Chapter 82

Realizing this was Luke's coat was a turning point. It produced a level of panic and fear... and a level of knowing this was the last fucking straw.

Obviously, panic and fear came first.

My mind repeatedly slammed into a wall. How? How did they have his coat? Taking his coat off, I broke down. I wanted to bang on the plexiglass and demand answers, but I was suffocating too fast. I rushed into the bathroom, collapsed, and buried my head into the armful of wool, sobbing and screaming.

This whole time here, I tried not thinking about Luke. My emotions would have gotten the best of me. Now, add on the idea... of him being in trouble, caught, or dead! They got to him; how else would they have gotten his coat?! The man I loved, the man I burdened, was probably dead! Because of me, a leach, dragging him too deep.

The pain... was unbearable. I really thought this was it. They got him. My insides felt battered. But beyond my muffled cries against the wool, my mind raced to new places. I had to recognize it wasn't a coincidence that I was holding Luke's coat.

I knew the game they were playing. They wanted me to have his coat, they wanted me to freak out, they wanted me to demand answers. They wanted me to feel like a big piece of shit – and believe me, it worked. I don't remember ever feeling this lost and awful. But my god, they wouldn't get away with this. They could mess me up, but I didn't give myself to this place for fun! I came in here to save Brooke, take these sickos down, and I came in here for Luke's future. I came in here for him and his family's future. And if these assholes think they are going to shit all over my purpose of being in here... not happening. This coat was breaking me down like they wanted, but it was going to come at a huge price for them.

I didn't know if Luke was in trouble. Maybe they purely stole the coat to get a reaction out of me. Regardless, it lit a fire under my ass. Because until this is over, until I am out of here and know where my man is, my anxiety for Luke will be through the roof.

That's right. This coat... it changed my agenda. I was still determined to lead the FBI here; that mattered the most. But after I make that happen, after I know the FBI will find this place, I could be selfish. I was no longer content with going to Russia and sacrificing myself. I needed to somehow get out of here and know Luke is okay. I needed to hurry too. After all, time is a ticking bitch.

***

"How are you feeling today, Albany?"

"Sexy and proud," I mumbled with a snuffed-up nose, making my 'supervisor' chuckle.

"Are you getting use to the way of life around here?"

I was. Time was a blur, but up until this point, I've had a few more 'sessions.' Yes, sessions meant getting face fucked with water. The past few days, I've discovered a pattern. I would have dinner with Reid, go through water torture, then go back to my huge bedroom exhibit. This stuff took its toll, but it was useful knowing a routine. I would need to if I want to be successful with my plan. Yes, that's right. This badass had a plan now.

That coat didn't just change my agenda. It changed everything. I had to think, brainstorm, and mentally survive. Staying strong was key. Even though I was still stubborn about not entertaining them... I learned giving in a little was worth it. Day after day of this, I realized there wasn't much more I could bare. Emotionally and mentally, I was bad enough. Tag on physical exhaustion and little sleep, I was declining faster. I needed to hold onto myself. So yes, that meant finally being myself.

"I'm sorry you're sick. Hopefully that cold of yours will go away soon," he said.

I swallowed the sting residing in my throat. "Hosing me down and making me freeze will definitely help."

"You know, a weak body and immune system commonly means the individual is mentally weak."

"Right, it's not like anything else made me sick," I said, making a point to look down at my soaked and cold body.

After just the first introductory hose-down this session, I was already exhausted. Slumped on the ground and enduring small talk, I just wanted to sleep. My bloodshot red eyes fell aimlessly to my wet blue skirt. I got very lucky with what I was dressed in today. I needed something with a tight waistband if I am going to pull this off.

Blondie with the clipboard lounged back in his chair. "Alright, let's get to it, Albany. Today, we are going to talk about your impact. Your value here compared to society—"

"Just stop," I groaned.

He raised a brow. "Stop?"

For the past several sessions, we would 'talk' about how I was a fuck-up in some form. Then, I would have two choices: admit to it or be hosed down. To say the least, I was constantly soaked (that's what she said). It was the same shit every time. Not today.

"When will you figure it out: I'm not going to admit to anything you say! Yet, we play this water game.... Is this honestly the best you got?"

"You're frustrated because you want something different?"

Kneeling up on the damp hard cement, I jabbed a finger in his direction. "What's got me frustrated is how pathetic this whole thing is. If you're going to torture me, then fucking do it! Instead, you do this water shit.... You guys couldn't get any more creative?" I spat aggressively. "I mean I get maybe once or twice, but when this is all you do, come on!"

"Our sessions will progress to other methods when you start cooperating and accepting yourself."

"I accept I was wrong about this place. I thought you guys were the real deal, but you're a bunch of immature boys. Hosing me down... and watching." I stumbled to my feet and turned, facing the long horizontal mirror. I knew I was staring down more people than just my wet sickly reflection. "Wow, how fascinating! Let's look at Albany get hosed down for the millionth time because it's so entertaining. Because we are so cool and have so much fun hiding behind a two-way mirror!"

Behind me, the guy spoke up. "Why don't you calm down and we can focus—"

"How many people are sitting behind here with nothing better to do?" I laughed, slapping my palm against the reflective surface. Thankfully, this was real glass. "For your reputation... this is fucking pathetic. Come on, you bunch of pussies! Is this really it?!" I threw my fist into the glass lightly. Then harder. Curling my same fist back, I started wailing away at the mirror. Again and again. "Oh let's try to brainwash her, feed her bullshit, and hose her down because we are such manipulative little bad asses. Congratulations, I have a head cold. Time to celebrate and touch dicks," I growled as I threw my fist over and over into the glass. Screaming, I punched the mirror harder, letting my lungs and fist be my release.

Then, I heard what I was waiting for. A cracking noise reached the air. My fist was throbbing more with each impact, but I didn't stop. The cracking grew louder. Then, the glass pieces shattered around my fist. Most of the mirror was still intact, but many pieces fell to the ground.

My dazed exhausted body conveniently fell with the glass, buckling back to my knees. "I've just fucking had it," I mumbled, breathing hard with exhaustion.

I heard some commotion behind the mirror I broke. My supervisor was out of his chair and yelling something at me. None of it mattered. With me slumped by the back wall and under the broken mirror, nobody could see. Nobody could see my arm propped up behind me. Nobody could see my sprawled fingers against the floor... slowly and nonchalantly curl around a thick glass shard. Nobody could see this was the real reason why I broke the mirror.

It pressed widely into the bottom of my palm before narrowing and I could picture the sharp triangle in my mind. It would do the job and felt small enough to hide.

I kept my front up. Breathing hard, my exhausted and wandering eyes narrowed up to the guy I couldn't stand anymore. He was standing, yelling, and was flustered. Tossing the clipboard onto the chair, he stuck his head out the iron door to shout something. In those few seconds, I managed shifting to a more 'comfortable' position, sliding my hand inwards towards my back. Then, I tucked the glass against the hem of my skirt. It was tight enough to secure it against my skin.

That session ended early for obvious reasons. Now came the tricky part – or so I thought. I'm usually escorted directly to my hairdresser chick after a session to change clothes and get cleaned up. Since I was not fond of the idea of hiding the glass shard in my vagina, I was ready to make excuses of why I needed to go back to my room before I change my clothes. Thankfully, since the session ended early, she wasn't ready for me anyways. I know. I got damn lucky things worked like I wanted.

Dripping wet and thrown into my bedroom exhibit with the other girls, I dragged my tired body past them and avoided their questions. I closed myself into the bathroom where there were no cameras – and no mirror above the sink, which was why I couldn't have pulled that stunt from in here.

Sliding the glass out from where I wedged it in my waistband, I noticed it punctured my skin slightly. I quickly dabbed away the few drops of blood where it pressed into my hip. And in that moment, I couldn't help but just stop and laugh at myself for wiping away a few specs of blood.

After that, I focused on why I came in here. The floor was just cement with a small white rug to match the white walls. Once I grabbed the roll of toilet paper from the holder, I made a point to sit directly on the white plush rug. I think it was time to finally add a little spice to this white and grey color scheme.

Crossing my legs under my soaked skirt on the floor, I examined the glass shard. It was a little longer than a pocket knife and had perfect sharp points. Pressing the wide base of the shard into my right hand, I squeezed slightly. It lined up perfectly with the long scar already embedded into my hand. Ironically, I received it from using a piece of glass to kill Vic. It's a funny world, isn't it folks?

Rolling up a wad of toilet paper, I stuffed it into my mouth. The last thing I wanted was my pain to be heard. My chest was moving fast against the black camisole I was wearing. But I had to ignore it and not think about what I was about to do before I leave this bathroom. I just had to do it.

Taking a deep breath through the balled paper in my mouth, I extended my left arm out in front of me. The tiny scar on my upper arm from where it was inserted helped guide me. Gripping the shard tight, splitting my hand open and hissing at the pain, I slowly pressed the glass into my arm.

Oh lordy, don't that feel just fucking great! My teeth sank into the paper. Puncturing my arm, a thin line of blood streamed out. Tightening my grip on the glass, hand stinging so much worse—ugh, my fucking hand! Holy shit! Able to apply more pressure with a better grip now, I pulled and cut wider, pressing deeper. The stream of blood on my arm turned thicker, flowing down and dripping all over my skirt and the white rug under me. It wasn't a huge cut, but enough to make a mess. Poor rug. Oops.

Though my focus was on my arm, all I could feel was my hand getting stabbed over and over. Redness seeped out from between my clenched fingers and added to the redness dripping on my skirt. I couldn't even feel the pain I was inflicting on my arm, my hand hurt so fucking bad! Fuck, fuck, fuck! But I stayed focused. I carefully widened the cut on my arm, whimpering and biting hard into the paper. I couldn't see anything under my skin; I didn't want to make a massive wound. For important reasons, this needed to remain just a cut and not a gaping hole. So, I had to feel for it.

The cut seemed wide enough. Happily, I dropped my glass knife to the rug. Zings of lightning pulsed through my hand, but I forced my sliced fingers to get to work. Lifting my bloody hand, I squeeze the skin under where I knew the tracking device would be. And sure enough, I could feel the implant. Biting harder, I pressed my index finger up against the device under my skin, hoping to push it towards the cut. It hurt like a bitch, like a nasty fucking bitch, but it moved. The implant moved in my arm and reached the lips of my cut. Thank god.

Hissing against the soaked paper in my mouth, I painfully pinched it from my cut and grabbed the small implant from the bloody mess. The dime shaped tracking device was out.

Spitting out the ball of paper, I quickly cleaned the device with my non-bloody hand. Glad the important part was over. Finding a place to keep it hidden would be just as crucial. So, until I find a better place to hide it, I wedged the small device behind the sink out of sight. It's not like I had much time at the moment to find a better place.

With a sigh, I sat back down on the rug with the glass knife. My arm was a bloody mess, my hand that caused it was a bloody mess, and my surroundings. The blue skirt had scattered small red puddles and so did the rug. By the end of this, both would probably be completely red.

Yes, that's right. Sure, my objective was complete: I removed the tracking device from my arm. However, this was just the beginning. I unrolled more toilet paper and stuffed it into my mouth. Ugh don't think, don't think, just do it. I decided to finish this arm first before I'd move onto the rest of my body. Picking the shard of glass back up, I cut into the skin just above my wrist. Then my forearm. Then more. And I kept cutting. Cut after cut after cut....

***

By the time I was finished, I wasn't just wet with water. Blood dripped from my limbs. It clung to me from where it absorbed into my clothes. Cuts covered my whole body. They were scattered on my arms, legs, thighs, even some on my chest. My head cold was nothing compared to how I felt now. I was lightheaded, and my entire body stung. When I stood up from the blood-matted rug – which now nicely added some color – I was also hit with a dizziness that nearly knocked me back down.

Don't worry guys. I wasn't ready to kill myself (shockingly not yet anyway). I didn't like doing that to myself, but it was crucial to cover up what I did. I needed to hide this tracking device somewhere here without these assholes knowing about it. What would look more suspicious: one lone and specific self-inflicted cut on my arm? Or a ton all over my body?

If I had stepped out of this bathroom having just one gash in my arm, there was a chance they would figure out what I did. Why else would I cut open my arm? They would have figured it out, searched for the device, and they would easily find it. So... I had to cover up my motive. It meant having them all over my body. Now, instead of being suspicious of me, they would see me as suicidal. This was obvious self-harm and nothing else in their eyes.

Not only was cutting my body a cover up, I could use it to my advantage. They would see my cuts as a sign that I was giving up on myself. That their words were hitting me. If they wanted to play me, I could use strategy and play them. Well, more specifically, I wanted to play Reid.

A couple hours later, I had the chance.

After I emerged from the bathroom, bloody with self-inflicted cuts, I was swiftly taken to a block of doctors' offices. They checked my this and that (I don't know), had me rinse off, and they patched up my cuts. My hairdresser chick was suddenly available. I had no energy to fight her when she wanted to wash my hair. Though grudgingly, she at least gave me more comfortable clothes. A tank top and cotton black shorts. Maybe she was sick of all the nice stuff getting ruined.

Then, I was escorted to the business section. Why? Don't know, don't care. Reid showed me this area before. The open and large lobby appeared. Unlike before, it was void of people. Also unlike before, I was dragged into the elevator by the reception desk and taken up to a room. Yep, a single large area. Though I was dazed and dizzy, I knew this had to be Reid's office.

Shockingly, I was left alone and to myself. The large office was lit by lamps, offering a warmer tone than what I've grown used to. The floors were wood, bookshelves lined the left and right walls, and there was an assortment of raunchy paintings along the back wall, all revolving around women. Under those paintings against the back wall, was a large desk. It faced outwards towards the elevator and a few chairs in front of it. None of that mattered when I saw the sitting area to my direct left. There were two brown leather couches and a chair angled around a coffee table. A standing lamp and a round table displaying bottles of booze was positioned next to the furniture.

I terribly wanted to explore. I wanted all the knowledge I could get. Unfortunately, I knew this was probably a test and I was being watched by cameras. Even still, the desire to lay down was too strong. Approaching one of the couches was automatic. Wincing, I laid down—

ZZZZZZZZZZZ

Ugh, and sat right back up. The sensation of pins pricked my skin thanks to the silver device on my neck. It happened a few more times before stopping a minute later. You know, in case I wasn't awake after the first zap! And just remember... every few hours, this happened. I didn't know if Reid showed sympathy – or if he would purposefully act sympathetic – but I guess we would find out.

To do that, I needed to fuck with this guy's mind. I needed to start convincing Reid I'm slowly progressing. Self-harm was a good first step. However, on top of that, I wanted him to think I was slowly coming around to him on a personal level. But I needed to be careful.

This guy was smart and being buddy-buddy would be a red flag. However, showing small signs of coming around would be realistic enough for him. After all, I was forced to associate comfort and safety with him. It wasn't too unbelievable that I would start giving into him.

If he sees my self-worth is drowning, sees me trusting him more, I could benefit. And yes, I know that before I tried appearing unaffected. I didn't want to entertain or satisfy them, make them think they were winning. But I realized if Reid saw me buckle under their efforts, it could help me – and be worth it even if they get pleasure out of it. His guard may go down. He won't be as careful. He will tell me more and trust me more. He will maybe show me more of the building, which would be a huge advantage. It will make my plan of killing him and escaping much easier. Hell, maybe if I'm lucky, he will unlock this thing from my neck.

Laying back down, I fell asleep. Not sure how long I was out; maybe 20 minutes? I just remember opening my eyes and seeing Reid was there. Unlike every time I've seen him, he was dressed sloppily. A plain black tee-shirt and sweat pants actually. He was sitting in the brown chair across from the couch I was laying on. Just lounged back, observing me. It was intimidating. How in the world could I play him?

"We cleaned up your bathroom," he said casually. "That was an expensive rug."

"All I wanted was to add a little color," I said, resting both my sliced hands on my stomach from where I was laying on my back. They hurt the most and were now wrapped in thick dressing.

"Was your hostility towards my methods, breaking that mirror, all a ploy? Simply an act to get a piece of glass?"

"No," I lied, looking away and staring up at the ceiling. "Just kind of... happened. Figured why not try to sneak it back to my room."

"I must say, this is... very hard to believe."

"I don't see how."

"You manage obtaining glass, which you could have used as a weapon. Instead, you just cut yourself and left the glass for us to retrieve."

Exactly. I left that glass in the middle of the bathroom. Even though it was unlike me, that gesture should prove just how much hope I lost. I'd rather cut myself (and leave the glass) than hide it and use it as a weapon. "Because I don't care anymore." It wasn't difficult to rant. Though I was spewing bullshit, my words did allow a release of anger. "I'm sorry cutting myself didn't meet your expectations but if you haven't figured it out, I'm not all about severing you. I'm going to happily rot away so if you're done being 'shocked' by the reality of my deteriorating mental state, I'd like to get maybe a fucking hour of sleep before I'm zapped again."

Since I've never showed signs of hopelessness before, it made it easy for him to catch my little 'slip up' in my words. He left his seat to come and sit on the edge of the coffee table, looking down at me. "I take that as we are finally getting somewhere with you. Happily rot, huh?"

"Anyone would rather rot than spend a minute with you."

Resting his elbows on his legs, he stared at me for a long moment. "Why did you cut?"

Jesus, why the fuck did he think someone would hurt themselves? For fun? He was digging for details, probably to feel superior. So, I stayed convincingly stubborn. I just rolled my eyes and looked away. I didn't admit being worthless during my sessions; it would appear too weird to him if I did now. Besides, the cuts on my body said it anyways.

After not getting an answer to boost his ego, he moved on. He raised a playful brow and spoke in a humorous tone. "So... is there anything I can do to make things better?"

Turning my cheek to the cool leather, I met his gaze straight on. I kept showing stubbornness because it was believable. But subtle conversation and playfulness like this would go a long way. And the scary part... it was easy. "More ass kissing to win me over huh?"

"You know it," he smirked.

A hum of genuine amusement left the back of my throat. "I just love that you openly acknowledge you're trying to manipulate me."

"Well, it only makes my efforts more genuine and real."

"You're so full of shit," I chuckled.

Though there was a second of surprise in his eyes, he happily accepted the lightness in the air. Elbows sliding towards his kneecaps, he leaned closer to me with a smile. "Full of shit would mean clouded motives. I'm open and clear with my motives."

I forced a sigh of amusement through my lips. "Yeah because you know I'm not stupid enough to believe you actually want to comfort me."

"What that means is I'm good at my work. I'll make you mine without blinding you."

You'll be dead before that ever happens. "I'll be dead from sleep deprivation before that happens, psycho."

He laughed. "I take it you're not a fan of getting shocked awake every two hours?"

"I don't know what you possibly mean, I love it," I muttered with heavy sarcasm.

"How about this. I'll be your savior and adjust the shock frequency for you." He gingerly laid a hand over where mine rested on my stomach. He looked over my cut arms and legs. "Sleep deprivation is necessary for your progression, but I can see you're mentally further than I expected."

For how exhausted I was, I had no idea how I managed convincing him to get me that kind of relief. I was blown away. I'm sure my surprise was displayed plainly on my face. He chuckled gently, searching my eyes. "I take it you would appreciate that?"

"I mean... I suppose I'll be okay with more sleep. It's not going to make me trust you anymore." But obviously, it would. And that was the reason he offered.

"I love your stubbornness. 'I suppose,'" he repeated, and traced his finger over my wrapped hand, which I finally shook away.

I didn't care that it wouldn't be fully removed. I would have a couple more hours in between being zapped! I would get more rest, be mentally sharper too. Ugh, I couldn't wait just to sleep! More importantly... Reid allowed this. Sure it was out of manipulation, but he wouldn't have done it if he was alert and thought it wasn't safe. His guard was slowly coming down and in return, he knew I would trust him more.

And for the sake of my plan, it had to happen. I needed the best possible chance to be successful. There was a lot I needed to accomplish. I needed to keep that tracker hidden, I needed to successfully kill Reid, and escape this place. To do that, to make my plan more solid, I needed more. More information, more knowledge, to properly craft how I'm going to kill him and escape. It would be easier having advantage (like more sleep) and Reid was already offering that.

***

The rest of that night, once I was taken back to my bedroom, I just slept. And slept. Reid had the frequency changed on my deadly necklace like he said. Instead of getting zapped every two hours, it was now every five to six if I had to guess. I could already feel more awake, alert, and focused. Now, I more easily calculated my potential options. Different scenarios of how to escape, when to do it, and what I would need to do to kill Reid. No matter how or when, there was a dominating factor. Which was this location. I wanted to know where I was going in this massive place. How I would navigate the halls, know where to go, where I would be able to most likely kill Reid. Hopefully tonight during my dinner with Reid, I could somehow steer the conversation in the direction of this location. Maybe find out more or maybe he can finish that tour—

"Did you hear what I just said?" she snapped, bringing me back to reality.

I was in the 'dressing room' with my oh so delightful hairdresser. Seated at the vanity, I faced the large gold-framed mirror with lights around it. She stood behind me, wearing a black straight dress with a small grey belt around her torso. Her brown eyes met mine and narrowed in the reflection of the mirror. I only now just realized she was done brushing my natural curls around my shoulders.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" I asked.

Sighing, she moved away from me and tossed the hairbrush roughly onto her vanity. It nearly knocked over the trays of make-up she just used on me. "I don't know why I bother with you." Running a hand through her highlighted brown hair, she walked towards one of the several closets. "Get up. I need to find you something to wear that'll cover up most of those cuts."

"If I were you, I'd try finding that pole in your ass first," I mumbled, standing and following behind her. My bare feet against the large plush rug felt amazing. Just to piss her off more, I wish I could have bled all over this one too.

I took a deep breath as I watched her open the long closet. Each closet displayed different types of clothing and were separated by color. This one had long dresses that reached down to the floor. She looked behind her shoulder to me, as if to assess my body to see what exactly to look for. Her bottom lip scrunched up as her eyes scanned me and all my patches.

I snorted. "I'm sorry cutting myself is such an inconvenience when it comes to finding me something to wear."

Ignoring my comment, she started with white and sifted through the dresses towards the pinks. And while I stripped my shorts and shirt off, in just matching bra and panties, I couldn't help but wonder... why was she like this? Why so annoyed? By the time she pulled a brown and creamy dress out, I knew I had to know. "Can I ask you something?"

"If it's not stupid, go for it," she said, half turning back to me as she held up the dress and studied it.

"How did you end up here? You work here so you must have been here for a long time. Long enough for Reid to trust you."

"Yeah I've been here... hmm," she trailed off. Pausing, trying to remember, her eyes got lost in thought. "I think I've been here nearly... 20 years? Yeah, its close to 20 years now. I'm one of the few that were sold to Reid that long ago and are still here."

She could be no older than 30. Fuck, she's been here most of her life. I pursed my lips. "Do you... hate it here? You seem really fed-up."

For whatever reason, she smiled to herself in amusement, as if enjoying an inside joke with herself. Then, instead of answering, she looked back to the dress. Deciding it was good enough for me, she removed the hanger and approached me. Unzipping the back of the dress, she smirked and finally responded. "What are you getting at?"

"You're always annoyed and have no patience."

Standing before me, she glanced up and searched my eyes more seriously. "Just with you," she said evenly. Then, she handed me the dress. "Put this on. You won't need a bra with this one, it provides support."

Just with me? After removing my bra, I slid the brown dress on. It had sleeves that stopped after my elbows. There were a good five or so cuts still exposed on each arm, but it wasn't bad. "Why just me? I get I can be a pain in the ass and make it difficult for you, but damn."

She moved behind me. Closing up the back of the dress with a loud zip, she sighed. "I hate... that they tried to find you. They cared for you. They tried to find you, save you, they loved you. Yet, they actively threw me away."

What in the world was she talking about and how the hell did we get here? Who was they? Fully dressed and ready, I turned around to face her with low brows. "Wait, what— Back up, what are you talking about? Whose them?"

She folded her arms and scoffed. "This whole time, you didn't ask my name. Hailey Prenta. Nice, not so nice, to meet you."

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I've been waiting so long to reveal this! And add in a few more little twists. God I just wish it didn't take me forever to do it, I'm so sorry. This month I got insanely sick for a long while and there was stuff going on every hour of every day it seemed. Every chance I had to write, I took it and am very sorry. Anyway, I'm just so happy to post!

So... What do you think? 😊