Blood to Dust by L.J. Shen

night. I was just marking Day Four with my new chalk on the wall when he came down, bringing canned food, his ski mask reeking of weed. I’m not used to five-star hotel service, but at least Nate—or Beat—brings edible food and snacks to see me through the next day.
    “God’s girl, you’ve got fifteen minutes, yeah? Let’s go. I got a shift in half an hour.”
    I hated that he came for me. Then again, Nate is airtight and doesn’t let me budge. Maybe Ink would give me more space, and I could run away.
    “Okay.” Excitement pushed me up to my feet, and I strode over to him.
    “Keep your distance.” He manhandled me, poking me up the stairs from behind. “Beat said you’re a biter. Don’t make me crush your teeth.”
    Huh .
    Nate was trying to keep Ink away from me. I had a giddy feeling that I knew exactly why.
    When Ink strode into the bathroom with me, I raised one palm up.
    “Beat said I’m allowed my privacy in these fifteen minutes,” I lied.
    “Beat is not the fucking boss of me,” he retorted chirpily, bulldozing his way in. The way his gaze licked my body confirmed that just like his roommate, Ink was ready for some action. But in his case, I moved uncomfortably, my eyes searching the room.
    An hourglass moment pinched at my gut, telling me that Ink is just like them. A taker . But not again. Never again.
    It was the first time I was grateful for Godfrey and his threat not to touch me. Ink was the kind of guy who’d let Godfrey cut his dick off with a butter knife—slowly and painfully—before disobeying orders.
    “I need to. . .poop.” I cleared my throat. He winced, I noticed it even through his ski mask. This was not a part of the peep show he had in mind. His round belly wobbled as he chortled. “Clean up after yourself.” With that, he stepped out of the bathroom and locked the door from the outside. My stare lingered on the lock. Beat replaced it with a new one after I broke it the night before, and probably didn’t tell Ink, seeing as he hasn’t mentioned it.
    I got down to business, weirdly happy with the fact that Beat wasn’t here to witness me doing a number two, and even happier that he kept my attempt to run away to himself. I had a quick shower, after which I left the water running while I searched for a potential weapon. Again . But Nate wasn’t stupid. After my attempt to break free yesterday, he removed the towel rack.
    The towels were thrown on the floor.
    Groaning, I yanked out the little metal wire that held the toilet paper and tucked it under my dress. It wasn’t sharp enough to cause serious harm, but walking out of there empty-handed was admitting defeat. I knocked on the door from inside.
    “I’m ready.”

    Jittery, uncertain and conceited. Wants to be a tattooist but is too untalented to land a real job, so he is flipping burgers. Likes : belittling women, playing the tough guy and, well, ink. Dislikes : being talked back to, independent women and his life.
    He opened the door, his eyes moving up and down my legs. “You scrub up good, bitch.”
    Eat shit.
    “Thanks. You still look like rotten balls, even with a ski mask on,” I told him with a straight face, and he almost slapped me, but this time withdrew his hand inches from my cheek.
    Ink shook me by the elbow, pouring us into the hallway, and poked my back, more aggressively than necessary, on our way to the basement. That was Ink. He wasn’t layered the way Nate was: sorrow, remorse, ruthlessness, heart, street-brain and compassion tossed into a personality of intriguing chaos.
    “Who’s coming for me tomorrow?” I enquired before he swung the door shut.
    “Nate—er, Beat.”
    Nate.
    While I don’t want him to know that I’m reading his diary, the day I tell him his roommate ratted out his name is closing in After all, there’s no guarantee I won’t run away from Godfrey, and if I do, his life will be over.
    Ink swung the door open and rushed in, pinning me against the wall. He dug his