Chapter 13

Chapter 13

She paced back and forth relentlessly, her heavy chain clanking noisily, beating out the rhythm of her fury. Despite her captor's determination that Naomi should eat his vile concoction, Naomi had held out, fighting so viciously that in the end, he'd given up, departing with the full bowl in a fit of rage. For a moment, Naomi had felt a brief, euphoric flush of triumph, but then the door had slammed shut and she was cast back into the darkness once more, her stomach aching with hunger.

Part of Naomi wanted to slump to the floor, to dissolve into tears, but she refused to give him that satisfaction, so instead she marched up and down, swearing, ranting, ruing the day that she'd ever accepted that bastard's ‘charity'. She still couldn't quite believe that he'd betrayed her trust so outrageously. She had put her faith in him, thought he was a white knight coming to rescue her, but instead he'd kidnapped her, imprisoned her. How Naomi longed to have a weapon in her hand, something she could bring crashing down on his head, to end this awful nightmare and propel her to freedom.

But there was no such salvation at hand. For all her pride at her defiance, Naomi knew that she was reliant on her tormentor – for food, water, medicine, anything that might make her stay here less grim. She noticed that he'd emptied, then replaced, the bucket that was used as the toilet down here, one tiny nod towards their comfort. That would be the extent of his ‘care', however, as this morning's altercation had proven. Any actual help, encouragement or solidarity would have to come from her hostile companion.

Casting another glance through the gloom in her direction, Naomi was taken aback to find the teenage girl looking directly at her. This sight came as quite a shock; even through the half-light, Naomi could see that this girl was pretty, with long blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, but that recent events had taken their toll. Her face was gaunt, her features and her eyes sunken. She was part beauty, part wraith.

The girl continued to stare, then reaching behind her, produced her own porridge bowl. Naomi was surprised, and intrigued, to find that it was still half full. Carefully, deliberately, the girl pushed it across the floor towards Naomi, signalling that she should take it.

From nowhere, Naomi suddenly felt choked with emotion. She didn't know this person, she owed Naomi nothing, and yet here she was, risking her own skin to help a stranger. Naomi felt tears prick her eyes at this simple act of humanity, of generosity, in the darkness.

‘Thank you, thank you,' she whispered, snatching it up.

Naomi was starving. She had to eat and, even though the grim contents repelled her, her will to survive now took over. She scooped a mound of porridge into her mouth, half choking herself in her desire to fill her stomach. Ravenous, she managed one more mouthful, forcing it down despite her overwhelming desire to retch, before sliding the remnants back across the floor towards the teenager. Her benefactor didn't take the bowl, however, leaving it where it lay, as she whispered, ‘My name's Mia by the way.'

Another sucker punch, Naomi undone by this friendly voice in the dark. As a tear crept down her cheek, Naomi realized how crushingly lonely she felt, how much she craved companionship at the very worst moment of her life.

‘I'm Naomi …' she stuttered in reply. ‘Naomi Watson.'

Mia nodded, managing a brief smile. Having been so terse and aggressive earlier, now the teenager seemed harmless and kind, clearly pleased to have some company.

‘I'm sorry about earlier,' Mia replied quietly. ‘But I knew he'd be coming and he wouldn't want us talking. He'd think we were plotting against him …'

Naomi took this in, unnerved.

‘But you're right, we should stick together,' Mia continued firmly.

‘I'd like that,' Naomi replied, her voice catching.

‘Me too.'

Another brief smile from the pale teenager.

‘Where are you from?' Naomi asked keeping her tone bright.

For a moment, a cloud seemed to pass over Mia's expression, but then she rallied, replying, ‘Woolston. You?'

‘Same,' Naomi replied quickly, breaking into a smile. ‘I don't remember you from school. I was at Weston …'

‘St Patrick's,' Mia wheezed in response. ‘Maybe that's why we got off on the wrong foot.'

Naomi let out a brief laugh. The schools were bitter local rivals with frequent end-of-term fights. She had witnessed a few over the years, standing in the B&Q car park that lay between the two institutions. Was it possible she'd rubbed shoulders with Mia before now?

‘Guess so,' Naomi agreed, smiling. ‘You like it there?'

‘Not really. Didn't bother turning up much beyond Year 7. Teachers hated me and I felt the same, so—'

Mia was about to say more, but now she broke into another coughing fit, rich, bloody and harsh, before eventually managing to master herself.

‘I'm sorry, I'm sorry,' she gasped, drawing air greedily back into her lungs. ‘It's so damp down here, my lungs can't take it.'

Mia sucked in more oxygen, hitting herself harshly on her chest, trying to dislodge the mucus that was strangling her from the inside.

‘If I …' she continued angrily, breathlessly, ‘if I could just get out of here, get a break from this place … It's been so long since I had any fresh air, any sunlight, anything that might help me get rid of this bloody infection …'

Naomi felt a surge of sympathy for Mia, but also a pulse of anxiety.

‘What do you mean?' she asked cautiously, her voice shaking a little. ‘How long have you been down here?'

And now time seemed to stand still, a desolate Mia taking an age before she eventually looked up at Naomi, replying bleakly, ‘I can't remember.'