One of the women looks over my nak*d body and says, “Well, at least we won’t have to wrestle this one out of her clothes.” They are chattering among themselves as they yank the blankets from me. They’re first generation, if the gray hair is any indication, though their eyes still sparkle with the vibrancy of youth. It’s not Gabriel who wakes me in the morning, but a parade of women. And I hear the click of a lock turning in the door. Is it because of me? Was he punished for making my escape down the hallway possible? These are more questions that I don’t ask. Beneath the thin white fabric of his uniform, I can see the shadow of bruises beginning to form. He turns to leave, and I notice a slight limp in his walk that wasn’t there this afternoon. Tomorrow’s a big day.” His tone implies I’ve just been warned of something awful ahead. “You might want to eat and get some sleep. If my brother were here, he’d tell me to trust nobody. I even want to tell him about my plan to escape-if I ever formulate a plan, that is.
I want to know where he came from, and if he’s planning on going back. I want to ask him what he’s doing in this awful place with its beautiful gardens and clear blue pools, symmetrical green hedges. And there it is again, that almost smile, hindered by the weight of things. He’s looking at me now, so I nod, suddenly aware that I’m nak*d under these blankets.
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