Guess who the lucky resident is today?
I march inside, ignoring a particularly sharp elbow to my kidney, and dump her unceremoniously onto the cot.
When I step out and slam the gate shut, I narrowly miss getting a finger bitten off.
Fucking wildcat.
“You can’t keep me in here!” she screeches, gripping the bars and her pale face furious.
Turning my back on her, I take a washcloth and start wiping the sweat and blood from my face. My whole body feels like it’s been run through a meat grinder. I’d kill for some industrial-strength painkillers, but in Quo, you make do with tepid water and a clean uniform, if you’re lucky.
Shucking off my coveralls, I look at the girl.
She’s still glaring at me through a tangled mess of blonde hair.
“Look, Princess. I just fought a giant so you wouldn’t get gang-raped by the Guild. You’re in my cell, in that cage, so no one can touch you. Not even me.” I lower myself onto my cot. “So can you shut up and try to stay out of trouble for ten minutes? I need a nap.”
4. AURORA
“FUCK YOU AND YOUR FUCKING NAP TIME,” I screech, rattling the iron bars of the cage until the muscles in my arms are screaming in protest.
The guy with the buzz-cut, who is apparently the Gravedigger leader or whatever, doesn’t flinch.
He’s sprawled out on his cot, one arm thrown over his eyes, looking for all the world like he’s having the best rest of his life.
I hate him. I hate this cage. I hate the way the air feels in here.
I’m suffocating.
But at least you’re not getting gang-raped,a small voice whispers inside my head.
There is that.
Deciding to conserve my energy before I actually pass out, I flop back onto the lumpy cot—only after flipping the mattress to avoid a massive, crusty bloodstain. Unfortunately, it’s soaked all the way through the foam.
London was right about the temperature after all. It’s boiling down here. I can feel sweat pooling between my breasts and under my arms, making the rough fabric of these red scrubs itch. I lay on my back, trying to force my lungs into a steady rhythm, and consider my options.
My temper doesn’t always lead to the most logical path, but it’s not like I’ve been offered a fucking menu. Suck the Warden’s dick, suck the Russian’s dick, or sit in a dog pen.
Option three wins. As long as the bastard doesn’t want me to “demonstrate my gratitude”.
The memory of that Russian man’s penis in my mouth is foul in the back of my throat, and I know it will haunt me for a long time.
London bit off Piggy Tony’s ear but didn’t seem at all concerned.
I wish I could be so unaffected. Gods, I can still taste it.
Bile rises in my throat, and I lurch over to the toilet and spit, trying to get rid of the feeling of his putrid flesh violating my mouth. I hadn’t even severed the whole thing, just kinda mangled it.
The sensation of a hot spurt of blood under my teeth as I bit down was just…ugh. I dry heave some more.
“You sound a little upset for someone who didn’t need a savior,” the guy on the bed drawls, his eyes still covered.
“Fuck you, I had it under control,” I mumble, wiping my mouth.
Yeah, OK, that’s a lie but whatever.
“Right,” he snarks, his voice muffled by the arm over his face. “Biting off a piece of little-Gleb is a solid start, Princess. But the Guild would’ve pulled your teeth in retribution by dinner time. Makes it a lot harder to fight back when the rest of them line up.”
