Little Girl Lost.

I didn't dare tell Tracey that I preferred the kitchen to being surrounded by blood and gore. It was cramped and hot, there were times I came close to passing out but shackles, whips and blood were not meeting me around every corner. One day of that was enough, I couldn't begin to imagine the psychological toll it took on her.

There was a surprising amount of work that needed to be done even though only two meals were served a day, and the menu never changed. There was oatmeal in the morning with some stale bread and thin soup coupled with another piece of stale bread. Yet, there were always trays to be washed or water to be boiled. Menial labor, yet it required so much energy and each day left me exhausted with aching muscles and a pounding headache. It was enough that I fell onto the mattress every night in relief.

I had lost track of the days, or weeks, that had passed by. Days bled together, like black ink and water on pale white paper. Time meant nothing here. There was nothing to keep track of, you ate and slept and worked. I had tried to use my fingernails to scratch tally marks into the concrete walls of my cell but malnutrition had made them brittle and they broke off in jagged pieces, leaving my fingers sore and bleeding. I gave up, it was just too depressing to think about.

And now here I was- sitting on the floor of the cell, unable to sleep and staring at the flier from the vigil yet again. I was surprised that the guards hadn't discovered it in their routine of inspecting the rooms. I hadn't gone to great lengths to hide it. Stuffing the piece of paper into a small rip in the bottom of the mattress was far from inconspicuous yet they had failed to find it so far.

I wasn't sure why I found myself coming back to it night after night. Maybe I was looking for answers, hoping that he had left some hidden clue on the paper that would tell me exactly why I was chosen, why I was taken. Or perhaps I was comforted in knowing that people were looking for me, comforted by the fact that I hadn't completely faded away from memory.

At least, I hoped I hadn't.

I took one last glance over the sheet of paper and sighed; tucking it back into the inner stuffing of the mattress. I should have gotten rid of it after he gave it to me. He clearly wanted to torture me, to get inside my head and toy with my emotions. I was just giving him what he wanted, I was letting him fuck with me. But it was oddly comforting holding something from the outside world, and it gave me an odd, displaced sense of familiarity.

I was jerked out of my thoughts as my ears caught hold of someone screaming. They always brought in new people at night; the late hours were riddled with screaming and begging; the sounds of desperate cries for mercy echoed against the concrete before being muffled by the heavy, thick walls around them.

I wondered if I kept anyone else up when they brought me in and I found myself feeling guilty at the thought of depriving people of sleep when it was so difficult to get any as it was. Even when you were exhausted and sore after working all day, you'd find yourself tossing and turning all night. I was used to being sore, long practices at the gym left me achy and exhausted many nights. But I was no longer sore from floor routines and handsprings.

I wondered if I'd ever be in a gym again. I should have known better than to entertain the thought. I missed the feeling of chalk on my hands, the energy bursting through my muscles as I sprinted down the runway for a vault.

I sighed and rolled over on my side, hoping that the nostalgia wouldn't carry over to my dreams. Sleep came easier when it was dreamless. At least then I didn't wake up from memories and wishes of going home with that painful ache in my chest. Dreamless sleep had become such a blessing. Sleep was also the only escape and refuge I was granted here, as sparsely it came, so I welcomed it gladly.

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It felt too early for the siren to be sounding already. I had no way to keep time but I felt so much groggier than I usually did. As I leaned against the cell's door frame, I glanced around and was able to gather I wasn't the only one who looked especially sleep deprived. Bruised and cut hands were balled into fists and rubbing at tired eyes; confused and weary expressions showing evident beneath them.

I glanced over at Tracey for explanation but she looked to be barely awake and wasn't paying much attention to what was happening around her. I felt bad for being so clingy and dependent on her, it must be annoying to have some kid expecting you to explain nearly everything to them.

"Listen up." A guard boomed as he began to stroll down the hallway, the handcuffs on his belt clinking with every step.

"As if we're not already listening," I heard someone scoff just under their breath.

He continued, not having heard the remark, "You get 30 seconds. No more, no less. You get in, get out and go back to your block. Any fraternizing in hallways will get written up and reported to your O.As immediately."

The hallway remained silent except for the occasional scuffle or cough.

"Dismissed." He shouted out and another siren sounded on its cue.

"Showers," Tracey whispered to me as she gravitated to my side "Only get 'em once in a while."

It felt like decades had passed since water had last run over my shoulders and my heart swelled with expectation. I followed Tracey through the crowd, down a hallway that I hadn't come across before, to a room that was just as narrow as the corridors that led to it. "Showers" was truly an exaggeration, it was just a long room with drains and holes in the wall that had hoses sticking through them. There were no curtains, there was no privacy.

"Beggars can't be choosers."

"It's not like I chose any of this in the first place."

30 seconds wasn't nearly long enough to scrub the grime that seemed to be embedded into your skin, not to mention that the water was freezing and barely trickled out of the rubber hose stuck through the wall. I longed to relish and savor the comfort of water, but there was no room for luxury here. I craved hot water to soothe my aching, throbbing muscles but this was better than nothing. Once the time was up, a guard reached in and pulled you out; naked and dripping wet, for all to see. As I was struggling with pulling my shirt back over my head, I made the mistake of looking around me.

A sandy, blonde-haired girl to my left who was pulling the standard, black pants on over her thin frame had dark, gnarled, purple scars etched onto her back. The long, jagged marks tore through her gray skin like lightning and I winced at the thought of what they must have done to her to leave behind such terrible wounds.

One of the guards caught me staring, "Move it." He snarled. I knew better than to start something and I darted out of the way, ducking through the doorway back into the hallway. I wanted to talk to Tracey, get the images of those scars out of my mind.

"Does it scare you because that might be waiting for you?"

I pushed the thought away and continued to idly wander down the hallway, past the line of people still waiting for their brief, frigid showers. I hoped the cell doors would still be open so I could get a few more moments of sleep, even though I doubted that they would be so considerate.

"You bitch!" I heard someone yell from down the hallway, their voice sounding strangely familiar. A cold chill crept up my spine, momentarily paralyzing me and I went numb.

"H-help, he's following me an-and I need help, please!" I stuttered, as I tried desperately to regain my balance, nearly screaming at the man I just collided with.

"Oh?" He replied, incredibly calm as he dusted off his tracksuit and rubbed at a bruised knee

"Bates!" I heard a holler come from behind me.

It all came rushing back and panic surged through me like a wave of electric shock. I froze in my tracks, unable to move for fear of what was coming. I couldn't turn around to face him. I knew who was coming towards me, I could hear his shoes hit the concrete floor and the slew of profanities he was screaming in my direction. But I couldn't move, I couldn't run or duck or hide. Where was there to hide or run to anyways?

"Harris, you're not on duty right now." I heard one of the guards shout from the opposite direction.

"Fuck off." He snapped back.

I could hear his footsteps getting closer, I could feel him closing in but I didn't know what to do. Just as I was about to look up in hope that he was going to pass right by me, I felt his hand grab a fistful of my hair and pull me up off the ground before slamming me into the wall. I whimpered and instinctively lifted my arms to shield my face from the pummel of blows that was sure to land soon.

"You're the shit that did this to my face, aren't you?" He sneered angrily, bringing his face close to mine. I flinched and tried to pull away but it was futile, he only tightened his grip and pulled my head back towards him; my neck cracking in the process.

I caught a glimpse of one side of his face; blistered and scarred. Twisted and gnarled due to a burn mark that took up nearly half of his face. I remembered throwing the open mug of tea at him, but I hadn't thought that it had done any good. I had still ended up here, hadn't I?

But he looked angry. He was furious with me and I couldn't get away. His eyes bore into mine and I cried out, clawing at his hands foolishly hoping that he'd let go of me and be on his way.

"Please, stop. I d-don't know what happe..ned." I cried, foolishly trying to push his weight away to free myself from his grip.

"You think I'm going to forget this? You're going to pay, you little brat. I'll find a way to make you sorry, you think this place is bad on its own? You haven't seen anything yet." He snarled in my ear, ignoring my cries.

"N-no, I didn't mean to d-"

"Harris. Get out of here before Chief comes down on your ass." The guard from down the hall was pulling him off of me, releasing his hands from my neck and hair.

I fell to the ground and on instinct curled into a ball, in case a stray boot or two decided to collide with my ribs or stomach.

"Are you joking? Have you seen my fucking face?" He shouted back, his attention momentarily pulled away from his desire to tear me apart- like a lion after its prey.

"Yeah, you look like the fucking Joker. Congratulations, get out of here before someone reports it to her O.A and you get written up." The other guard retorted, nudging him away.

"Ha," He shot back mockingly before redirecting his attention to me, "This isn't over. I'm going to make you so sorry," He pointed at me, his fiery eyes bore into mine and a corner of his mouth curled up into a sick smirk as he slowly turned away and stalked back down the corridor.

The guard turned his attention to me, "Get up and get back to your cell. And stop crying or I'll give you something real to cry about." I wasn't so lucky to be given any sympathy.

"He could have killed me!" I shot back, not censoring my anger and frustration.

"I won't repeat myself."

I swallowed the lump in my throat and held back the tears. I refused to give them the satisfaction, to give them what they wanted. Lifting myself up off the floor, I trudged back to my cell slowly- softly massaging at the bump beginning to form at my scalp where he had nearly ripped half of my hair out.

His words echoed in my ears, repeating themselves over and over in a never-ending cycle.

"This isn't over. I'm going to make you so sorry,"

I collapsed on the mattress and pulled the blanket around my shaking body.

Harris. I swore I knew that name from somewhere. His name bounced off the walls of my brain as I slowly drifted back to sleep.