Page 8 of Game of Revenge

I could hear doors open and close. It felt like we had been walking and turning through various corridors for a few minutes before my tour guide and I came to a halt. He pushed me in a room and untied my hands. I heard him close the door behind me.

I cursed and angrily took the bag off my head.

I found myself in a small bedroom. It was simple, but at least it was clean. There was a small bed in the middle with two dark oak nightstands on either side. The mattress had no sheets or pillows. A full-length mirror was leaning on the wall across from the bed. There was a small chandelier in the middle of the ceiling, the only source of light since it was a windowless room, and there were no lamps.

The space did not really look like a bedroom that was in use. It would be hard not to get claustrophobic in this room. It was so far the smallest space my kidnappers had put me in, but at least it smelled good and there was light.

Someone knocked on the door.

“Yes?” I answered, confused.

I heard a key in the doorknob, and a short woman with long black hair braided all the way down her back entered, carrying a tray with food and water on it. She immediately closed the door behind her and stood in silence, staring at me.

I was a mess. She looked at my dirty hair matted to my face, my dress ripped and covered in dirt, and my feet dark with dust and mud. I knew I looked a little rough, but I didn’t realize how much until this moment. I likely didn’t smell great either. The longer she stared at me in clear disgust, the more I realized how bad I must look.

“Ay dios, pero que te hicieron?” she inquired.

I didn’t answer. They kidnapped me—that’s what they did to me. The answer was obvious.

The woman put the tray down on the bed.

“You want to shower?” she asked in English, with a heavy accent. I could not utter a word. I just started crying.

“Ay, no llores. Come, come. Let me take you to the shower.”

She grabbed my dirty hand and opened the door. She took me down a very short hallway and opened the only other door just a few steps away. She pushed me in very quickly.

“Be fast, and don’t try anything, please. They are everywhere,” she said as she closed the door.

“Thank you so much. What is your name?”

“De nada, señorita. I am Dolores. I will be waiting here for you. Please, rapido!” Dolores closed the door behind her.

I was touched by Dolores’s kindness. This woman did not know me and yet seemed to have taken my well-being to heart. She also seemed scared, probably of the brute who drove me to this house and seemed to be ordering everyone around.

The bathroom was very simple. There was a small but well-lit white square sink with a nice size mirror above it. The shower was a walk-in. When I opened the sink cabinet, I found some toiletries. Who thought I would feel such happiness at finding some toothpaste and a toothbrush?

I also found a few towels as well as some body wash and shampoo. I started to brush my teeth with the same enthusiasm children show for chocolate.

I could see my pale, dirty, and bony reflection in the mirror, my face covered with dust with streaks of tears going through whatever was left of my foundation. The mascara from days ago emphasized the dark circles under my eyes. My dress was a lost cause.

I remembered that Dolores was waiting for me outside, very nervous. There was no time to waste. I undressed myself and got into the shower. The feeling of the clean, warm water penetrating my hair, running down my face and the rest of my sore body was invigorating. I could not get enough of the shampoo and the soap. I washed myself thoroughly, but I still felt the need to do it once more, as if that would erase this nightmare I was living. It still didn’t feel like enough.

Once done, I proceeded to dry my hair and body with a towel. Now with my skin clean, I could see the bruises on my face, hips, arms, and wrists more clearly. I ignored them and wrapped myself in a soft towel. There was no way I was going to put back on that dirty, ripped dress.

I timidly opened the door. Dolores had a look of relief on her face. She saw that I was holding the towel around me and, thankfully, understood my predicament. She took me by the hand and quickly guided me back to the room.

“Stay here. I’ll be right back,” instructed Dolores.

I did as I was told, but of course, Dolores locked the door with a key behind her. I sat on the bed, feeling my body both numb and in pain at the same time, in dire need of rest, but my mind couldn’t stop. My life was in danger, after all. I forced myself to lie down on the mattress, even if just to stare at the ceiling.

Ten minutes later, Dolores was back with a pile of clothes in her hands. She closed the door behind her and set the clothes down on the bed.

“Here you go: clothes, some underwear, a comb for your hair, lotion, deodorant, and also, sandals and bed sheets.”

I could not believe my eyes. In tears, I got up and hugged her. Dolores hugged me back for a second and then took a step back. She looked at me with what seemed like understanding and sadness.

“I have to go now,” she said, and then she left, locking the door behind her again.