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I guess I’ll die asking myself all these questions. Once I’m on the brink of death, which should be anytime now, considering I’ve had nothing to eat or drink on top of being deprived of sleep, somebody is going to come in and finish the job.
Not somebody. Lucas. I’m sure Quinton will argue he should have the job, but Lucas will find a way to win. Because I didn’t only betray Aspen, which for Quinton is bad enough.
I wish he would get it over with.
At least somebody came in and took off my handcuffs, probably a couple of hours after Lucas left me here. By that time, the burning agony in my ass had dulled to searing pain. I was able to clean myself up at the sink, but when I went back to cup some water in my palm later, nothing came out of the tap. It’s been dry since then.
My stomach clenches, and I curl into a tighter ball. God, I’m so hungry. So thirsty. The urge to cry almost overwhelms me, but that would mean dehydrating myself even more.
Sometimes I remember my normal life. Times when I thought I was hungry. I used to say I was starving, even. What a fucking joke. Sure, there were times when we had to tighten our belts, as my aunt used to say, but what did that mean? No ordering a pizza on a Saturday night, but heating a can of flavorless chili or spaghetti instead. Big deal.
I had no idea what real hunger was like. How desperate a person can be when they barely have the strength to move because they’re so famished. I grit my teeth and swallow the saliva in my mouth, pretending it’s water.
I close my eyes in a desperate attempt to will away the hunger pangs. Maybe it hasn’t been as long as I thought since there are still pangs to struggle with. They won’t last much longer—but neither will I unless I get something to drink soon. Thirst kills quicker than hunger. I remember that much.
For some reason, there’s still a tiny part of me that wants to live. Am I that sick in the head? It’s not like I have anything to live for.
Somebody pounding at the door makes my eyes fly open again. “Fuckers,” I whisper, grinding my teeth together until it hurts. Silly me, closing my eyes. What was I thinking? Maybe the camera is hidden in the lights. The lights they never, ever turn off. The lights I can see from behind my eyelids.
There’s a clicking noise that I realize is coming from the door. Somebody slid a key into the lock. Now, they’re turning it. I roll over, facing the wall, and hope whatever’s going to happen will happen fast.
Screeching hinges signal the door being opened. I brace myself, now fully awake and clear-headed, thanks to adrenaline pumping through my system.
A set of footsteps marks the entrance of the guard…
… before a second set of footsteps rings out. I listen hard, dread building in my chest. I’m sure there’s only one person Lucas would allow to visit besides one of the guards, and it’s himself.
“Get her on her feet,” he growls. I was right. I don’t bother putting up a fight when the guard takes hold of me, pulling me to my feet before spinning me in place so I can face the headmaster.
I keep my gaze low, around his knees. I don’t want him to start bitching that I made eye contact before I was invited to. Or maybe I’m just too scared to look at him, too scared of what it would make me feel.
“You look like hell.”
I don’t react. I mean, I’m sure I look like hell. Is that supposed to hurt my feelings?
“So you’re going to ignore me now, is that it? Is your tongue tied again?” His laughter is like the sound of nails on a chalkboard, and I can’t keep from shivering.
“You had a lot to say the last time I was with you. I wonder what’s different now?”
That’s right, buddy. Get it all out of your system. I can’t bring myself to care when the struggle to stay on my feet already takes up so much of my concentration. I can’t help but sway back and forth a little. Or is that the room swaying?
“Wake up.” His sharp words stir me out of my stupor. So much for adrenaline. I guess even that can only go so far. I can’t stop the shiver that skates down my spine.
“Look at me.” I am looking at him, but I know what he means. I won’t even give him the satisfaction of smarting off since he’ll only use that as an excuse to smack me around. Or worse. It’s not like he’s never done worse.
So I lift my gaze, forcing myself to connect with his eyes. The endless darkness inside his vicious stare takes my breath away. He doesn't look like himself. He doesn't even look like a person.
