Thorns

"Help! Help! Somebody, please help me," my horse voice echoes down the long, dimly lit passage. I know it’s hopeless, but try again regardless, "Please!" Silence answered as it has for the past several hours. I shiver as the cool air touches my nearly bare body.  My dress is practically shredded, revealing the thin fabric of my beige undergarments. I frown seeing the torn earthy green fabric. I never go out, let alone buy outfits for a special occasion. It seems fitting that the one time I do it ends in disaster. Purple splotches, barely visible in the flickering light, color my skin. I press my forefinger into a particularly large bruise near the crease of my right arm.  "Damit," I cry into the empty room as the sting radiates from the pressure. The pain, however, is welcomed. At least I know that I’m alive, and feeling something had to be better than nothing at all.   The past several hours are a blur, even as I desperately try to piece together what happened. I was at a bar, that much I remembered. There was a man who kept staring at me. He was handsome, so at first I didn't mind, but he never approached, only watched from his corner booth. I remember feeling frightened and my mother's advice played in my head; trust your gut. Molly, my friend who convinced me to go out in the first place, asked her boyfriend to walk me to the cab outside and make sure there was no trouble. Nobody came out after us, and Mike waved goodbye as the yellow taxi sped off into the night.   I had arrived safely in front of the small apartment building Molly and I shared. After paying the driver, I stepped out with the sinking feeling still present. I glanced over my shoulder, but the streets were empty, so I shook it off and walked to the door. I never reached it. I felt a hand on my shoulder while walking up the steps, and my world went dark.  The next thing I knew, I awoke in this padded cell with nobody around. My body felt weak, and my voice is starting to match it from hours of useless yelling. I never should have gone out. As a child, I was sheltered, more than shelter. My mother was terrified at the idea of me getting injured. I rarely left our house, except for constant doctor appointments. After her death, I never wanted to leave the house anyway. I probably wouldn’t have had it not been for Molly, my childhood friend, who convinced me to apply to college with her, I’m not sure I would have.  “You have to live life, Rose,” she had chastised. I laugh at the irony. If only she could see me now.   Darkness suddenly envelops me. I wait for the LED lights to flash back on, but they never do. It isn’t long before I give into the pitch black, and drift into a restless slumber.