by her words or actions. By myself, the loneliness and guilt of decisions I've made or things I've done haunt me. There is no escaping them.
The room we are held prisoner in has bare white walls, no windows, a bed, and a full bathroom. Shampoo, conditioner, soap, and shaving cream are in the restroom. Our guard brings Penelope a razor every day, but as soon as she finishes shaving, she has to give it back to him.
We have toothbrushes and toothpaste, but when I arrived, they took away the mouth wash so I wouldn't drink it for the alcohol.
The closet is full of designer gowns and cocktail dresses in Penelope's size. Expensive shoes fill the floor. Every night, she gets dressed up and leaves.
I'm so consumed by my withdrawal issues, I never ask her where she goes until after day ten when I wake up, and the muscle cramps I've had are gone. It's also the first day I haven't woken up craving a hit of coke.
Penelope runs her hand through her hair. "Santiago makes me have dinner with him, attend smaller functions, and tell him my secrets."
"What are your secrets?"
She turns to the wall. "I can't tell you anything. Please don't ask again."
"Okay. I'm sorry."
"It's all right. Thank you for understanding."
"You're from the U.K.?"
"Yes."
"How did you get over here?"
"I worked at the British Embassy in Panama."
"Really? I played there a few months ago. I'm surprised we never met. I would remember you. You look like a model."
She smiles. "Thanks. I was sick the night you played, or we would have. Speaking of sick, you look a lot better."
"I feel better. I'm sure this has been horrible for you...having to deal with me."
She snorts. "I'm glad you're better, but being with you is better than being by myself."
"How long have you been here?"
Her face falls. "I think three or four months since before you came. I'm not sure anymore."
"You've been here all on your own for that long?"
"No." She places her hand over her face and breaks down crying.
I scoot over on the bed and put my arm around her. "Are you okay?"
"They took my daughter."
The hairs on my arms stand up and chills dig into my bones. "Your daughter? She was here?"
"Yes. We were both kidnapped."
"How old is she?"
More tears fall. "She turned four a few days after Santiago's men abducted us."
"What's her name?"
"Millie."
I stroke her hair. "That's a beautiful name."
"She must be so scared," she sobs.
I hug her tighter, not sure what I can say to comfort her, but feeling like another part of my heart is being torn.
The door flies open, and Santiago's thug saunters in. "You. Get ready." He hands me a razor.
I'm not sure what makes me do it, but I throw it at him. "Shave yourself. You don't own me."
"Zoe," Penelope quietly warns.
He grabs my throat and pushes me against the wall. His eyes flare with anger. "Pick it up and get ready. And the next time you want to talk back, you'll take the consequences." He releases me and slams the door.
I bend over, choking.
Penelope rushes over. "Are you okay?"
I inhale deeply, then straighten up. "I'm not shaving for Santiago or any of those pigs." Years ago, I had my bikini area lasered, but my legs and armpits have over ten days of hair growth and could use a good shave. Maybe the detox removed all common sense from me, but something about Santiago owning me like the Global Leaders have causes me to rebel. It's as if I can take back some control over my body, and nothing has ever seemed more important.
"Zoe, don't go against them."
"No. I'm done. They are going to do whatever they want anyway. Let them do it with my hair."
"Zoe—"
"No." I knock on the door, and Santiago's man opens it. "I'm not shaving for you or anyone."
He shakes his head and scowls. "Stupid, stupid, girl." He grabs my hair and yanks me through the house. I scream for him to release me, but he doesn't until I'm in front of Santiago.
"She's disobeying. Doesn't want to shave."
Santiago's eyes turn to slits. "You will be a lady in my company."
I should shut my mouth and do what he says. My insides are quivering in fear, yet I can't seem to give in to what he orders.
My eyes meet his, and the coldness that always fills me whenever I'm around Santiago makes me shudder. As firmly as I can, I tell him, "Whatever you want to do to me, do.