Captive: Hopeless

Chapter 5 - Scrub

A sharp slap woke Daniella from a deep sleep. At best, she wasn't a morning person. Waking, getting her responsive, and out of bed was no easy feat.

She was mostly a night person, awake in the late hours when others slept, which annoyed her mother because she became inattentive and easily distracted if she didn't sleep enough. The thought reminded her that she may never see her family again.

This time, her brain did not lazily unfurl from its lethargy, instead transitioning to instant awareness of her surroundings as adrenaline flushed her system. She was not even tired or disorientated.

"There you are. Come on, we need to scrub you before the blood sticks to you and you to the sheets," the blond nurse said, untying her and removing the catheter.

"Get to your feet, princess," the woman snarked, helping her stand, and before she could glance at the covers, the nurse covered them with a black plastic sheet. The childish urge to rip it off was only curbed by her still-tingling cheek.

"Walk."

Daniella didn't move, still naked and not about to brave the hallway naked and covered in blood-and-whatever caked body.

"Come," the nurse ordered, taking her elbow in an unyielding grip like a vice around her arm, and the inhuman strength of that hold made her uneasy. Never had she encountered anything like it, except maybe in the man who kidnapped her, but he was much stronger.

Allowing the nurse to steer her into the corridor, she glanced around, but nothing else stirred in the silent passage but for the sound of her naked feet on the floor, the squeak of the blond woman's rubber shoes, the swish of her cotton scrubs and their measured breathing.

***

The two of them reached a large room, shower heads extruding from the walls on one end and tiles covering every square inch of it, even the ceiling.

The nurse steered her to a shower head next to a drainage pipe much wider than a shower drain grate, opening the taps and adjusting the water until it was almost too hot. She shoved soap and sponge into Daniella's hands, giving her room.

Despite this woman having seen her naked more than once, she hated washing with an audience but wanted the drying blood off before it made her skin feel stiff.

Stepping under the spray of water, the nurse handed her a sponge, soap, shampoo, and conditioner, accepting the products wordlessly and thankfully.

All the little hairs on her body, arms, legs, and even between her legs were gone, leaving her skin smooth and hairless like a baby's. Her eyebrows were full, her hair thick and glorious in a way it had never been.

***

Rust-brown blood and pieces of gunk loosened from her skin under the pressure, making her slightly nauseous, and when she finished, the nurse handed her a towel.

As she dried herself and her hair, she was aware of being carefully watched, although she had no energy to run and suspected it would get her nowhere. If she posed a threat to the nurse, the woman would not be alone with her.

"Enough," the lady decided as Daniella dried her hair. "Put these on."

She accepted the scrubs and underwear, quickly donning them, and already feeling a little more like herself.

***

The nurse directed her to a room with a mirror running along one wall.

"Sit," she said, and Daniella obeyed, facing the mirror, and blinked.

Although she saw the nurse walking behind her, her reflected face caught her attention.

Was that her? How was this possible?

Shock made her giddy as she stared at herself.

Her hair was a shade darker, and her eyebrows were too, while her blue eyes were almost the same color as those bags of whatever and as iridescent.

How strange it looked.

With skin that was soft, supple, and without blemish, she looked almost like an airbrushed version of herself. There were no bags under her eyes or visible sign of the blow she had suffered or her ordeal.

She might look like a movie star in another setting, but the stranger in the mirror unsettled her.

The new definition of her features made her appear in her late twenties, and although her eyes spoke of suffering and fear, it only lent depth to them.

Those dark brows were neat in a way she could never get them. The baby fat had disappeared from her face, taking away that youthful roundness that always made her seem younger than she was.

Would her mother recognize her?

No.

Yet this was still intrinsically her—if you looked into her eyes deep and long enough.

Her hair was a glorious mane of dark auburn. None of the frizz remained, which always defied her hand and took hours of her time.

A shampoo commercial would kill for this hair.

She touched it almost as if to see if it was real.

"Don't get too attached to that. We have to shave it. Can't waste all this time getting the gunk out of it," the woman held shears, and Daniella's stomach plummeted.

Although losing the long hair she had all of her life didn't appeal to her, the words implied there would be more pain, suffering, and muck.

Her breath hitched as the woman shifted her and the chair like toys.

The first strands fell away from the shears, and tears gathered, overbright in those reflected eyes, streaming down her perfect skin. Somewhere inside, it felt as if she stared at a distant stranger.

The nurse had looked disappointed when she did not protest or fight, and this must not be her first rodeo, but she brightened up when she saw the tears.

"Good girl, the others all fought like little b*tches, and I had to teach them rule number two the hard way. Obey or suffer the consequences," the nurse smirked at the memory, and a chill ran down Daniella's spine. At least she didn't have to learn rule number two at her own expense.

***

"Finished," the nurse said.

Daniella stared at herself in the mirror. It was not cut all the way short, and without the hair, she could not recognize herself, yet it took nothing away from the breathtaking face and body that was her and not her.

Even her formerly tiny assets were a bit more pronounced. Her hips were leaner, and her thighs looked toned as if she spent hours in a gym, something she could never manage, not even when she jogged two miles a day.

She'd never had abs or a sixpack, and these things awoke unease in her. Someone else might be over the moon to go from homely to smoking hot, but trepidation hollowed her out. These changes were skin-deep, but what did they do to her on the inside?

I wonder. Thoughts? Newest Version ©2014-2023 All rights reserved. If you find this on any other platform but Wattpad under @CSDreamer, please report it. No part of this book may be copied or reposted without the author's permission.