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She’s humming to herself and smiling. Walking over to me, she pulls up a chair. My body’s shaking, I feel as though I’m freezing. I need just one taste, one hit.
    Why am I here? Was I being held hostage?
    “I came to shower you. I warn you, though… you try anything funny, I will hurt you!” She leans back, putting her foot on the edge of the bed. I nod my head, and she smiles and stands. She unties my feet first while humming to herself again. She has a key between her breasts. She smiles down at me and clicks the lock on the cuffs. She’s so close when she reaches over to do the other hand. That’s when she smelt me and coughed, trying to stop herself from gagging.
    “Can you stand?” She towers over me. She looks massive, but it could be just the position I’m at on the bed. But nothing makes sense to me, I don’t even know where I am. I nod and swing my legs to the side. Attempting to stand—nothing comes—my legs feel dead as if they aren’t my own.
    She’s watching me, leaning down she hoists me up. I’m thankful because there’s no way I could have gotten far without her help. She walks me to where he takes me to the toilet. Instead there’s a single shower cubical. She reaches over and flicks it on, then pulls away from me, placing my hand on the bench to steady myself.
    “I have clothes for you. Shower and get rid of that smell.” Her nose is turned up at me. I can’t smell myself, though I’m sure I smell like sewerage, or possibly worse.
    My feet are heavy, my body feels like a lead weight. I don’t want to move from the sink I’m leaning on to move to the shower. I’ve been sleeping for days and haven’t seen myself in a mirror for as long as I can remember, so I turn my head back and take a glimpse. What I see—I don’t recognize that person staring back at me at all. She doesn’t look like me. Her face is sunken in, and I can see and feel the tremors taking over my body. I want the solution to rid myself of this pain, I want the high the Meth gives me and that my body craves. But I also feel ravenous and my mouth’s dry. My gums even hurt. I snap my head away from the mirror, not wanting to look any longer.
    I hear footsteps as I remove my dress. It feels bulky, my arms not wanting to participate. I drop it to the floor, and I hear the brunette’s voice. She isn’t looking at me, her back is to the door. She has a slight smile on her face, I can just make it out by the twitch of her lips, and her eyes roam to whoever it is she’s talking to.
    “Yes, I’m showering her,” she says then looks back to me. She rolls her eyes, smiling slightly. I step in, my feet wanting to give way and collapse to the floor, but I manage to stand in the same spot for a few seconds, letting the warm water cleanse me before I finally succumb and drop to the floor. Her head pokes around then, checking on me, and when she sees no sign of anything she disappears again, her voice resuming. I can’t hear who she’s talking to, and I can’t see who it is either.
    There’s watermelon shower gel, so I squeeze some onto my hand. Washing under my arms, I feel hair there. I mustn’t have shaved for weeks. Where did those weeks go? What was I doing in all that time? I hardly recall anything. I just knew it was bliss, the bliss of having no worries.
    I move my hand downward, washing my most sensitive areas. It’s hairy there too. I shake my head. I don’t need to worry about hair, who cares if I’m hairy or not? I sure as shit don’t.
    My head feels sore, my legs sting. I turn slightly to see where the sting is coming from. I have a large gash on my leg and a bandage is covering it. It’s healed, but just barely. It fell off as I continue to wash myself, my skin feels terrible. I don’t recall it ever feeling like this. My hand runs down my side, feeling the dryness that is there, roughness, the softness of my skin has vanished, and what replaces it feels like sandpaper. I open my mouth under the