I don't have a chance to answer before the door is unlocked and opened, a much younger man stepping in. His facial features are vaguely similiar to Jordan's, with the same crooked nose, high cheekbones, and auburn hair. There isn't a doubt in my mind that they're related and, given my current situation, involved in the shady crap. His hair is brushed to the side in such a lazy and messy way that he had to have run his hands through his hair a dozen times before coming in here. He stands awkwardly, his weight off to his right and his hands shoved deep into his dark jeans pockets.
I decide that I don't like him, nor his intrusion, so I don't give him any more acknowledgement as I turn onto my side with my back facing him. I have one arm curled under my head and the other draped over my stomach. The boy stands quietly for a minute, probably unsure of what to say given my ignorance of him. I roll my eyes, not that he can see, before closing them in an attempt to nap despite his presence.
"Samantha, yeah?" The boy finally speaks with a slight accent, though I can't place it. Then his words click. He knows my name. I very specifically have not said my name to these people, and yet he knows it. What the hell? I turn over and glare at him with so much icey hatred that I'm surprised he didn't freeze on the spot. "I guess so, yeah?" The boy scratches the side of his head wearily. He's right to be weary, and he's lucky I haven't ripped his tongue out of his throat by now. "Look, my uncle, he just, he wanted to know who you are, y'know?" I don't respond.
"How'd you get all banged up?" The boy asks. Yet again I don't respond, I just turn back over and give him a good view of my back. "We did some research on you, but there's nothing about none of that in any records." No, there wouldn't be, would there? I think bitterly. "You're not in school, graduatin' early and all, so I doubt it's a bully." I try to disregard him, but I know he's already figured it out, he already knows.
"It's you're brother, yeah? He's been beating you proper, that's why he don't care to free you." I don't respond verbally, though a shock seems to shoot through my very core, and I'm sure it made a physical show off itself.
"My name is Sam," I snap, ignoring his comments regarding my brother. "Not Samantha." I roll over, swinging my feet over the mat, and slap them sharply on the floor; I shoot up and stand, my nose merely inches from his. "Your uncle has kidnapped me," I put an emphasis on each word, making sure he understands exactly what I'm saying. "You do not get to come into my cell and assume things about my life. You can, however, take your ass and get the hell out."
The boy shifts forwards and back again, biting his lips, as he eyes me carefully. "The name's Dominic," He seems to ignore me entirely, and his accent shifts. "I s'pose you're not wrong, since you have been kidnapped. But, in the same respect, since you are our captive, you actually don't have the power to kick me out of this room." I grind my teeth together and pierce my lips tight as I let out a huff of annoyance through my nostrils. "As for assuming things," the boy, Dominic, continues. "I know I'm right, and you do too. So why protect him? Why protect Micah? He's been cruel and terrible to you, he got my dad locked up, and you stand here protecting him?"
My mouth runs dry. He's right, but he's also wrong. I'm not just protecting Micah, I'm protecting myself too. If I admit to anyone else what hell my brother has put me through then I'm also admitting how weak I am. How easily I can be manipulated and taken advantage of. How powerless I have been, and continue to be, to stopping my brother from tormenting me. I can't physically stop him, I know that for certain. I tried once two years ago but he easily overtook me and snapped my wrist like a twig.
My right hand reflexively moves to my left, my fingers slowly circling the bone that still juts out ever so slightly. Physically I am powerless. I tried to tell on him one time too, but that failed worse than me defending myself. I had told my best friend, who then stupidly confronted Micah. Three days later his body was fished out of the river after his apparent suicide, and the bruises around my neck shone a dark blue and black beneath my turtleneck while my friends mother asked what went wrong, what did she do wrong.
Time and time again Micah proved himself to be lethal and dangerous, untouchable by the law, and by me. Dominic doesn't know any of that. At least, I don't think he does? Then again I didn't think he knew my name either, and he does.
My shoulders sag under the weight of my thoughts and I allow myself to fall back onto the mat. I ignore Dominic and curl into myself, not crying but blankly staring at the wall opposite of me. Dominic stands over me before walking over to the desk. He must have seen the picture. It already seems like so long ago since I drew it, but it can't have been more than fifteen minutes ago.
"This is pretty good," Dominic says holding the picture in the air with his right hand. He must be right hand dominate, since that seems to be his go to hand when talking and motioning. I don't answer. "I've struck a cord," he attempts to get a rise from me. Again, no response. I don't move my eyes from the wall. "Fine, don't speak. But you'll need me sooner or later." Nothing. "You'll get hungry and have to ask for food, or you'll need the bathroom." His words barely register in my mind. "Knock on the door when you're ready to talk."
With that he silently walks out of the room, clicking the lock back into its place. I don't move from my spot, I just stare at the wall blankly. I allow my mind to run clear of any thoughts. I finally fall asleep, still curled in the ball, without realizing that the stupid boy took the picture I drew with him.
(1110 words!)
(The photo is a stock photo, so I don't know who he is, but that's how I envision Dominic [just with auburn hair] But y'all can imagine hin however! ☺)
