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His actions are clear. He knows what just happened shouldn’t have, but he’s not locking me in here either. The open cell is my choice to leave. I curl myself up, bringing my legs up to my chest, and hug them close.
It seems ridiculous to find comfort within four brick walls, but it’s safe. I know how this works. Out there, in the Rhivers mansion, everything is so unknown to me that the thought of being out of my comfort zone petrifies me.
Sleeping in that ginormous bed should’ve felt like home, but to be honest, I’ve never craved my shitty mattress back in the prison more in my life. Sure, my new bed was comfortable and heavenly, but I don’t deserve it.
I’m struggling with my emotions. Losing Puck brought on many feelings I’d long since buried. I’d never experienced grief before my mother died and I didn’t think I would again as I have no one close to me who could hurt me so much.
Until Puck.
I murdered Carlo Rhivers for revenge and peace of mind. Instead, I got my heart bandaged up to be ripped to shreds by grief and anger.
Wrapped up in my thoughts once again, I look around the four brick walls bathed in darkness. A shiver runs down my spine to the tip of my toes, and I weakly go to collect my clothes from the ground.
My legs ache as I pull my shorts up and I wobble slightly. My mind is trying to play catch-up on memories of my mother, Puck, and King all at once. I take in the small cell and replay what happened only moments ago, from teasing him to seeing him leave my ass on the cold floor.
Why would he just leave me? After everything? After fucking me up against this goddamn wall, he just drops my ass and leaves. Like I’m a quick fuck. I mean, that’s what it was, I suppose. I know better than to think King is capable of anything regarding feelings for himself or other people.
The hurt I felt momentarily is replaced by anger. I’m angry that he left me. I’m angry that I actually care that he left me. Fuck this.
Now dressed, I charge through the open door and turn the corner to find the steep steps that King carried me down this morning now bathed in shadows. I tentatively step onto the first one, a low creak echoing on each step that I take whilst I use the wall to feel against to help keep my balance.
Reaching the top, I place my hand gently on the round doorknob and turn it quickly before I can talk myself out of it and run back to the cell. The room instantly brightens in a warm white glow and I squint my eyes against it, letting them adjust to the light.
After blinking a few times, I fully open my eyes, close the door, and lean against it to find myself in a long hallway. I look left and right, but it’s deserted and there’s no sign of life anywhere.
Taking a deep breath, I push away from the door and head to the right slowly. The walls are cream, the carpet a soft black under my feet, and spread out evenly along the walls are large gold photo frames, bringing colour into the hallway, of people I don’t recognise. Men, women, families. I’m assuming they are generations of the Rhivers family.
Walking down this clean corridor, my bare feet on the carpet, I’ve never felt so dirty. Unlike the pristine white walls and floors of my home, or should I say, my father’s home, already from this small hallway I can tell there’s more colour and life and stories to be told hidden within the walls of the Rhivers mansion.
I come to a halt at the end of the corridor to a portrait of people I do recognise. Carlo Rhivers sits in a large chair in the middle of the frame. His wife, Emily Rhivers, stands next to him, her body turned into his side as her arm rests lightly on his shoulder. Behind him are two men, one who I recognise to be Edison Ramon, leader of the Third District. The man next to him looks familiar, but I can’t put a name to him, but similarities between him and Ramon are there. Maybe relatives? And finally on Carlo’s right-hand side are two faces I know very well. My mother and father stand next to Carlo, Kennedy’s hand around Elisa’s waist, small smiles coming from both of them.
I study my parents and wonder when this could have been taken. King’s mum, Emily, died when he was four, so this was over twenty-two years ago. I wonder why they had this photo taken. It was clearly a District Leader's family portrait. Maybe the man with Edison Ramon is his partner?
After being distracted for far too long, I leave the portrait and make a mental note to come back to it.
I take a left at the end of the hallway, and after minutes of making my way through the mansion, a wide-open entryway greets me, the same cream walls and black carpet, but there’s a huge dual staircase, with golden bannisters and a golden chandelier hanging right down the middle. It’s beautiful.
I’m not completely blind to a beautiful house. I lived in one myself, but the Rhivers mansion is extraordinary in comparison.
Quiet chatter comes from downstairs and I continue cautiously down them. Even amongst the beauty, my anger still simmers just below the surface. I can’t believe King just left me to find my way around.
As I reach the bottom of the stairs, I notice some guards positioned near the large doors on either side of the foyer. I make eye contact with one and he slowly juts his head to the left and gives me a small wink. I return his helpfulness with a small smile and make my way to the left, hoping to find someone. There are more doors and more extravagant art on the walls, but I hesitate just before the open doorway to the room where the light conversation is coming from.
I take a deep breath to steady my nerves and rein in my anger before I go all guns blazing and step forward, making my presence known in the doorway.
The conversation halts immediately as I scan over the faces within. Two I know very well and one not at all. King is sitting on the right-hand side of the table, knife and fork in hand as he’s tucking into his food. He barely glances my way before dismissing me and returning back to his plate.
On the opposite side of the table is Dax, relaxed in his chair with a small smile on his face in greeting. His hands are rubbing small circles on the legs that are placed in his lap.
I follow the owner's legs up their body until my eyes land on hers. Slouched in her chair is a gorgeous, dainty girl with shiny, almost silver hair, trussed up into two long, thick plaits. She doesn’t smile at me, just lazily looks over her shoulder, no emotion on her face.
“Come and sit, Theodora. There’s a place for you,” King says calmly.
My eyes scan back to his and I narrow them at his audacity to just act like nothing happened between us.
I stalk through the room and see what I’m assuming is my plate, filled with a pasta dish that looks delicious, but my mouth is dry and I seem to have lost my appetite.
I look at King, who conveniently is sat next to me, and I scoff before dropping into the seat.
