Legacy

Chapter 1: The Beginning

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The pain in my head returns. I'm scared to open my eyes again, for fear of what might be there. My mouth tastes like pennies, and my stomach quivers. I draw in a shaky breath and squint my eyes open.

Once again, it's the same room I was in the last time I woke up. I turn my head slightly and scan the room. It's mostly empty, save for a tiny kitchen in one corner and a toilet and bathtub occupying the other.

Right next to the tub the man sits staring into a mirror through square-rimmed spectacles, as he stitches up the nasty cut I gave him earlier. He grunts and his bare back arches with each pull of the suture, making me almost feel sorry for him. Almost.

I slowly lift my body into a sitting position, not taking my eyes off of him. My attention floats to the door.

If I can just get a good head start, I could probably get away.

I take one last glance at the man and launch my body to the door, only to be held back by a cuff around my ankle. I lose my balance and fall off the edge of the bed, and can't regain it because my ankle is chained to the wall.

"Woah!" I hear his footsteps coming toward me. "Be careful." His hands hook under my shoulders and lift me back up onto the bed.

"I don't need your help," I snap, sliding as far away from him as the chain will allow.

"Clearly you do, sweetheart." He turns away and walks back to the mirror to finish his stitches. I wrap my fingers around the chain and try to yank it from the wall. "Not gon' work. You don't have the upper body strength for that," he jokes, wrapping his arm up in gauze. I ignore him and keep pulling. "Hey," his hand lands on my shoulder and I freeze, "relax."

No!

He holds the back of his other hand to my forehead. "You're burning up." He then massages different parts of my skull until I wince from a sudden ache on the side of my head. "And there's the bump. Hold on."

He goes to the kitchen and searches the cabinets until he finds a certain pill, and pours me a glass of water. I hug my knees to my chest as he comes back. "Here. Tylenol."

He holds the canister out to me. I just stare at him and tenderly run my fingers along the bump on my head. When I don't respond, he sets the water down on the table and unscrews the lid of the canister. He pours two pills into his hand and leans down to offer them.

I don't know what's in those pills. There's no way I'm taking anything he offers me, even if my mouth tastes like pennies.

I slowly shake my head and hug my knees to my chest.

"Okay," he mumbles, slipping the pills back in the canister. "The offer is on the table," he says, putting the pills down on the dresser, next to the water.

I don't know how much time is wasted with me avoiding his piercing blue eyes. As I run my tongue along my teeth, I still can't sooth the bitter taste.

"You know," he pipes up, "water will help the aftertaste." I can't stop my fingers from massaging my eyes. "And the pills will help with the headache."

I sigh and take my fingers away from my face. "Give me the pills."

He doesn't hesitate, and I swallow the pills faster than I'd like to admit. The man then hands me the glass of water, which I take no slower than the pills.