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With a little huff, I slowly moved away from him, wincing from the soreness between my thighs.
The emblem on his neck—a snake wrapped around the letter V, a representation of the horde he belonged to—seemed to watch my every move.
It reminded me of a certain someone else, too, but I didn’t want to think about him.
I’d done enough of that lately.
Lying flat on my back beneath the comfort of a sheet, I stared up at the paint chipped ceiling.
As I listened to the pitter patter of raindrops on the prison’s rooftop, I reflected on how I wound up here.
I’d been pawned for someone else’s barter with no liberty to object.
My fate was sealed the second the only man I’d ever been interested in chose my frenemy over me.
It wasn’t all that surprising in the end, and I think that cut even deeper.
I guess I never thought I’d be in this position again, lying beside a stranger and feeling utterly alone.
It called forth memories that were better off exactly where I’d left them: buried in the graveyard of my past.
After another minute or so, my restless energy had me quietly slipping from the makeshift bed. I kept one eye trained on Vitus as I shoved my feet into a pair of Jersey-lined flats and scooped my navy dress up off the floor.
I cast one last glance his way before creeping out of the room.
Once in the hall, I drew a small breath, inhaling the pungent stench that always seemed to be clinging to the stale air, exhaling as I moved towards the restroom.
Vitus had taken residence in what was once the administrative office, placing the bathroom just a few quick strides away.
Voices in the near distance, approaching from the east wing of the prison, had me hurrying through the heavy wooden door.
I used my hip to push it shut and immediately turned the flimsy lock.
It smelled little better here, but that couldn’t be helped. Walls that had once been white were now a faded, depressing yellow. Heavily dusted lights projected the same miserable color.
I quickly relieved my bladder, squatting above a toilet in one of the only stalls that didn’t have old piss on the floor and menstrual blood smeared on the wall.
When finished, I made my way to the sink and studied my dulled reflection in the grime layered mirror.
My blue waves were longer now, falling beneath my breasts, and less vibrant, blonde roots were gradually beginning to make an appearance.
Eyes slightly puffy from another night of unrest stood out harshly against my alabaster skin.
Aside from all that, I looked as I always had—minus the exhaustion and permanent brand on the side of my neck, of course.
But I’d take being tired over being dead any day of the week, and the symbol burned into my flesh had become my safety net in this damned forsaken prison.
“I’m okay,” I told my reflection, speaking some positivity into existence.
I had a never-ending list of reasons why I should break down and throw myself a big ol’ pity party. Half the time I walked around on auto-pilot, but I refused to become so hopeless that I accepted this as my end game.
Turning the sink on, I patiently waited for the water to travel through the rusted pipes.
A decent bit spurted from the spicket for all of three seconds before slowing to a dismal drip.
Cupping my palms to catch any amount of the lukewarm liquid, I did my best to wash up.
I started with my face, then my neck, and finally between my legs. It wasn’t going to do the same job as the showers, but I never went in there unless Vitus was with me.
