The ‘party-goers’ haven’t changed, except for being mainly naked now – the event is moving to full-on orgy. Certainly, no-one pays the slightest attention to me as I stride smartly out.
I check my watch: four and a half minutes….
I take my time, strolling through the canteen, exchanging a snatch of conversation, making a show of checking the rosters….
…Two minutes…
…. then continue on to the gate. Lucas is on guard. He’s alright, grinning as I pull a face and wave an empty cigarette packet at him. He hails me down, extracting a crumpled hundred baht note from his pocket and tapping at the packet.
I nod and agree. “Chı̀ buh̄rī̀ s̄ảh̄rạb khuṇ..” Yes, cigarettes for you…
And having exhausted my knowledge of the Thai language, I stroll out of the gate and into the town. Moments later, the sirens blare…
*****
Charlotte
Thirsty…
Hungry…
Beside me; a plastic jug of water and an aluminium takeaway tray, already opened, half-eaten: the remains of someone’s else’s meal. A fly floats motionless in the water.
Cara…
Fishing out the fly, I take a bare sip of the water, swilling out my puffy mouth, then spit out, gagging at the foul taste…
How long has it been standing?
?
?
Hungry…
I eye the food, my stomach rebelling…
I’ve eaten trash before now.
It’s food…
And I gobble it down, scooping it out of the carton with my fingers, sucking the fingers clean to get it all. It’s stale and stinking, semi-congealed in its container…
But it’s food…
Then, rice and soy sauce clot in my throat…
What if they drugged it?
Could I tell?
I wait, looking inwardly, analysing every sensation, every tell, that there might be more to worry about than too much fat and salt in the ‘meal’.
But there’s no growing muzziness… No spots behind my eyes…
I hold out a hand, looking for a tremble, then jerk it back again from the eye of the camera.
The water…
I’m so thirsty…
Is it drugged? Is that what I tasted?
Acting without thought, I take the jug, hurling its foul contents across the room. It splashes over the already clammy concrete then trickles to the drain.
Should I have done that?
Cara…
I’ve got to have water…
Master… Michael…
You’ll find me…
I know you’ll find me…
But when?
?
?
Up to me then…
*****
Bastards!
Can I reach the sink?
I’m sitting up, legs splayed around the swelling of my stomach, My back and buttocks are numb against the hard, chill surfaces of wall and floor. Stiff-muscled and with nothing to hold onto, as I try to stand, my body only rocks uselessly back and forth…
Michael… blue-eyed and laughing as he offers me both hands… hauling me to my feet from where I sit on the edge of the bed…
I’m accustomed to my body being lithe and athletic, doing what I ask of it without a thought. I’ve never had to plan how to stand up.
Knees crooked upwards and spread apart around my belly, my spine is pressed into the junction of two walls; the plastic jug sits to my left, the sink and faucet are to the right.
Reaching for the jug, I pass it from one hand to the other and then place it on the ground towards the sink.
Jammed into the corner, trapped by my own stupid position, I can’t move sidelong. Bracing my legs, I try to push myself upright, to slide up the corner, but my betraying body won’t let me do it.
How to do this…
Rocking back and forth, bit by bit, my momentum builds until, abruptly, I tip forward…
At the last moment, I fling out hands, trying to protect my belly, landing on all fours, face forward, palms stinging where they slapped against the concrete. My knees are scraped and bruised. Pain stabs from my ankle where the steel fetter bites in.
But my stomach is safely supported, suspended above the ground.
Do I need to stand?
Maybe not….
Revolving, making an awkward circle, I crawl towards the sink…
And the chain clinks tight. I’m at full stretch and I can’t reach it…
Fuck…
Now what?
The plastic jug clutched in one hand… carefully I lie down on my side, arm outstretched, straining against the gnawing at my ankle…
Nudging the plastic with a fingertip, making sure I can still curl a finger around the handle, I station it under the drip-drip of the leaking faucet.
Will it be enough?
Five minutes later, a bare mouthful has accumulated, and I gulp it down like the nectar of Paradise before pushing the jug back into its station under the leak.
What’s next?
*****