Meanwhile, Khaat had turned down countless meals and countless offeres of water and coffee or juice from her hostage taker. She had managed to get up, on occasion, very briefly, in order to refresh herself in the bathroom, to wash up. But she had not been offered clean clotes. She was not growing stronger without food and water. She was finding her clothes were getting bigger, and she only wanted to sleep. She was starting to chill, and she wasn't sure why.
Somewhere there were some very basic hygiene items placed in the bathroom for her--soap, a hand towel, a toothbrush, toothpaste, deoderant, a very cheap hairbrush. but that was about it. She had been sparing in her use of them. She didn't like the masculine scent of the soap, but it was better than the alternative. And the deoderant was about the same way. She had no desire to wash out her father's blood from her clothing. In some way, it made her feel closer to him. She wanted to be near him. Near someone she loved, so she had left it. Besides, she had nothing to change to. Every so often, when she brushed her teeth, a couple of precious drops of water slipped down her parched throat and it was heavenly. It tempted her to take a drink from the spicket, but she resisted.
Instead, she returned to the bunk, not uttering a sound. She resorted, finally, to take the plain blue blanket, unfold it and wrap it around herself. She alternated between sitting up, leaning weakly against the wall,or just laying on the bunk and fading into a weakened sleep. She wasn't afraid to die here, but the thoughts of starving to death were a bit uncomfortable for her. She knew that was not a pleasant way to die. And she worried for her parents, for Brian, and for her babies.