I look down at my hand, as if double-checking he’s actually called me, even though I know who I am. When I see the big, black, bold 13 on my hand, my stomach clenches, and bile rises in my throat. Why did he pick me first? Have I done something wrong? Is he going to send me away, like he did with Number Six? Am I not enough? Am I lacking? Perhaps I’m terribly ugly. My brain feels like it’s throbbing, and I clench my eyes shut and try to remember what I look like. I can only come up with darkness. There’s nothing there. The guard steps forward, and uncuffs me. “You’ve got a matter of seconds to get into the shower, Number Thirteen.” I snap my head up, and I know my eyes are wide and alarmed. The other girls are staring at me with clear confusion and sympathy in the depths of their gazes. Yet I also see relief, as if they’re glad it’s not them going. I slowly force my feet towards the bathroom, feeling my heart pound as I step in. I go straight to the mirror, and my fingers curl around the basin. Look up. See who you are. I lift my head slowly, and I stare into the mirror. A pair of sky-blue eyes stares back at me. They’re empty eyes. Like the girl who is meant to be in there has left nothing more than hollow orbs. My hair is long, trailing down over my shoulders. It’s a light blond, but there are darker strands through it, giving it a streaked look. My nose is tiny and straight, and my lips are full. I lift my fingers, grazing them across my skin. It’s soft, and has a pink tinge. I look almost frail, somewhat like a doll that’s meant to sit on a shelf. Even though I’m standing, I can’t see all of myself in the mirror because I’m so incrediblonlso incry short. I go up onto my tiptoes, trying to study myself further. On my tiptoes, I’m still not tall enough to see more. I guess that I’d be no bigger than five-foot tall, at the maximum. I can see I only have small breasts, and a tiny backside. My stomach is firm and small, just like the rest of me. “Remove your clothes and shower,” the voice behind me barks. I spin around, covering my breasts even though I’m still wearing clothes. I gape at the guard standing in the bathroom with me, his arms folded angrily across his chest. He’s got a level of authority in his eyes, like he takes his job far too seriously. In the biggest voice I can muster, I croak, “I-I-I will, but you need to leave.” His eyebrows shoot up, like I’ve surprised him. He steps in further, his face twisting with anger. “Do you think we don’t know what girls can do in a shower alone? There are instruments in here that can be used to attack. There’re also things that can harm a human body. We’ll not risk leaving you alone to plot. Now get your clothes off, and get into the shower.” My skin prickles. He wants me to shower...in front of him? My head shakes from side to side as I take a few steps backwards. No, I won’t take my clothes off and wash myself while he leers at me. His face hardens as I continue to back up, shaking my head over and over, and giving him my clear answer on the matter. His hand lashes out, and his fingers curl around the top of my arm, causing a sharp, biting pain to shoot through my body. I inhale. “You will do as you’re told.” I squirm.

“Let me go!” I plead. His hand lifts high above his shoulder, fingers splayed, and he slaps my face so hard my entire head swings to the side. Warm metallic blood fills my mouth as one of my teeth pierces my lip. I cry out, feeling my legs beginning to shake as I brace myself for the next blow. It comes quickly, and the loud slap fills the room, followed by my broken scream. Then he leans down and he tears my tank off with a loud rip. My pants follow behind. Leaving only my panties on, he swings the shower door open and shoves me in, pulling the faucet on. Hot water comes roaring out, and it scalds my skin. My cries fill the room as I frantically try to see through my blurred vision to turn the tap back to cold. It takes me a few seconds, and by this time my skin is burning from the contact. My tears blend with the scorching water, my sobs drowned out by the hammering of the shower. I lean down, picking up the bar of soap, and run it quickly over my body. I don’t look back at the guard, but I know he’s still standing and watching me. I finish up, and step out, drying myself with the scratchy towel provided.

The guard thrusts some clothes at me. He’s not going to leave, and I can’t put dry clothes over my wet underwear. I put the towel under my chin, and desperately try to balance myself and keep it tucked under there while I drop my wet clothes, and pull on the fresh ones. I force back the tears as I fold the towel over the rack, and run a brush through my knotty locks. Then I turn to the guard, and he reaches out, snapping a new set of cuffs on my hands.

“Time to meet the master.”

CHAPTER FOUR

I try to take in every part of my surroundings, as I’m led down the long hall. I don’t know where it leads, but I count each room on the sides. Four on the left, two on the right. I catch a glimpse of what loon tks like a formal living area at the end, right before we turn into another hall that has a set of stairs at the end of it. We take the stairs up to another floor that’s open, and boasts a huge living area, a library, and a massive balcony overlooking the gardens.

Right in the middle of that room, imbedded into the wall, is a set of giant double doors. Two guards stand outside. My heart feels like it’s going to leap out of my throat as the guard takes me closer, stopping at the door and lifting his little communicating device to his mouth, speaking in a different language. I so desperately wish I knew what he was saying. A voice comes across the line, and it’s deep and husky. That man also speaks in a different language.