Victim, Darden Hext [best books for 20 year olds TXT] 📗

Victim


Vomit projected all over the bed, and herself, in an awakening and shocking moment of sudden consciousness. She gasped for air after the second round before even getting a chance to breathe between. Trying to roll over, her body was still numb from sleep paralysis and her arm had lifelessly slammed against a nearby wooden dresser piece. She yelped in pain with a groggy voice and groaned as she tried to sit up.
Her head was throbbing, her eyes uneasy to open and she felt like crying. Traces of despair were retained in her thoughts overnight, or however long she had been asleep. When she was finally able, she mobilized her aching and half-naked body to the restroom. She was in some sort of loft with minimal possessions available to her. Her feet slapped on the tiled floor as she made her way to the bathroom--holding on to the wall with still a blurred vision and knocking over a few objects in the dimly, moonlit room.
The bathroom light flickered on and she immediately tried to consume water from the faucet, gasping and fighting for whatever she needed more between water and air. The water splashed on the mirror in front of her and tried to wipe it with a nearby hand towel. She stood looking at herself in the mirror in only her bra and shorts. Her blond hair was crumpled and frayed in many different parts and her eyes had heavy bags beneath them and red lipstick was smeared across her face, no, not lipstick--blood. Her head was still spinning, her lips were blue, cracked and dry and she could not think of what to do until she spotted some of the vomit still on her chest and stomach. She had begun to wipe it off when she felt an immense amount of pain on her abdomen. She looked down and saw a large blue and yellow bruise. The discoloration spread all the way to her right side.
The heart in her chest began to palpitate as she rushed back to the bedroom and her eyes were starting to water. She tried to vocalize words as if she had not spoken in days. She made it to the bed and there was some old blood stains. She looked at the small, wood dresser next to the bed and saw an ashtray with a couple syringes in it. Her face tingled; whether that was more sensation coming back or her nerves tingling, she could not discern, but looked down at her arms. The joint on her left arm, by the elbow, was very discolored with what appeared to be three puncture holes. It seemed as though a vein had been broken. She touched it and it was extremely tender. More tears fell from her eyes and she was able to vocalize more sound as she succumbed to more pain while an ominous and brooding feeling enveloped her.
She started to lose her strength in her legs again as she bent over on the bed, gripping her abdomen from the pain. The pain doubled as she tried to roll on the dirty bed. She cried on the only clean pillow available for a few minutes.
Victoria, what have you done? Her mouth finally got its moisture back and her legs felt strong enough to walk on. She looked around the small room and saw some of her clothes littered on the floor, a hole in the wall as if something or someone had hit it with a large object, a suitcase and an opened, brown paper bag. She went to the paper bag and dumped out a small plastic baggie and another needle--it still had a protective cover on--unused. Her hands quivered and she caught sight to a pink cell phone on the floor. She crawled to it with haste and pressed buttons to wake it up from the black screen, but there was no charge. She looked around for a charger and went to the suitcase. It was already unzipped, supposedly a suitcase she owned, and went through it. There were clothes that looked like they would fit her and to good taste, but no charger. Flustered, Victoria pulled some clean change of clothes that she could put on after a shower. For some reason, she felt so dirty. She felt so desecrated, so burdened.
Victoria rubbed her stomach, feeling hardened knots in her abdomen where she was bruised while the shower was running to get warm. It was painful, tender, but it felt like it was going to bring back something--a memory of some sort. She could feel the fragments of her last conscious thoughts floating around her head. Trying to think of the date, Victoria could not remember. It felt like June, but it could have been July. The thoughts of months came to her in a numerical format and they all cycled through her head, not able to strike which one it could possibly be. She figured after the shower there would be a better chance with a clear memory, maybe even some food.
Hot water poured down her body, like tiny wet fingers patting against her skin and then running down her body from the shower head, relieving her of all the stress and worry as she sobbed. As her sadness left, her anger grew and silhouettes of people she knew slowly carouseled around her mind, trying to recognize their blurry faces as they slowly took shape.
Washing made her feel better, less dirty, but there was that lingering emotion of seclusion and helplessness. She was left in the dark about something. Victoria donned the change of clothes and searched the bedroom again for an idea of where she was. Every time she looked at the door, she knew it was the exit and it frightened her. Something about leaving the room made her feel very uneasy, she didn't belong where she was and she didn't feel safe leaving either.
There was a window on the far well, several feet from the right side of the bed next to a cheap "still life" painting on the wall. Victoria pulled the curtains and peered through the window. The city streets were far to the ground and the night canvas mocked her pain when the stars glimmered like needle punctures in the sky.
Victoria rubbed her arms, looking for a sense of comfort, then her legs. Her hands caressed a protrusion within her pockets. She dug out her pockets and found a receipt and some money.
Thirty dollars, she thought. This receipt must be for this room. Why would I pay to sleep here? She checked the receipt and saw the date; March third. Today must be the fourth. An image of her boyfriend came to mind, an unpleasant one.
Her heart picked up in pace again, racing to to answer as if the brain were not working fast enough already. She walked back and forth from the window to the bed, pacing with agitation. The syringes caught her eye again and she boiled up a scream. The scream could curdle the blood of anyone next to her. It was a savage scream. The kind of scream that let's everyone know that there was no other thought of what to do.
She followed her scream of rage with actions as she tossed the dresser with the syringes and pulled all the sheets off the bed in a violent manner. If the whole room could be tossed, she would make the floor meet the ceiling, but what was there sufficed to reside her anger. Breathing heavily, she sat on the bed contemplating leaving when the door made a clink sound before it slammed open. The hinges squeaked before the doorknob penetrated the wall on the other side. The door's momentum reversed slightly as chunks of drywall crumbled to the ground.
"Hey you need to pay for last night. You want extra night, you have to pay. You were not answering the phone." A tall, dark haired man dressed in casual clothes stood spanning the doorway with his arms up.
Victoria sank back and gasped, not knowing what to say, "What are you talking about?"
"Don't play dumb with me you whore, I know what is going on when I see it in my motel! I'm not stupid," saliva spat from his mouth as he shouted.
"Whore?"
"You come up here with two different men and then another comes after they leave?"
"Men?" She looked away trying to picture it in her head to see if she could remember.
"And what are those," he points at the syringes on the ground.
"It's not what it looks like," her forehead wrinkled with worry.
"Then tell me, tell me why I shouldn't call the police right now!"
"No! Please don't! I-I don't know why I am even here! I don't know those men!"
"Drugged out of your mind, I see."
Victoria shook her head, not knowing what to say. "I can pay later? I can."
The man shook his head, "Now."
Her hands started to shake as she pulled the money out of her pocket.
The man approached her and snatched the money and quickly counted it, "I am giving you two minutes to get out of here, then I am calling the police," the man closed the door behind him.
Victoria scattered to the suitcase and looked through it before she decided to dump everything out. There was nothing in there of use. She grabbed her cell phone and a light, purple sweater that was on the ground across the room.
Men. Men were with me? Three of them? I don't understand. Did I know them? Victoria hurried out the room and into a hallway. The corridor contained many other doors to other rooms. Left or Right? She started right, vomited on the ground and then went left instead. She walked to the end of the open corridor and ended up outside. 'Motel Place Seven', Victoria read the lit sign advertising the horrible room she woke up in.
The air was cold and crisp, but not too cold. The sky was getting a bit brighter, the sun must have been coming up soon. Victoria made her way to a convenience store. She bought some gum to get the taste of vomit out of her mouth with the rest of the money she had left over after the man took it all, but she had pocketed a honeybun and a banana as well as a cell phone charger.
Victoria devoured the food in seconds and popped a piece of gum in her mouth. She began crying again as she felt the pain on her abdomen. She felt cold, chills and still disoriented. She made her way to a fast food restaurant where it would be warmer inside and had an electrical outlet. She plugged her phone in and was relieved to hear the beep as it powered on. The welcome screen showed she had many missed calls, several texts and a few voicemails and the date.
March sixth?! I was in that motel for three days?! Victoria's throat tightened and her head still felt swollen.
She began to see the recent calls list. The last one was an outgoing number she didn't recognize. The rest were to Frank, her boyfriend; the love of her life, the man she never wanted to lose--Frank. He picked up the phone at least once from the calls she made to him, but then ignored the rest.
Victoria checked the texts which predated the motel, the last one of which was post-conversation on the phone with Frank where some vital information was missing: