Page 105 of Her Wicked Plan

“Sorry.” I apologize for no reason other than the fact that I have no idea what I want to say. I know I made it clear I wanted to ask her questions, but where do I begin? “I’m also sorry that the breakfast we should have had last week was taken away.”

Eliza takes a moment to gaze at me. She takes time to assess me, my skin crawling again under her stare. “Hearing you apologize is odd.”

“You’ll never hear it again.” I huff with an attempted laugh. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” The corner of her lip pulls upward. “You don’t have to apologize, though. I can’t be mad at you for missing breakfast when the circumstances were what they were.”

Inhaling a deep breath, my fingers pick at the sandwich before me. Peeling a small piece of bread off, I pop it into my mouth. It’s dry, having sat under the heating lamp for too long. I should have gotten a drink to go with it, seeing as it’s hard to get down my throat.

As if reading my mind, Eliza stands and walks over to the water station, pouring two drinks. A cup is placed before me, but I don’t acknowledge it yet. My eyes stay trained on Eliza as she takes her seat.

“I had the same sandwich earlier. The bread was so dry I couldn’t finish it without water.”

“I’m not sure I can finish it with water.” I pluck off a piece of the egg and cheese and taste it. It’s not awful, although my stomach still twists at the thought of consuming food. It could use some salt.

Eliza watches me still. “No appetite?”

I don’t hold back the sigh. “Nope. It hasn’t come back yet.”

“Does that always happen?” The question pulls my attention away from the sandwich, and my eyes lift to Eliza’s. She gives me a knowing look. I’m not stupid. I know she knows that wasn’t my first time down there.

“Usually,” I answer smoothly. “I have a feeling it’s going to take a while to come back this time around.” Swallowing hard, I let go of the calmness in my voice, allowing it to become rough when I say, “I’m not going to sit here and talk about my time away. If you want to learn more about solitary, then talk to someone else who is willing to share. Or better yet”—I lean into the table—“break out of your shell and do something to get you sent down there.”

She stirs uncomfortably in her seat. I'm not sure whether it’s because of the tone in my voice or the thought of getting sent to solitary. Her uneasiness brings warmth to my body. It’s the first time I’ve felt it since Leo kissed me in his office after my “breakdown.” Her being uncomfortable brings me joy, I guess you could say.

Maybe it won’t take that long to get back to the old me.

“No offense, I don’t think I’ll ever get set down there.”

“That’s because you’re straight as an arrow. You won’t leave the little shell you have yourself curled up in.” I take another bite of the sandwich. The water stays untouched. “It’s nice and warm in there, isn’t it? Why on Earth would you ever want to leave?”

“I’ve been trying to hold myself together even though it has been difficult,” she admits.

Finally, I pick up the water since the second bite was harder to swallow. After I wet my throat, I say, “Have the voices come back?”

Her eyes fall to the table. “They never left. I’ve just gotten better at ignoring them.”

Interesting. “Were they always there? Or did they start when you killed that man?”

Eliza sucks in a sharp breath. “They started before I killed him. Not long before, though. My mother said that I would always be talking to my imaginary friend when I was little. I don’t really remember any of that.” She sighs and taps her temple. “I’m guessing all the trauma blocked it out.”

“But you remember killing him,” I point out.

Her head nods slowly. “Every single detail.”

My attention has peaked. “Sharing is caring, Eliza.”

She remains silent for a long time with her eyes shut tight. Rolling her lips, she nods. Are the voices talking to her right now? Warning her not to share the story? Before I can ask, she talks.

“It was a normal day. I had classes at the University from the morning until the afternoon. After that, I had to work.”

Her eyes stay on mine as she speaks, but she isn’t staring at me. She appears to be in a daze. Like she has been teleported back in time and dropped back into the situation. It’s kind of creepy.

“I got home late that night, and my mom's new boyfriend was still there. He was always over.”

The disgust that rolled off her tongue at the last sentence sent shivers down my spine. She hated the man. That much is clear.

“When I walked in the house, I could smell the alcohol. He didn’t have to be in the same room for me to smell it.” She takes a deep breath. With the scent that strong and the long inhale she took, was the smell of alcohol engraved in her nose?