Her leg was cramping again, just as it had a few times during the car ride to Boston, but she hid it well. Why worry her new friend Kelly? The pain came and went like a light wave starting from just above her knee, then building as it surged up through her thigh, and stopping just short of her pelvic area. The bullet was still there, embedded in the center of her thigh same as when she had first been shot by that goddamn truck driver.
Why did he have to interfere? Why couldn’t he have just let me leave with Kelly?Czi gritted her teeth as she made sure the stall in the restroom was latched before reaching down into her pocket and pulling out a small clear baggie containing a dozen or so white pills with a label that read “OxyContin”. Peeling open the seal, she poured two into her palm and quickly popped them into her mouth before turning on the faucet to gather a handful of water to swallow. The woman stared at her face in the mirror for a moment, as she felt the pain killers slowly washing down her throat, and would -within several minutes- begin to dull the pain that continued to pulse through her wounded leg.
“You fuckin’ disgusting bitch…” Czigani mumbled, commenting on the dark circles under her eyes, the tired expression, dried lips, and general unhealthy feeling that she couldn’t shake.
She stood up straight and unbuttoned her jeans to examine the wound that never really went away and slid the copper zipper down, exposing pubic hair that used to be much shorter and trimmed, back when she had a life and a reason to take care of herself and respect her body. She’d barely ever noticed the small scratches and scars along her inner thighs leading upward toward her vulva that was since obscured by the mess of dark hairs, covering any signs of sexual abuse at the hands of corrupt and debased prison guards, and -to an extent- hospital orderlies. There was nothing she could do, no where she could go, and the only way to
survive where she had been was to simply allow it to happen. Allow pieces of her to be torn away by men who cared nothing about her as a human being, but rather a means to an end, seeing her as a “cop killer” and nothing more. Not a woman defending her people, not a girl lost in a sea of chaos, not a daughter of a family who was murdered by an unjust and prejudiced society. No. Murderers like her had no rights, not even to their own body.
Just as she slipped the tattered blue jeans further down her legs, both ears perked up from the abrupt and muffled sound of a female’s voice emanating from the far side of the dining area outside. A voice that seemed angry as it tossed a barrage of words toward another.
“Kelly?” She whispered, quickly pulling her pants up in order to fasten them again.
The restroom door opened, it’s squeaky hinges echoing through the small area, causing Czigani to flinch as she fumbled with the button on her jeans, followed by greater concern in her mind when she heard the lock on the door slide shut and sounds of heavy footsteps outside the stall she stood in.
“Come on out,
girl.” The male voice was low and husky, with a slight accent of unknown origin. “We need to talk…”
“How about you fuck off. Clearly you’re in the wrong restroom dude, so keep moving.” As bad luck would have it, the silver button popped off her jeans and went flying against the wall before plopping into the dingy toilet.
“Oh for fuck’s sake…” She mumbled angrily, turning to the stall door to unlatch it and give the asshole on the other side a piece of her mind. But almost simultaneously, the large man kicked the now unlocked stall door inward, cracking Czigani square against the face and causing her to fly back against the adjacent wall, blood oozing from the gaping wound across her bruised forehead.
The man lunged at the girl who was now sprawled out on the floor dazed, his large hands grabbing her by the shoulders and pushing her against the filthy tiled wall. She caught a glimpse of his face, which was chubby and rather pale, and his dark clothes -a business suit of some kind- seemed old fashioned and worn.
“I said we needed to talk.” The fat sweaty man's heavy breath was like death to the girl’s heightened senses, and even his tone of voice didn’t altogether seem
normal“And...you want to talk...here?” Czi slurred her words, partly from the blow to the head and the other from the onset of the Oxy slowly creeping through her bloodstream. “What if I had to piss?”
“Then I guess you'd have to wet your pants, so listen up
mahrime...”
Who was this man to call her such a name? She only ever heard her own people use this Kalderash term, a word she’d heard more times than she wanted. But she had no idea who he was, or why he came. Czi couldn't move, even as much as she tried, the man's iron grip against her neck and sheer weight was more than she could handle.
“Who the f-”
A sharp heavy hand flew across the woman’s bloodied face. “I told you to ‘listen’, which means I talk.”
Again, the woman tried to push against a force that was clearly greater than her own, and yet all her attempts fell short, until she finally allowed her muscles to relax and give in to her assailant. Her tired eyes finally met his dark and unreadable ones, which seemed more like windows into another dimension than physically normal eyes. The man’s chalky and expressionless face was mere inches from her own, and what should have been body heat generated from such a large and robust person, was cold and clammy.
“You need to leave this place. This City. Go back to where you belong and stay far away from the affairs of the unclean. Stay away from those who are not like you...” The man’s voice was heavy with an underlying sadness, subtle, but still there nonetheless.
“You have been warned
mahrime.”
@Xandrya
Fuzzybootz
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