I hate being stuck in human form and completely powerless to even get out of this dumb glass. Everything in here is bolted down, probably because they don't want prisoners throwing things at the window, and I am not about to kill myself by hurtling my own body through it to see if it breaks. Without being able to turn, I would probably bleed to death, being that unlucky girl who brought down a shard over my neck or something, and still be stuck down here. A shriveled empty corpse to stink the place up.
That jerk didn't even let me eat like he said and my stomach growls angrily at the lack of having food since god knows when. I don't even know what time it is, morning or night, or how long I was sedated in that room considering there are no windows underground. I last ate in the day before sleeping in that damn tree, where all my possessions are, and I'm starving. It's no wonder I feel weak and shaky. I'm running on empty.
It's weird but maybe it's my years of being bossed around, held captive in a less than caring home, and treated like a reject at the hands of my so-called pack, but I'm not even afraid anymore. Being here held captive, I know that the worst will come with Juan, but even then, what's he going to do to me? He can't kill me or inflict too much pain, because his son will bear the brunt, and lord knows his legacy is always at the center of everything. He could do what he's done to Sierra, I guess, but it's not like she seems aware of anything and maybe that wouldn't be a bad thing. No longer tied to Colton, carrying this burden of heartache while he lives his life with that 'skanky Puta', maybe a long sleep will be better than stuck in a glass box for a lifetime.
I abandon the glass and get up to walk across the cold concrete floor on shaking legs. I need to lay down and finally get rid of the rest of this drug in my blood, so I can at least walk around normally and not feel like I'm on new-born legs. Maybe I'll feel better if I take some time to let it work out and sleep off the rest of it. My body is shaking internally, and I keep having minor bouts of dizziness which remind me I'm in no state to take on the likes of Deacon if I ever get a chance. My first goal before I leave this place, is to knee him in the balls, for shooting me in the back like a coward.
I don't get to the bed before the noise of the elevator whooshing open sways this way and I instantly stiffen, expecting Deacon to come back and grace me with his toxic personality and mentally try to figure out the likelihood of being able to kick him between the legs for the sake of it. I climb on the bed, turn around and sit with my legs dangling off the edge in readiness to give him more attitude and lure him inside to my perfect level of height, as I hear footsteps, and a lot of squeaking noises of wheels rolling across the hard floor, coming my way.
It's not Deacon, it's the doctor, and a female in a white lab coat too, and I frown as he appears in front of the glass door pulling the food cart and carrying a bag in his other hand, while she pushes another behind him. He waves at me before accessing the door and slides it open with a smile.
"My dear, we never fed you, and I couldn't let you go hungry down here in this inhospitable nightmare of a place. I brought you some clothes. They're nothing fancy, just the smallest size from the supply closet that I could find and a fetching shade of military grey." He pushes the trolley inside, the sudden smell of food filling the air, and my mouth starts to water with the reminder I'm near famished. He drops the bag just inside the door but hesitates about coming in, and I sit here waiting patiently. His female companion stays back, arranging some medial implements on a tray on top of her own trolley and avoids looking my way completely. She's young, maybe early twenties, and looks very white girl, medical student, human. Blonde, blue eyed, so definitely not a Santo.