Megan suddenly awoke to the sound of a horn blaring. Her vision was foggy, her arms felt heavy, like lead. She felt the cold floor pressed against her bare buttocks. Great. Once again completely naked. It was becoming a familiar feeling. She tried rubbing her eyes but her knuckles felt odd, too perfectly round and cold. Slowly her vision cleared, and she was greeting by 2 metallic orbs where her hands should have been. Megan jumped in her seat, startled by the unexpected absence of her palms and fingers. But she could feel them moving. Taking another second, she realized her hands were encased in round metallic 'gloves', large enough that she could comfortably extend her fingers or ball up into a fist, and loosely cuffed around her wrists. She tried prying them off, but she found her metacarpals to be slightly larger than the opening. Fuck.
The room was well lit. Megan suddenly became aware of the curiousness of her surroundings. The metallic walls and ceiling had an odd, repeated beveling to them, the kind you see on garage doors and shipping containers. The room was rather poorly furnished, a single twin bed consisting of a military cot and no blanket, a fridge, a lamp with a stack of books and some essential travel toiletries, a wooden chair, a removable shower head on the far side, and a toilet. Under the makeshift showerhead lay a naked, sleeping figure. Megan let out an annoyed sigh.
"Hey dipshit. Wake up," she called, resigned to reality. Harry's peacefully sleeping, drooling face was becoming too common a site, especially first thing in the morning. "I guess you're a lightweight against their sedation drugs huh."
At this comment, Harry snapped to attention.
"What? Who's there?" He sat up shaking his confused head. "Where am I?"
Megan ignored him and walked over to the military cot to lay down. A shipping container. Her mind slowly sorted out the possibilities. The horn was too loud, too long to be a car or a truck or any road vehicle. In the momentary silence she could make out the faint squawking of seagulls, the overlay of white noise probably from a large body of water, waves, an ocean. They were on a ship. She bolted upright to hug her knees, bearing down on her chest, trying her best to suppress the hot whips of panic. You're on a boat, going out to sea, in a shipping container, naked, shackled, captured, enslaved. Her thoughts took off, tracing and retracing through what felt like the last day. It was all real. It was all final. The oppressive hopelessness suffocated her, choked her, stole her voice and her strength and her tears. She curled up into a tighter ball, gasping for breathe.
The second Harry recognized Megan's figure, curled up on the cot, he froze in terror. Why was she here? Why were they together? This wasn't supposed to happen. The guilt and shame and regret seemed to strangle his agency, and he stood there dumbfounded. "She's here because of you," Harry said to himself, feeling the significance of his sin rush through his blood, infecting him. She seemed to be struggling, choking, drowning. Should he help? It felt wrong, as if his touch would be disgusting, as if his hands would burn her skin, would drain her blood, turn her into a demon. Harry felt evil. He stumbled backwards and sat down, his own strength waning against the force of his conviction.
The sound of Harry clambering and falling brought Megan back to reality. She turned around to look at him. His face was pale, almost green. A bead of sweat dripped down his forehead. It wasn't remotely warm in the room. Something was wrong with him. He stared back at her vacantly, the light in his eyes gone, as if his soul and abandoned his pupils in terror, and was hiding in the recesses of his brain, in the dark. As if it was hiding from her. Megan knew what was wrong. She slowly stood up, mustering all of her strength, and walked over to him. His eyes followed her.
"Harry, I need you to come back here. Just breathe, and come back to reality right now," she commanded. "I know what's going through your head. Calm down, we can talk it through. Just breathe and come back to me." She knelt down by him side and imitated some deep breathes. Harry tried to follow along, taking in ragged, shallow inhalations.
"Just focus on me," Megan said, staring into his eyes as intently as she could, searching for a sign of life. "I know what you're thinking right now. You feel ashamed. You believe you raped me." Megan paused after the 'r' word, weighing its foreign sound from her mouth, as if momentarily she was speaking a different language. "It's okay Harry. I know what happened." At these words, Harry's eyes widened, revealing true fear. He had stopped breathing entirely, goosebumps forming all over his naked body.
"After you left me, the guards came by and jeered. They told me I had inadvertently begged to be enslaved. They told me that you lied to me, that you tricked me into it. They told me that you chose to make me a slave. And all I could do is hang my head in shame while they laughed." Megan paused again, gathering her words. "But before they drugged me again, I had a moment to think. They manipulated you. Just as they manipulated me before you. You didn't doom me to slavery, just like I didn't doom you to slavery. They did. They took our freedom, and they want us to hate each other for it. But I promise you, they would never have let us go. Either of us."
At these words, Harry burst into sobs and wrapped his arms around Megan. He embraced her for a long time, and Megan wrapped her arms around him in reciprocity, feeling his warm wet tears roll onto her back. She pressed her body up against his, comforted by his natural radiating warmth. The room really was cold, metallic, unfeeling. Harry was warm, soft, emotional.
They eventually let go. Harry sat back and found his voice again. To him, it felt like talking to an old friend. "Thank you, Meg." He let the last of the tears dry up before continuing. "So, do you have any idea what they're doing to us now?"
Megan stood up to explain. "We're on a ship. In a shipping container. The departing horn blew a few moments before you woke up, so we're leaving port now." She glanced at him to make sure he was taking it all in. Harry nodded back, processing the situation.
"And we have no way of knowing where this ship is going." Harry looked around thoughtfully. He stood up and paced in length of the container, taking in all the furnishing. He checked in the fridge to find it fully stocked with ready-to-eat meals and water. It was enough for several days between the both of them.
"Oh shit, take a look at this!" Megan called from the lamp. She was picking at a note taped to the wall with her metal shackles. Harry walked over and picked it up up without noticing her hands.
"You will be in transit for 4 days. Conserve food and water." Harry read it aloud. "So we could probably kill ourselves by refusing to drink water and they wouldn't even know until we get there." Harry glanced at Megan and noticed her souring expression. He quickly realized he had never shared that side of himself with her before. "My bad, that joke didn't land at all."
"I don't wanna die in a fucking container. We'll eat and drink as our bodies require." Megan's demand was final.
Harry suddenly noticed the shackles on Megan's hands. He strode over to her and picked up her left hand, bringing it up to his eyes to examine. "What the hell did they do to you?"
Megan shrugged. "My hands are fine under there. I just can't get these darn things off. They don't hurt, but I can't pick anything up."
Some internal wiring in Harry's brain registered the helplessness in her predicament, and he felt a jolt of energy in his system. Not now. He grunted, trying his best to suppress his lizard brain, and took another look at her shackles, prying at the wrist and failing to get them loose. He stepped back in defeat, watching her drop her hands to her side. Then, for the first time, Harry noticed Megan's full figure, her smooth navel, the slight widening of her hips, her perfectly shaved mound (no doubt done by their captors, as he was perfectly shaved too). His eyes drifted up to her chest, and he was again greeted by her perky breasts, their slight moon shape making them point right at him. She stood with a naturally erect posture, rolling her shoulders forward, bringing out her pronounced collarbones.
"Ahem. Harry." Megan broke the spell, her face showing a complacent boredom as she looked down at his penis. He realized it was at full attention. Embarrassed, he turned around and began rummaging through the supplies left by the lamp, trying to make himself busy.
"They packed toothbrushes, Dramamine patches, and a few books for us. You ever read Steinbeck? Joyce? Principles of Classical Mechanics? What the fuck, it looks like they raided a college library."
Megan walked over to him to take a look herself. "Oh. I guess they do this to college students. We're probably not the first." Slightly dejected, she collapsed onto the bed. Harry, still struggling to hide his erection, walked over to the fridge and picked out two plastic containers, each with substantial portions for a single meal. He opened one of them to find fresh-looking berries. Suddenly aware of how hungry he was, he started eating them. Absentmindedly he set down the other bowl full of berries on the desk by Megan, who promptly got up from the bed when she smelled food.
Harry continued to wolf down his portions when he heard Megan clear her throat. "What's up," he asked, looking up from his meal.
"I uhm... I think I need your help." Megan meekly gestured at her metallic hands.
"You can't just uh," Harry started.
"I'm not a fucking dog, okay?" Megan shot back, her face flashing red for a moment. "I'm not going to lick them out of the bowl. Just feed me, please?" Megan looked up at him, her determined brown ovals stirring obedience. Harry quickly complied, picking out the blueberries one by one and feeding them to her. Though she tried to stay clean, Megan ended up licking his fingers on more than one occasion. After a few strawberries, a steady dribble of fruit juice dripped down her chin. With her shackled hands hanging by her side, she didn't even attempt to clean herself.
In a few minutes, Megan had emptied her bowl. "I'm still hungry."
"Do you want more fruit?" Harry asked, reaching for his half-eaten bowl.
"No. I want something real." Megan was slowly realizing the extend of her hunger. "Can you check in the fridge?"
Harry again complied, digging around for a moment. He felt nonplussed, finding packets of airplane pasta and ramen, all foods that would prove difficult to eat without utensils. He eventually opted for the ramen, at least familiar with its preparation and more assured after finding a microwave hidden besides the fridge. After preparing it, he gingerly walked over to her. Megan looked up at him expectantly, still with a dribble of strawberry juice on her chin.
"What'd you cook up?" She glanced at the bowl he held and her face scrunched up in confusion. Harry could see the gears turning. She suddenly commanded, "put in on the floor. I don't wanna spill anything on the bed." Harry did as she asked. Megan sat down crisscross applesauce over the bowl, and Harry joined her. But just as he started to reach for the food, she stopped him.
"Wait. I don't want your fingers touching it." Megan paused for a moment. "Turn around. Sit in the chair and face the wall, and don't you dare fucking turn around. Not until I tell you to. Okay?" She stared directly into his soul, and Harry wordlessly positioned the chair and sat down to face the wall, somewhat equally embarrassed by the situation.
