growl escaped between Driver’s clenched teeth.

The old woman was very good at hiding her uneasiness.

“She has to eat,” he grumbled.

“Give it time. She’ll get hungry eventually.”

Driver grunted. He frowned at her and then concentrated on the screen. The girl had lain back on her bed. He could hear the tiny sobs escape between her pressed lips and he gloomed. He felt completely powerless to do anything. “If she doesn’t eat something soon, I’m gonna force it down her throat myself.”

“You and I both know that won’t be necessary,” Maria said.