The Lawyer

45- my room

Sophie POV

A particularly sharp spring of the mattress beneath me digs into my arm waking me and immediately vomit, I really need my tablets. When my body finishes dry heaving, I wipe the yellow foam from my mouth onto the back of my sleeve and flop back against the mattress.

I'm exhausted.

The acrid smell of vomit joins the alcohol and cigarette odour that permeates the room I'm in, drifting from the rooms below. Even without hyperemesis the smell in here could make anyone vomit.

The only reprieve I get from the smell is the three supervised restroom trips a day. Using the bathroom while someone watches you is so degrading. The first time I begged for privacy. As a result I was sent back to 'my room' and had to wait for the next occasion.

'My room' is around eight ft square with a boarded window and a radiator. It has a mattress on the floor, but is otherwise bare. No carpet or sheets, the radiator does not turn on, so it is cold, there are signs of damp and mold in the corner.

To think, a few days ago I was complaining about a mansion. This has been a brutal reality check.

I try my hardest to ignore the smell curling my arms around myself as best I can with my wrists bound. In a vain attempt to stay warm. I can't hear any noises from outside the room so I guess that it might be night. The boarded window prevents me from knowing for certain.

Usually I can hear voices from other rooms, they mainly speak Italian and French, other than the occasional word I don't know what is being said. I don't know if they are all working together or if there are more people being held here like me.

I'll be less sick if I sleep so I just try to do that.

I'm awoken again some unknown amount of time later. When I hear the click of the lock and the door is pushed open. The blonde lady I saw yesterday walks in with her nose turned up.

"Disgusting" she mutters leaving a sandwich and a bottle of water before leaving. She doesn't give me anything to clean the vomit.

Where is Matt? Or the police? I think It's been around two days now. It's hard to tell in this room, time seems to stretch on forever when you have no distractions. I've tried prying the boards from the window with my fingers but it's no use, they're air tight. I'm basing the time by the meals they bring.

Well meals might be a stretch. They bring supermarket pre-packed sandwiches three times a day. Not that I keep them down anymore.

They took my phone away right after my call with Matt. Not long after that they stopped the limo, abandoning it in the countryside where the blonde lady was waiting for us in a car, and then they shot the limo driver.

I have never been so scared, not even when I thought Matt was chasing me. I've never seen someone killed before and the man who did it didn't even bat an eye. Like killing people was completely normal. Tears streamed down my face the rest of the journey, but I didn't dare make a sound.

Based on the occasional road sign I glimpsed I am somewhere in Manchester but I'm not sure exactly where, and even if I were I have no way to tell anyone.

I don't know who these people are, but it doesn't take a genius to know that this is something to do with Matt. I haven't annoyed some mysterious french man and his luminous orange girlfriend. I'm gonna punch Matt so hard!

Other than the occasional order, like go here, move there, nobody has spoken to me. No demands have been made of me and I haven't been harmed. I just wish I knew why I was here. What they are waiting for.

I manage to open the bottle by pinning it between my knees to unscrew the top. I take a sip of the water swilling out my mouth before spitting it out. It does little to reduce the disgusting taste in my mouth, but beggars can't be choosers and right now I'm practically Oliver twist.

I save the sandwich for later, unsure I can cope with the smell of egg and cress right now. Using my hand I awkwardly massage my stomach. I think all the vomiting is taking its toll, my stomach muscles keep cramping up. Joining the pain of my persistent headache. Once the discomfort subsides, I curl back up on the mattress.

My head barley touches the mattress when the door is opened again. I don't even bother sitting up, I think if I try I might be sick. I feel so light headed.

I realise it's a group coming in this time. All of my previous visits have been one person. This forces me to sit up. I shuffle my body backwards pressing myself into the farthest corner.

The man from the limo mutters something in French to the man beside him. His face is expressionless, giving me no indication of what is about to happen. But I see the woman smirking at my evident fear, and I know it can't be anything good.

The man pulls out a mobile phone holding it up In front of him as if to take a picture.

I automatically drop my head, I refuse to be part of this sadistic game of there's.

My head is forced back up by the hair by the other man, his grip is tight making my eyes water. But I refuse to make a sound. He uses my hair to turn my face side to side before dragging me to stand. His hand pulling higher than I can go, forcing me onto my toes, and causing an involuntary sob to escape my lips.

My hands automatically grip at his wrist trying to relieve the tension in my scalp, but he just grips harder. 

The intention behind making me stand becomes obvious when the camera is aimed at my stomach. No words are spoken. No directions given or demands made just the pictures. Or possibly a video.

Seemingly satisfied the man slips the phone into his pocket and my hair is released causing me to drop onto the floor.

Without a word I'm left alone again.

A/N

We're coming towards the end.... (Ending at 50 like The Collector)

So I'm curious. Would people prefer an epilogue at the end or a new story based on Lili and Nico?