Song: Prisoner by The Weeknd & Lana Del Ray
***
"Hello!" I cry out. "Someone please, help me!" But my cries are to no avail.
Chains hold my wrists and ankles in place, allowing me to move no further than a foot away from the wall. I can't even stand up, and I've been stuck sitting on the damp prison floor too long.
The last thing I remember was trying to escape the police car before I blacked out. Only I don't remember why I blacked out. I just know that I did.
And then I woke up here, chained up in a prison cell that looks like it belongs in the 1800s. Rotting wood falls off of the walls and the whole place smells of mildew and filth. Considering we live in such a high tech society, it surprises me that security measures are so pathetic.
I'm only unchained twice a day to use the bathroom, and once to eat. I have to sleep with the chains on, my arms hanging behind me as I lean against the wall.
It's been almost a week. One long, horrible week. My body aches and no amount of food can seem to quench the hunger ravaging my body. There are cuts on my wrists and ankles from the sharp edges of the cuffs.
I have no idea where I am besides in a prison cell. And I have no idea what they've done with the only person I care about. Last I saw Mitchell, he was still in the back of that cop car. Now I'm not even sure if he's alive.
I've already lost my whole family and I left my only friend back home. And now, I may have lost the very last person that means something to me. Now, I may be all alone.
"Somebody, please!"
I shout to the point of losing my voice every single day in hopes of someone with an ounce of good in them hearing me. But at this rate, I may as well be in Hell; there doesn't seem to be a good soul anywhere in this place.
The chains tug at my wrists and arms, making my shoulders hurt. I slump forward, dropping my head between my legs.
A jangling of keys alerts me that someone is outside my cell. That's odd, I think to myself, I never get my meal this early. I stand as I always do when someone enters my cell, not wanting to appear weak. The chains are like thousand pound weights on my limp arms, urging me to sit back down.
The cell door swings inward. I raise my chin and narrow my eyes. "Five minutes," a gruff voice says.
"Ally?" a very familiar voice calls out. My heart leaps into my throat.
"Mitchell?" I call, stepping forward as far as I can.
Mitchell runs into the cell and towards me. His black hair is noticeably clean, as is his new outfit. He nearly tackles me as he envelopes me in a tight hug, his arms wrapping around me and pinning my arms at my sides.
"Thank God, I thought for sure they killed you," he says into my shoulder. "Are you okay?"
"Could be better, but I'm okay," I quip, and he steps back. "You look clean. Were you in a cell too?"
He shakes his head. "No, they had me in some uppity bedroom type thing. No idea how I got so clean and into a change of clothes, though," he says, noticeably troubled.
"That's disturbing," I say, wrinkling up my nose.
He eyes me up and down, concerned. "You look thinner. But like, a bad thinner. And you're shaking. Do they feed you at all?" he asks.
"A slice of bread and cup water each day," I say with a sarcastic grin and thumbs up. "Why did they bring you down here, anyway?" I ask, trying to get straight to the point.
"To see you. Look, we don't have much time so I've gotta be blunt. We're at the CIA headquarters. No idea how we got here. They're taking us, both of us, to see someone soon. Someone who wants to see us. No idea why though," he blurts, all in one breath.
I stay silent for a moment, trying to comprehend what he just said.
"I feel like I'm living the life of some dystopian novel character," I mutter, shaking my head. "When do we overthrow the government in a form symbolic rebellion?"
Mitchell glares at me. "Ha ha," he says dryly, folding his arms. "But anyway, we're in trouble. Big trouble."
"Yeah I kinda gathered that," I say, nodding my head side to side. "But I mean we've been in trouble for what? Months now. It's just the usual at this point."
"I guess," he says. "And honestly if I were one of the guards, I'd be highly disturbed to know that two teenagers are being so calm about all of this," he snickers.
I smile, tight lipped. "Me too. Actually I-"
"Time's up!" the guard shouts, hurrying into the cell.
Mitchell pulls me into a tight hug. "Hang in there, I'll see you soon. And then maybe we can see about getting out of this joint," he whispers with a wink, and I force myself to keep a straight face.
A second guard traipses in behind the first, pulling keys from his back pocket. As the first guard guides Mitchell out, the second guard jangles the keys and says with an irritated sigh, "You, missy, are coming with me."
I step back slightly. "Where are we going?" I ask, turning my nose upward.
"To get you cleaned up. You're disgusting. And you can't go and see anyone of high authority smelling like that," he says, wrinkling his nose as he unchains my cuffs.
I roll my eyes. "And whose fault is that?" I ask, yanking my hands free of the chains and rubbing my wrists.
He hooks his arm underneath mine, practically dragging me towards the exit. "You get ten minutes to shower. Hot water will only be there for five. There will be a change of clothes for you on the bench. Just leave your old ones behind," he drawls, as if he's given this same speech a dozen times.
He shoves me into the shower room. I immediately scan the room for any possible exit, but it's basically just a huge concrete cube. No windows, and no doors aside from the entrance door.
I step into one of the showers, peeling the sticky clothes off of my body. I set them in a grimy pile of filth on the bench just outside of the shower.
I turn the water on, and it's immediately hot. It feels like velvet against my skin as I fiercely rub every last spot of dirt off of my skin and hurriedly scrub my short hair. There's no shampoo and no soap, so I make do with the water that I have.
The water begins to turn cold so I switch it off, stepping out of the shower. As expected, a fresh set of clothes rests on the bench beside my own. A simple white T-shirt and gray pants, and a pair of black boots. I dry off and throw the clothes on, revelling in the feeling of being clean.
A knock at the door alerts me that my time is up. "Let's go, come on," a gruff voice says from the other side of the door.
For a brief second I consider not going, just sitting on this bench and staying here until someone comes in to get me. But I quickly realize that would just be childish and irrational, so I make my way towards the door.
As I exit, a guard tucks my arm around his. He leads me up a set of winding hallways and pathways.
Not back to my cell.
***
