Chapter 11 "I've missed you; have you missed me?"
"Rhylee, don't do that again! You don't know anything about this city. Hell, you've never been in a single city in several years; things have changed. Crime rates are up. You could be mugged or attacked the very second you walked out that building door." Justin scolded, following me as I continued walking onto the sidewalk.
"But I didn't, and that's all that matters, right?" I raised an eyebrow at him, making him growl under his breath.
"Fine, what can I do to make you go back in the hotel?"
"You can let me see the city; I haven't seen the light of day in years, I'd like to make the most of every moment if you don't mind."
He sighed, "I understand." Justin reached into his pocket and pulled out the car keys. "Well, since you're nineteen, we can go to a club if you want."
"I don't have I.D."
"Yeah you do; the prison made you an identity...it's something they do." He explained to my confused expression. "You're not going to like it, though..."
"You're not Rhylee Baker...you're Rhylee Hero."
Of course; I can't even have my birth name. I wondered if I was still Rhylee Baker, if there was anything in the world that said it. Instead of asking all these things out loud and ruining my night out, I gave a bitter nod, "Well then, let's get out of here and go somewhere fun."
Justin decided to play some sick twisted joke on me; he took me to a dance club where every girl there was wearing short skirts, short enough that you could see their butts, tank tops and high heels the height of my arm - NOT jeans, a halter and tennis shoes. I felt so out of place as the annoying bumping music played; I didn't know any of these songs. Justin bobbed his head along to the beat, obviously having heard it before. I just looked around in disgust, "Okay, maybe this was a bad idea."
"Why?" He hollered over the music. "I thought you wanted to have some fun!"
"I think you're forgetting that when I was kidnapped, I was thirteen; my idea of fun was painting my nails and braiding my friend's hair!"
"Oh, maybe I should have thought about that... Well, why don't I get you a drink? Maybe it'll loosen you up a bit." With that, he left! He freaking left! I stood in the middle of several girls, dancing the most vulgar dance I'd ever seen. One woman was practically having sex with a man on the dance floor; rubbing her butt on his crotch. I shook my head and looked the other way, but saw two girls practically doing the same thing! "Ugh! This is ridiculous!" I ran in the direction Justin had gone in, weaving in between half dressed girls. I didn't see him, not even at the bar. "Justin!" I called out, but was barely audible over the loud music.
Someone tapped my shoulder. I turned around and saw a girl, probably my age, trying to smile but looked more like a wince. "Can't find your friends either, huh?" She asked. She looked horrified in here; avoiding eye contact with everyone, but searching frantically for someone she knew. "So far I've had three guys try to grind me and two girls tried to kiss me! I don't know what's wrong with people these days..." She shook her head, glancing around us at the people. She was much shorter than me - of course, I was kind of tall - and she looked as if she just turned sixteen. How did she get in here? As if she read my mind she looked back at me, "Fake I.D.; my friends told me a club would be fun. They come here all the time; I don't see the appeal!"
"I'm Rhylee - my friend took me here... He went to get me a drink but I don't see him anywhere."
"I'm Jessica, you can come sit with me if you want? I have a table over there," She pointed to a booth in the corner. "We can avoid the Pitbull-backup-dancer-wanna-be's." I giggled - not really sure what she was talking about - and followed her to the table. It was much quieter there, and I could hear her more. "I go to a high school just outside the city; we come here every weekend...well, my friends do, I don't. I'd much rather be home, reading a book."
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Rhylee has been a prisoner of this place for six years. They took her when she was only thirteen, injecting heroin into her veins as soon as they locked her in that pure white cell. Doctors who found the art in making illegal drugs, the money, the g...