I’m lying on my back, staring at the ceiling, which is probably white, but looks kind of yellow. Maybe the walls are yellow, and the ceiling is white, but overall, the feeling is yellow; a dull, drab, dirty old butter yellow.
A small window sits high on the wall above the bed. I can see it in my peripheral—near the yellow, or white ceiling—and I keep thinking, I wish it were open to let some fresh air in.
The bed is narrow; the mattress is thin, hard, covered in vinyl. I have one tiny, child-sized pillow and a yellow blanket that feels like it’s been washed a million times, starched so heavily it barely falls over the curves of my body. It’s as stiff as I feel lying here in my vintage black nylon slip—makeup and hair from the night before—Wait, is it still the night before?
It’s dark and cold and kind of clammy. My mind is vacillating between the urge to panic and an unconsciously sly smirk curving up at the corners of my lips.
Loser! Badass! Loser! Badass! Plays on repeat—my conscious self, battling my ego—one screaming; You’re a loser! The other singing; You’re a badass!
It’s quiet outside my mind. I hear nothing aside from a distant electrical buzzing. Occasionally, foul odors drift by—enough to make me wrinkle my nose at best, gag at worst—but they pass. Time passes, though I have no idea what time it is or how long it’s been.
Suddenly—metal creaks loudly on a clunky door handle then slams open. I hear what sounds like a large set of keys on a ring and imagine it’s the kind that slides over a wrist. It’s jingling and clanking loudly as footsteps approach, then fade past.
“Stephanie—put your pants on!” A raspy female voice echoes.
I lift my head to hear.
“Stephanie! Where are your pants? Put your pants on!” Phlegm rattles her throat.
I rest on my elbows, listening. . . but nothing reaches my ear. If I had to guess, the nasty smell that wafted over about fifteen minutes prior—the one that nearly made me gag—was the reason whoever Stephanie was—had removed her pants.
I rest my head on my tiny baby pillow and try to relax. Sleep would certainly help, but I’m not tired, I’m wired instead. I close my eyes and chant: Om Mani Padme Hum, in my head: Om Mani Padme Hum, Om Mani Padme Hum. . .
My mind wanders. I’m grateful for my meditation practice. Finn would be so proud, I think, reaching for my necklace, a smile tugging at my lips.
Proud? I shake it off. Embarrassed, more likely!
I take a deep breath . . . Om Mani Padme Hum— How did I get here? . . . Om Mani Padme Hum— What the actual fuck? . . . Om Mani Padme— I’m losing my mind . . .OmManiPadmeHumOmManiPadmeHum— I gotta get up!
I whip off the stiff yellow blanket; my bare feet hit the cold concrete floor. It’s riddled with hard pieces of cobalt blue lacquer; nail polish, picked off from the girl before. I peer out the door, into the hallway. Empty. I pace until a chill sets in and promptly lay back down, pulling the stiff yellow blanket over my body, and cover my head.
I’m freezing—I’m burning up. I close my eyes—try to sleep, try to escape—but I can’t. The lights slam on. I hear the door handle creak, the keys jingle and clank, the footsteps again.
I sit up, believing it’s my turn. Instead, a tray slides through the door containing two white-bread peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, a red apple, and a small carton of milk.
Milk? I grimace, ew.
I’m not expecting food, nor am I hungry, but I pick up my meal and set it on the metal table that’s welded to the wall—in front of the toilet, across from the bed. I hear the keys jingle and clank, the handle creak, and the door slam behind them.
It must be breakfast, I think, morning, I suspect, trying to guess the time. I lay back down under the blanket, pulling it over my head to block the harsh fluorescent light humming above the bed.
I let the tears fall—Loser! My ego shuts them down. Badass!
There’s that smirk again! Why are you smiling, loser?
Sleep finally finds me—but not for long. The door slams open, keys jingle and clank, footsteps head my way.
I sit up as the footsteps pass by again, and it occurs to me—this happens hourly—so I begin counting.
Lunch comes the same as breakfast; two stacked pb&j sandwiches, another red apple, an elementary-school sized carton of milk. I bide my time as I clock the heavy metal handle creak, the door slamopen, the keys jingle and clank—at least five more times.
When the third meal since daylight arrives, I assume it’s dinner. I tell them, “I’m not going to drink this milk,” so as not to waste it.
Back in bed, I’m restless. I count the lines on the walls, the dots on the ceiling. I look at my fingertips wishing my nail polish was peeling, so I could pick it off and leave my mark. I stand up, do some squats, jumping jacks, wall push-ups—anything to pass the time—to keep from losing my mind.
Eventually I sit on the metal stool, welded to the metal table, welded to the wall, and unwrap the plastic from one of the three trays. Hoping it might help me sleep, I bite into an apple. Mealy, I think, thenpick at the sandwiches, eating around the jelly—but I’m not hungry.
I still have no idea what time it is, or how many hours have passed, even though I’m counting footsteps, keys jingling, door slams. If I’m correct, it’s close to eleven hours and as the light from the window dims, daylight pushes nighttime again.
On the twelfth hour, when I hear the handle creak and the door slam open—the keys jingle and clank—I hear two sets of footsteps, see two sets of feet.
I listen intently, waiting—but hear only muffled voices—soft commotion in the distance. A heavy metal gate slides, slams, then keys jingle, two feet pass. It’s quiet for some time, then a gentle shuffling catches my ear. There’s a new body in the room next to mine.
I give up hope that I’ll ever get to leave, and eventually—lay back down on the hard, vinyl bed, with my tiny, baby pillow and stiff yellow blanket. I blink the tears from my eyes, and try to settle in—when a whisper of a voice beckons from the other side. . .
“What are you in for?”
Everything She Never Had is a work of fiction. Chapters of this novel were originally released for free, here—once a week for six months, as I wrote them—and now are only available to paying subscribers. 💌 Thank you so much for your support! 📖 I hope you enjoy my book!
Read All Chapters Here
Is there no end to your talents!?!??!? So good, M.
I've been gone for a minute and come back to this. Hmmm.