The day started out the same as any other. I bathed without washing my hair. His friends didn't like touching me when I wasn't "human-looking". The grunge was my defense, as usual. My hair had started to almost dread in some places, and the whole tangled mess fell to about my waist. I haven't cut it since I was seven. Nine years ago. Felt like eternity on some day—like only yesterday on others. The voice gave a quiet yup in my head, agreeing with me. The only thing I learned to trust was the fact that I wasn't getting out of this.

Bobo—my nickname for the 6 foot 3, body builder of a guard—shuffled along in front of me, grumbling about being in charge of "the little monster". I may be 16, but malnutrition and genetics has dealt me the hand of being short for eternity. 5 foot flat, according to my last "medical examination" performed by someone playing doctor. His friends were knowledgeable and maybe even knew what they were doing, but in no way were they certified. If they were, it was a shock they hadn't lost their certification yet. Then again, no one knew what they did to me. No one knew if I even existed anymore. Everyone probably thought I was dead.

Bobo opened the heavy door with a grunt to my locked cell. I scurried past him, continuing to act like a scared little girl. I expected to hear the sound of the door scraping shut behind me but didn't. I stood stock still staring at the far wall. After an eternity that lasted but a minute, Bobo spoke. "There's a dinner thing tomorrow. He want's you... presentable..." his voice was loud in the quiet of the warehouse. He mumbled something else under his breathe, slammed the door, and walked away. After his footsteps faded, the voice in my head spoke up.

You gonna use soap tomorrow? it asked in its quiet way. I shook my head and then after thinking about it a little more, I slowly nodded. "He's likely to do something if I don't. Probably painful. You know where the hair brush is?" I asked in a raspy whisper. Over the years, either from limited use or the experiments, my voice has gained a harshness to it. No amount of water soothed it and Mommy wasn't here to give me honey. The voice's answer was more felt than spoken. I walked forward in my darkened room towards the mass of boxes. Some full, some empty, some crushed and flattened; this is what I had for a home since the fire. When I reached the first box, I counted them off heading left. 1...2...3... there, fourth one over and one behind. sticking my hand into the cardboard box, I swished it around, trying to feel out the brush. It was missing half of its bristles but it would work.I sat down on a full box for a seat and got to detangling the mass of curls that wanted to become one. The sound of hair ripping from its roots filled the silence. The only help was that my hair was still wet and I had all day and all night.

Time passed and finally I could pass the brush through my hair without catching it. I gathered it over my shoulder and tried to remember how to braid. It's been a few years since I last braided it. Mommy's humming came back to me. She would always hum while she played with my hair before school. I loved the feel of her hands in my blonde curls. I started humming under my breathe, the voice reciting in my head over and under, over and under, over and under in time with my hands. When I reached the end of my hair I sat there pinching it, lost on what to do with end of it. I was close to just undoing it all when a knock on my door surprised me.

Before I could decide if I wanted to hide or not, the door swung open. I squinted, trying to see who was at my door. "Dinner" was all the visitor said. The voice in my head put a name to the person in front of me. "Marcus". The name slipped out of my mouth before I could stop it. I slapped a hand over my mouth in a vain attempt to take it back. For the last two years I've not said a real word in front of them, just the occasional grunt, and I've never repeated their names. I knew some, but they never bothered to introduce themselves to me. The ones I did know, I had picked up from eavesdropping during the first couple years.

Marcus had made a sound of slight surprise but said nothing else. He stepped inside, placing the tray precariously on the edge of a nearby box. Others usually drop the food on the floor without taking a step in. He was one of the more... personable captors of mine. He didn't join in on giving me medicine or punishments. When I had seen him outside my four walls, he was usually engrossed with computer codes. Marcus switched weight on his feet, looking like he wanted to say something but couldn't quite get the words out. Finally he pulled something off his wrist and held it out to me.

I looked down at his hand in surprise to see a rubber band. I looked back up at his face, not quite able to see his eyes with my poor vision. He didn't seem to be faking in sincerity. Slowly, with much hesitation, I plucked the band out of his hand, careful not to touch his hands. His face shifted slightly, in what looked like a small smile, but still a little off. "You're welcome" he spoke softly before turning around and heading out my room. He eased my door shut behind him.

I stared at the door, holding my breath, waiting. Waiting for what? I don't know. The voice in my head stayed silent as well. My arm got stiff from holding the rubber band out in front of me. I pulled it into my body, still looking at the door. I grabbed my braid, finding the bottom where it was mostly intact, and slipped the band over it. I layered it again and again, making it tight. Still, I sat and waited, watching the door. When my stomach rumbled I let out a sigh and got up to get the food before it got too cold.

You're happy? Why are you happy? The voice in my head asked, sounding puzzled. I didn't have an answer.