178- The Cage of Hunger
POV Elowen Grimwald:
Without access to sunlight, I imagined that two days had passed, because the woman—who did not answer any of my questions—returned with another plate of sandwiches… but I hadn’t touched even the first one, left there a long time ago.
Curled up in the corner of the filthy, ruined cage, hugging my own legs, I refused to eat or drink anything, just so I wouldn’t have to use that chamber pot.
No chance!
I had held my urine for so long that my urinary tract burned like embers.
Hunger ceased to be a necessity and became a state of mind.
After being punished by my father so many times, I developed the sad ability to deal with it.
“He’ll come today. If you want a chance to get out of there, you’d better eat.” For the first time, she opened her mouth.
“If I eat, I’ll have to use that chamber pot…” I whispered, my vision blurring with tears. All of it was humiliating beyond measure.
“I don’t know what my alpha wants from you, miss, and it doesn’t interest me, but if I may give you some advice, be honest and retreat into your insignificance. Breaking things and daring to defy him is worse.”
I closed my eyes, allowing a few tears to run down before giving in and stretching out my arm to reach the plastic plate that had been left for me.
“All right.”
“That one’s already old. Eat this one,” she interrupted me, swapping the old plate for a new one through the bars.
At least it smelled good. It was a creamy tuna sandwich with vegetables. I pushed the napkin aside and took a bite.
The moment I chewed, something ravenous reignited inside me. I shoved everything down my throat, not even stopping to breathe.
Before I could thank her, the woman had already left, but not before leaving me something else. Two small and most holy plastic bottles of water. Glory.
I grabbed one of them desperately the moment I saw it.
After swallowing the sandwich, my thirst had doubled.
I drank so fast that I choked and went into a desperate coughing fit. I struggled and, luckily, managed to hold back the vomit that threatened to expel that scarce meal.
A sad and ironic realization surfaced in my memories…
My father had already left me without food for several days, locked in a room that obviously didn’t compare to the filthy cage I was in now, but it was ironic to think that even the man who wanted me dead hadn’t left me dealing with hunger for so long.
I loathed having my body taken over by my creature, but I slept for a few hours and, when I woke up, I was in control again, without any sign of her.
Gone.
I tried to feel her or communicate with her, but inside me there seemed to be only the darkness of an emptiness. Alone. She left and gave me fever and humiliating mess as a parting gift.
Convinced that fighting the alpha would only cause me more trouble, I looked at my space behind the bars. The floor was covered in shattered stones, scraps of fabric, and foam from the torn sleeping mat.
Depressing.
I still had to deal with the mess my creature had made.
Even under pain and burning comparable to a beating, I forced my body to stand. Every stab in my muscles reminded me of the chaos my beast was capable of causing.
With difficulty, I leaned against the bars and dragged myself forward, my body bent. I gathered all the trash and threw it out, into the corner of the wall where the cage had previously been fixed.
I selected the least dirty scraps of my clothes, determined to use them to clean my filthy skin.
My situation was humiliating enough without remaining dirty. Every movement I made with my arm to get rid of the disorder cost me a moan of pain.
My bladder felt ready to explode, and the new chamber pot invited me every time I looked at it. A joke that made no one laugh.
I wondered what kind of shit I had done in life to deserve so much humiliation.
There was no way around it—it was better to empty my bladder already and then figure out how to clean that thing afterward. Shoving my dignity up my ass, I lowered myself over it and squatted.
Shit.
I almost burst into tears the moment I allowed myself to empty my bladder. It burned infernally, but it was relieving at the same time.
I shook my ass in the air to get rid of the droplets, my back in unbearable pain, then took a small piece of fabric from the shredded apron, from the little pile I had gathered, and dried myself.
Standing, bracing myself against the metal, I looked around, calculating how to get rid of that orange urine. If I dumped it on the farthest edge, the floor would absorb it. My nose had already grown used to the horrible smell of that prison—
it wouldn’t make a difference.
I gripped the edges of the white porcelain piece and poured the urine where I had planned. Luckily, the dark stones absorbed most of it, leaving only a damp stain.
I knew I wouldn’t be getting another bottle of water anytime soon, but I was disgusted by my own body, stained with mud and blood.
I dampened some scraps and passed them over my scratches, struck by the sharp sting of the unhealed wounds. The dried stains of mud and blood required strength to remove.
In the end, I was left with a pile of damp scraps, even dirtier, which were of no use to me anymore.
I threw them onto the trash pile in the corner of the wall as well, leaving me only with my chamber pot, a third of the water, an empty plate, and the bent frame where the sleeping mat sat in the corner of the cage.
My body was far from clean, but at least it was no longer completely stained with blood and mud. What remained, painted on my white skin, were bruises and scratches.
I used my fingers to untangle my long, dirty hair and tied it into an improvised bun.
All that tidying up cost my weakened body an enormous effort, to the point that I felt my eyelids closing on their own the moment I sat down, hugging my legs once again in the corner. I rested the side of my face on my knees and begged sleep to take me.
I ran away, thinking I would be free, but I was trapped again. I was going to sleep and, with luck, maybe I wouldn’t wake up.