Warning: this section has mature content that may be triggering for some viewers. Read at your own risk.
I didn't expect to wake up the way I did much like I never expected to end up in my own story or end up powerless or end up fatherless at 13. There are so many things that have happened far out of my control. I even ended up without any dreams. I was hoping the moment I woke up, I would wake up in my apartment with the intense urge to visit the company.
The way my mom acts all the time becomes apparently small in comparison to this world. I must have it good compared to people here. The Feraad, for example, are much like my world's colored population. They used to live in fear before they were finally given rights like everyone else. The elves are much like the rich: spoiled rotten. It reminds of me of parents that never thought to teach their children the truly important lessons: the ones that matter. The ones that could change the world for the better. Elves think they have it good but when it comes down to actually doing something to make this world a better place, that's the moment they decide it's too much.
They were born with the idea that they can have and take whatever it is they want with no repercussions or consequences. I can't say I have ever lived that way. Not once have I been able to truly tell myself: "dang I have a very good life" because the truth is ever since my father's death, nothing has been right with my life. I wonder if my way home will be a lot like Dorothy in Oz. Will I be given magic slippers I can clink together? Could all of this be a dream? Honestly, if I am suddenly young again, that must be what it is.
Finally opening my eyes to the foreign room, I stretch, look up, and scream. I just out of the bed in my shock. There's a man, a fat hairy man sleeping beside me and he's painfully naked. My scream of horror must have woken him because he flinches up and the only thing that lifts is his head which he immediately puts his hands to. He must've hurt it, but why should I care.
I stand against the wall, still shaking with adrenaline coursing through my veins. The man looks up at me and grins. He finally manages to roll himself off the bed and onto the floor and I yell, "what are you doing in here?" Before I can stop myself. It comes out as a high screech and the man groans.
"Don't do that baby," he says slowly. I surprise myself by staying where I am. I must still be a child in my mind because I think maybe if I stand still enough, he will forget I am there. That would be nice. Maybe I could've avoided everything that happens next if I had just ran outside the room the moment I found him beside me.
He gets to me quicker than I ever thought a fat man could and I come to the worst realization. One, I wrote this book so this is my fault and two, this was a freaking brothel. This room was probably meant for people to—! I can't think about that.
I dodge the man before he can touch me and he groans: "Fuck, playing hard to get, huh?" Holy fuck, he thinks I am a prostitute. I rush out of the room and into the halls. This explains the sound proof doors. Who knows what people have been doing behind those doors? I can't believe I was so oblivious. Why didn't that bartender tell me?
I escape through the curtains and the bar is just as crowded as I left it. I hear a yell behind me and look back. The man had grabbed a sheet from the bed to cover his junk and waddled out to stop me. Was he insane?
He yelled: "stop her!" And the guards sitting at the bar didn't stop to ask why before grabbing me. I was forced to turn around to the fat man. Why they weren't asking him what the problem was, I have no clue.
No. Wait. Holy shit, how did I not notice?? Actually, that's a question I can answer for myself: I was running, not focusing on his ears.
To my horror, a few of the guards standing by fall to their knees. Who have I messed with? No, who has messed with me? I haven't done anything wrong.
Except sleep in a room that doesn't belong to you, my mind mocks.
The guards holding me force me to the ground as well. Someone from behind the Elf brings in his clothes and he dresses himself in front of me. Then he closes the distance and lifts my chin toward him. Elves are supposed to be painfully beautiful, but this man... he was beastly. It's no wonder he had to come to a place like this for his basic desires. I'm sure nobody wants him wherever he lives. His nose was rounded, his beard and the rest of his fur black and curly and I bet if I reached out and touched it, it would be oily and wiry all at the same time.
Then the man spoke in his gruff voice. "Give me what I paid for." I feel a fire of disgust brewing in me and try my best to hold in my temper. It would do me no good not to.
"You didn't pay for me." I say through clenched teeth. I see his expression change as if he is suddenly logical. I can tell he has evidence to prove otherwise but it is likely forged.
The hairy Elf lifts his arm and I think he will hit me, so I close my eyes. When I open them again, it's because I hear a piece of paper crinkling. A guard handed him and the Elf pushed it so close to my face that I could barely see what was written because my eyes wouldn't focus. It was a receipt. My eyes widen.
It stated: "Lord Enoch of House Stein's purchase of room 13 at Sleep N Dine approved."
I shake my head: "this doesn't have anything to do—" and it hits me: I slept in room 13. I don't remember seeing a number by a door, but that has to be the case.
"Look, I'm sorry, alright? I didn't mean it. I was pointed that direction to sleep."
The man laughs at my attempt at an apology. "And that you did. Now to finish what you started." He laughs at me, his dark coals for eyes sweeping over my body. I shiver, suddenly very insecure and violated.
I try to fight off the guards, but when when the elf unbuckles his belt for the second time that day and the bar is cleared out, I know I am doomed.
After Enoch was done with my body, I was tossed into a prison cell. I felt like my entire world was falling apart. Even now, even knowing both my book life and my real one, I still find myself wondering if either one of them is actually any better than the other.
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The cell is the same when I wake up a few hours later. My body is sticky from sweat, likely from the nightmares plaguing my mind. I feel clouded and my stomach growls. The best thing about rich people is the amount of money you have is nothing compared to theirs, so they don't bother stealing it. On the not-so-bright side, there's no food to spend it on here.
My eyes feel dry even with the extra hours of sleep. Was it because of how much I cried? Sitting here now thinking about all of my problems makes me feel selfish. There was Izzy and the others out there risking their lives for their freedom while I just sit here feeling sorry for myself. She's probably been through much worse. Me? I don't know. It's close to how I felt with what happened to my dad but, at the same time, it's not exactly the same. There are moments in both scenarios that I think it's my fault that it happened. With my dad, I knew the actual event had nothing to do with me but my reaction time was severely flawed.
With the Elf... I believe it was all my fault. If I had confirmed the place I was sleeping was, indeed, the place I wanted to sleep, the place I intended to sleep, I probably wouldn't ever be where I am now. I wouldn't be sitting in this cell feeling sorry for myself and hating knowing that I did this. I didn't want to cry again, but the tears just keep coming and a few hours later, they stop. I am still crying but it seems my body has run out of tears and my eyes feel drier than ever. Then again, I felt that way before and they were still able to flow. I tell myself not to anymore because I need to stay hydrated. I don't know when I'll be given water or food or anything at all. Suddenly I hear a knocking beside me, a loud clicking sound. I scoot over to the bars and hold them tightly, squeezing my face through it as much as possible. In the cell beside mine, there's a man. He looks extremely skinny, his ribs jutting out of his body in a very I've-been-starved kind of way. The only thing that covered his genitals was a scrap piece of cloth. The mans arms were strung up high and the lower portion of his legs sprawled on the floor like a long dead spider. Is he alive? I wonder to myself. What could he have possibly done to deserve such a fate?
Impossibly, the man's head lifts and it slams against the wall. He does it again. Again. And. Again. I yell out for him to stop and, surprisingly, he does. "Don't hurt yourself anymore!" He opened his mouth as if to speak to me but immediately closed it again. Could he talk? Was he too injured?
I try to start a conversation. "My name is Gracie." The man either doesn't hear me or doesn't care and after an hour of silence, I realize he has long passed out. Or maybe he's dead? No, I won't think that. I stare at the man as closely as possible, searching for any signs of life and see nothing. I eventually fell asleep and woke up in the same cell but this time there was food with me and a cup of water. It wasn't too dirty but it wasn't exactly clean either. Once again filled with dread that I created this world, I guzzled the water and ate every last bit of the bread. It tasted amazing but I guess anything could if you're hungry enough.
I glance back at the man and find he's staring at me, his dark, soulless eyes grasping mine. Then he bangs his head against the wall once more, making yet another attempt to end his torment.