When Madison awoke, her memory was hazy. The whole night was forgotten. It all came flooding back like a slap to the face once she realised she wasn't in her bed. The surrounding walls were not the cool blue she was used to, they were off-white, and in place of her plush cream carpet was a thin grey one. On either side of the double bed was a nightstand, at the foot was a chest of six drawers pushed up against the wall, and a built-in wardrobe with sliding mirror doors took up the wall next to her.
Once the tears had dried up, and her fists were tender from pounding on the door, she'd ransacked the place for a key or a weapon. None of the drawers contained anything useful, they were mostly empty, and the wardrobe was full of men's clothes with a few women's garments sprinkled among them. Eventually, her sobs consumed the night. In between the deep breaths, there were cries from girls in the other rooms accented by an orchestra of twilight guests coming and going.
The bedroom door complained as it opened. Jase leaned up against the door frame, his legs crossed at the ankles, hands in his jogger pockets.
"You've got 30 minutes in the shower. Shave your legs. Wash your hair," he ordered. "We've got guests tonight. Make yourself presentable." Madison sat on the edge of the bed, puffy-eyed and red-nosed. Jase tossed a toothbrush onto the drawers and left.
With aching bones, she managed to muster up the energy to get to her feet, shuffling into the hallway. The house was eerily quiet. From the landing, there was a direct path to the front door.
"Don't be stupid," someone whispered. Madison jumped out of her skin, frantically searching for the source of the voice. A pair of big blue eyes peered at her through a small gap in the door. "They won't kill you," she continued, "but they will torture you if you try to make a break for it." She opened the door wider, just enough to extend a translucent arm. Madison initially thought they were cigarette burns, bruising and scabbing the grey skin, which was bad enough, but she discovered they were track marks upon closer inspection. She realised this was the girl that had been lying on the sofa. Her hair was no longer greasy, it was damp and frizzy, and her face was so thin that even with her eyes sunken back, they appeared bulbous. "I didn't have a habit when I got here," she said, "they give it to you if you misbehave, so you're willing to do anything for a fix. Take your shower and do as they say. It's the lesser of two evils."
A creaky step startled them. Madison's heart jumped to her throat at the sight of Adam climbing the stairs towards her with a nasty scowl. The girl quickly shut her door, catching his unwanted attention. He bared his teeth, grabbing Madison by the roots of her hair, ignoring her pained howls and her nails digging into the flesh of his hand hard enough to draw blood.
"Get in the fucking shower," he growled, swinging her into the bathroom. She keeled over, holding the back of her head, tears streaming as she rubbed at her pulsating skull. The apologetic ramblings on the other side of the door were rapid, starting quietly before the screams increased in volume and ripped through the house. Madison turned the shower on full, grateful for the high pressure drowning out the animalistic shrieks that would undoubtedly haunt her for as long as she lived.
The mirror on the medicine cabinet was foggy, and the bathtub was wet from the last person who had washed. She wondered how many girls were there, confined to the brick walls of this house of horrors. How many they'd tortured and hurt. She thought about those on missing posters she'd seen and never thought about again, presuming they were dead after the police received no leads. Now people would see her on missing posters and never think about them again, an old school picture curling at the edges pinned amongst train timetables and taxi company cards on notice boards. Then she wondered if anyone had even noticed she'd gone yet.
The idea was laughable.
The only one that would notice her absence anytime soon was the neighbour's cat. Maybe her dad in three weeks, when he didn't receive her monthly letter. It wasn't as though she had any friends, none outside of a polite conversation with a coworker. She'd moved from the other side of London two years ago and hadn't bothered forming any long-lasting relationships. Keeping her distance from everyone and everything had been Madison's safety precaution. She never thought being an introvert would bite her on the arse.
The shower rained over her with water that was far too hot, but she didn't adjust the temperature, allowing it to bring colour back to her skin whilst she hoped and prayed this was a long nightmare she hadn't woken up from.
She managed to focus so hard on pretending it was all in her head she didn't notice the screaming had stopped, only being brought back down to earth by three loud knocks.
"You've got ten minutes. Make sure you shave your legs." She didn't know whose voice it was. Clean razors, fancy shampoos, conditioners, and shower gel lined the edge of the bath. Rolling one of the new razors in her palm, Madison envisioned her blood splashing across the white tiles. The idea flitted out as fast as it flitted in. She wasn't going to abandon ship this soon.
She could get out; she was sure of it.
To slit her wrists would be a permanent solution to what she currently saw as a temporary problem.
*
What do you think Madison should do? Take control and cut her losses or stick it out and make the best of a bad situation? Should Jase be trusted? Or is she alone? Leave your thoughts in the comments and as always, don't forget to vote!