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A small, secret part of me likes that Ruthie could be thought of as mine, though.
CHAPTER
THREE
RUTHIE
I wake up in the darkness with no idea of where I am. There's a soft pillow under my cheek, though, and I have a blanket. Already I know I'm no longer in the slave pens. I'm somewhere different, and although the thought makes me a little anxious, I'm cautiously optimistic. I don't know how long I've slept, but no one disturbed me while I did. No one pulled on my hair or touched my face. No one tried to grab me or shove me into a cage with a bunch of other human slaves. For the first time in what feels like months on end, I haven't slept curled up on a cold bare floor.
Maybe...maybe I've been saved after all.
I shove the thought out of my head. Hope is dangerous. Hope gets me nowhere but crushed all over again. Likely this is just a new, tricky danger that I haven't figured out yet. Cautious, I sit up and tilt my head back and forth, testing my headache. There's a little that lingers, but the worst of the drugs seem to be out of my system, along with the hangover. My mouth is a desert, though, and I have to pee.
The floor is cold under my bare feet, but clean enough that I notice the gritty dirt on my soles. I stand and search for a light source, but there's no wall switch. If there is, I can't find it. I run my hands along the wall, wondering if this is another sort of prison—just one with a bed—and the panic starts to rise again.
I trip over something heavy and leathery and stumble into a wall, a little yelp escaping me. Shit.
The wall across from me immediately slides open, and light floods into the room from the hallway. A large form blocks the doorway, hand on the doorjamb. "Ruthie?"
A moment later, the lights flare on in the room. I blink rapidly, trying to adjust to the light, my face scrunched up even as I take a step back.
"You're all right," he says, lifting a hand in the air. Then, he points at his face. "It's me, Kazex. Remember?"
My eyes adjust to the brightness and then I can see his face, really see it. He's not the handsomest man I've ever seen. His features are plain and strong, with a large nose and heavy brows. But his eyes are kind and spaced widely apart, giving him an appealing look. He smiles, and his face lights up, and I automatically smile back at him.
He points at the tattoo on his face. "Remember?"
I nod, licking my lips. I hug my arms to my chest, feeling vulnerable as I look around the room. It's a bedroom, with two beds set on opposite walls. One side of the room is a total disaster, and I apparently tripped over a huge boot in my wandering. The bed I just left is on the neater half of the room...and has a huge grimy spot in it from where I was lying. Oh no. I hope he doesn't notice that. "Um...bathroom?"
Kazex points at the wall opposite the door he stands in. "Over there."
I take a few hesitant steps toward it, not entirely sure if he's going to follow me in or not. He's hovered over me since I arrived...I think. My brain is kind of foggy but the few memories that drift to the surface have Kazex in them. Kazex carrying me here. Kazex letting me lean against his back. Kazex standing in front of me, protecting me from the others around us. Kazex bringing my hand to his face.
That stupid bubble of hope rises to the surface again.
I make use of the lavatory and wash my hands, dismayed at how clean they look compared to the rest of me. A quick look in the mirror shows my face, my eyes hollow and my cheekbones prominent, my hair filthy and my skin several shades darker than its normal beige due to all the dirt. I grab a disposable towel atop the sink, wet it, and start scrubbing at my exposed skin. I only have a filthy slave shift to wear, and I might get beaten for wasting water, but I don't care. It'll be worth it to get some of this grime off my skin.
It's several minutes before I emerge from the bathroom, and I inwardly tense, expecting Kazex to chastise me for wasting water or taking too long. Instead, when I return to the room, the bed is stripped and he's smoothing fresh blankets over it. He looks up when I reappear, his eyes brightening again. "Feel better?"
"I'm...sorry about your bed," I say in a near whisper.
He shrugs as if it's nothing. "Bedding can be cleaned. It's your bed, now. I don't need it." He finishes smoothing the fresh blanket over the thin mattress and then picks up a plas-wrapped bundle he had on the end of the bed. "This is a crew uniform. It's probably too big to fit you but you can borrow it until we get you clothes of your own."
