Chapter 63: Any Friend of Zariah's
*Zariah*
This bed is a lot more comfortable than the concrete one I woke up in last time, but as I try to move my arm to brush my hair back away from my face, I realize I can’t.
My arms are chained to the headboard.
Grimacing, I open my eyes. At least I really am in a bed this time, though the room is nothing to write home about. The wallpaper, pink, floral with white bunnies on it, is peeling off of the corners, and it’s so faded, I think that this must’ve been the room for a little girl who could’ve been a contemporary of my grandmother.
Her bed is small, but again, at least it isn’t the dirty floor of a shed. I can’t really open my eyes yet to see much else. The sun is streaming in through the dirty windows, and even though the beams aren’t that strong because of the dust, my head hurts so bad from all of the drugs and being hit over the head, all I can do is squint.