She awoke.

Her chest ached from the two hard kicks that probably fractured her ribs. She couldn’t even remember when they had kicked her. Was it the day before? Was it three days before? That was all she seemed to be doing: trying to remember.

She had a split lip, perhaps from a punch (or two). An eye bruised till she could no longer open it and streaks of wet saliva across her cheek. She was on her side, facing a flight of dirty concrete stairs and she prayed for help. That was another thing she always seemed to do: pray.

She couldn’t remember when she had last eaten or had something to drink, perhaps a week and a half ago but all she could do was assume because she never seemed to remember anymore.

What she could remember though was white blonde hair, she would never forget it. She lolled her head onto the floor, her eyes closing then one of her very few happy dreams appearing.

The white blonde hair. Now with lips. Thin, pink lips. With skin. Snow white skin. 

And then, she woke up. She found a palm just barely a hairsbreadth from her lifted cheek. 

SMACK!

And the torturing continued.

_____

“Let me ask again. Where is it?” His voice was a low, deep growl. She knew his patience was wearing thin but she had no choice but to answer, “I don’t know.”

SMACK!

“I- I can’t remember! Please- not now. I cannot-”

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