DIRTY BULLETS

chapter twenty eight

I WAS IN the room by myself, sitting on the edge of the bed as my eyes fell hazy against the stained carpet.

Like the rest of the hotel, the room we were staying in wasn't the most pleasant. With yellow walls and brown carpet, the pungent stench that lingered from the sheets of the bed made me think this place hadn't been cleaned in a while. I don't know what I expected though – it's not as though we'd be staying in five star hotels when running from the police.

Letting out a heavy sigh, that weight in my chest was back, that feeling of being stuck, of being trapped, that feeling that this would never end. It seemed to come in waves, I had noticed. I would fall distracted to whatever situation I found myself in with Harry, but then it's the times like now, when I'm alone and by myself it just washes over me without warning, a reminder that I'm no closer to escape than when I was first taken and stowed away in the basement. God was it suffocating.

Harry had left the room for whatever reason; he didn't tell me. But he for sure reminded me of what would happen if I were to leave. And it seemed that held a much stronger control over me than if it was the threat of my own life. I didn't have it in me to even risk trying to weasel my way out of his grasp anymore, and that's what made the reinforcement of how stuck I was hit again. Had this been any other circumstances, I would've obviously taken advantage of being left alone in a room unguarded, it being an easy chance to get away, but that chance was instantly destroyed the moment an innocent life was placed in my hands. And I didn't have it in me to hurt a stranger even if it meant getting my freedom.

Fuck Harry. I had never hated someone before, but I absolutely despised him, loathed him with every nerve and cell that made up my body. Fuck him and what he's done to me.

Standing from my place on the bed, I felt muggy. I needed a shower, bad. I'm sure Harry would somehow have some problem with me taking one but he could go fuck himself if that was the case.

Making my way to the grimy ensuite, I didn't even bother to glance at my reflection in the mirror above the sink, already knowing what I'd see. It seemed laughable to me now, about how I'd be sure to take care of my appearance before my shifts at work, at least making myself somewhat presentable. I would've taken my time doing my hair and some makeup, being sure my uniform was neat and clean. Sure, it was also in my contract to ensure my appearance was always at its best while at work but that still seemed like a different lifetime compared to now. I hadn't brushed my hair properly in over a week, besides using my fingers as best I could, and the shitty clothes I was provided with were hardly flattering.

Shit, I hadn't even thought about what I was going to do about fresh clothes. Lord knew I certainly didn't bring any with me and I seriously doubt Harry did.

Letting out another huff, I stripped down out of my clothes and placed them in the sink before turning the taps on. I guess I'd have to hand wash them and wait for them to dry. Scrubbing each garment as best I could with the bar of soap sat next to the sink, I did my best to clean the clothes before carefully laying them out on the counter in hopes of them drying. I doubted they'd dry quick, so it was likely I'd have to put them back on damp.

Oh well, there was nothing I could do about it. So turning away from the sink, I made my way over to the narrow shower and climbed in. I turned it on and although the water took annoyingly long to heat up, it still felt great and almost instantly made me feel a little better. Putting my head under the water, my eyes fell shut as it bounced against my skin, my hands coming up to run through my hair. And then I felt a sharp sting against my lip, causing me to flinch in momentary forget. Letting my fingers run to my lip, I gently touched where it stung, the raised scab being something I had completely forgotten was there. And then bringing my hand to my cheek, I pressed my fingers gingerly against the skin, the flat dull agony of the bruise also reminding me that it was still there.