Alana sniffed at the half eaten burrito one of them tossed her. She was so hungry the last time, she didn’t notice someone just shit in a tortilla.
“I’m going to fight next time. Kick, scratch, bite. I don’t care anymore. It doesn’t matter what they do. If I just keep taking it, they could just let me go. Just open the door. Nobody would believe I didn’t want it because I didn’t fight.
“Maybe they would just let me go. They can’t do this forever. I can act like I don’t care, or that I like it, and they’ll get bored and let me go.
“No, I’ve seen on TV, that one in California, in Holland or some place. Years. They kept them for decades. Had them so afraid they wouldn’t try to get out. I’m not like that. Not yet. I think it’s only been a few days.
“I probably have diseases now. Probably not AIDS, but I have to at least have herpes. I have to be pregnant. No way I’m not. They wouldn’t make me have babies. I think the girl in Holland had babies. They wouldn’t be that weird.”
Alana wasn’t hungry, but she made herself eat the stale burrito. “You’re not stupid, Alana. You got a 2200 SAT. Frat boys are stupid. You can outthink them.
“A lot of fucking good that’s going to do me. I can’t get boys to do what I want. I can’t trick them. Can’t believe Dillon would do this. He seemed kind of angry, but this? This doesn’t even happen to people. It had to happen to me.”
Alana had trouble swallowing. Her throat hurt. She remembered why her throat hurt and broke down. “I hope they just bury me in the swamp. Nobody will know what happened to me, I just disappeared. I can do it myself. Wrap these chains around my neck. I know you can hang yourself just kneeling the right way.”
“Shut up!” she said out loud.
“Sara, I’m coming back for Thanksgiving. That’s less than three months from now.”
“You’re not coming back!” Sara had locked herself in the bathroom.
“You know how much I like our stuffing. We’re going to make stuffing together. I’ll see you before that. I’ll Skype you as soon as I get to the dorm.”
Sara unlocked the bathroom door. “You promise? You’re not going away forever like Tanya?”
Alana bit her bottom lip. Big sister Tanya was not coming back. Littlest sister Sara was eight, so “going away forever” sounded better than “died when her boyfriend crashed the car high on ecstasy”.
“I’m just going to school. You’ll see me all the time. I promise.”
Sara came out of the bathroom, tears staining her cheeks. “Pinkie swear?”
“Jesus, fucking sow. Figured you’d lose some of those fucking rolls by now. What fucking good are you?”
Alana closed her eyes. I will live to make stuffing with Sara. And I will live to be a hundred. And I will live to see all of these fuckers in their graves.