One Deception

Chapter Four

Written by Kenz (TogetherWeRise)

Chapter Four
Rosalie

“Hey, Miranda..”

The girl still didn’t move. She’d been like that for a long time now, slumped over in her chair with her head on her chest, out like a light. 

She looked the picture of helplessness with her lank, dirty brown hair was hanging in her bruised face, getting caught in the trail of blood that was trickling out of the corner of her mouth. Her body wasn’t sat rigidly straight as it had when I’d first met her, tensed for anything even in her sleep. The only thing keeping her from sliding out of her chair was the ropes binding her to it.

“Miranda,” I said again, raising the volume of my voice a few notches.

I knew that I should probably let her sleep. From what I could gather she’d really gotten it. She’d been dragged back in the room, listless as a rag doll. Her body was only clothed in a stained white tee shirt and a pair of tattered jean shorts, and I was able to clearly see fresh bruises on her legs and arms, as well as the angry, red and purple sight her ankle had turned into. 

I had gotten that same injury many times from football. She had a sprain, and a pretty decent one by the looks of it.

I’d let her sleep for a few hours, knowing she needed her energy, but I needed her awake now. We had to talk. The only thing getting in the way of that was how I was unable to raise my voice, less the boys upstairs hear me. Since I couldn’t yell and I couldn’t touch her, there was practically no way to wake her up.

“Miranda!” I said sharply.

She twitched slightly, and I caught on to the chance.

“Wake up!”

I rose my voice slightly louder than I should have, but it did the trick. She remained doubled over but her eyes slowly blinked open.

“Hey, we need to talk,” I whispered. 

There was no reply. 

“Mirand-”

“St- Stop,” she rasped. “Stop saying my name. Please.”

Though I thought her request odd, I stopped talking, waiting patiently for her to gather her wits. 

Slowly, she lifted her head from her chest, wincing in pain as she did so. I felt a pang in my chest as I watched her. She was so small that her feet barely touched the ground in the chair. Her cheekbones were hallowed out from what I assumed was starvation, and her eyes had sunken deep in their sockets.

And yet, if you looked close enough, you could see how pretty she used to be. I could imagine her 15 pounds heavier, with rosy cheeks and bright golden eyes. Even now, with her hair weighed down by all of the grime in it, I could see it fighting to curl. 

“I’m.. Alive,” she said, her statement almost a question.

“Yes! Yes, you’re alive,” I told her eagerly, my voice coming out too loud. I forced myself to calm down and then continued, my tone gentler, “you have to focus and talk to me. I know it’s hard, but you have to focus.”

“I’m alive,” she repeated in a louder, hoarse voice, her eyebrows drawing together in confusion. She straightened slightly in her chair, licking her dry, chapped lips. “They didn’t kill me.”

I was getting impatient with her. “No, they didn’t, do you know what that means? That means that we have more time! We’re going to get out of this alive, both of us.”