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The first full day feels like an eternity. At least, what I believe is the first day. The only real marker of time becomes my meals. If they’re delivering me a meal—and depending on what it is—I’m guessing the time of day.
Runny eggs and choke-dry toast mean breakfast.
Undercooked beans and rice served with a chalky tortilla is lunch.
Meat comes with dinner… or meat substitute. The chicken tastes suspiciously like something else. A paltry fruit cup is included, which is supposed to be dessert.
I eat every crumb anyway.
In survival mode, every morsel of food becomes important. Every drop of water. Every human interaction as the slot in the door slides open and the light from the hall streams into my cell.
No books, no distractions, no means of mental stimulation.
I’m left sitting in the tight, dimly lit cell with nothing to do. Just the thoughts in my head to entertain myself.
Eerily but regretfully familiar.
* * *
What I think is day two feels like forever. I lay on my cot and stare at the naked walls. My mind refuses any more sleep. My body begs for some kind of exertion.
I get up and run in circles. I drop to the floor and crank out push-ups. To the best of my ability, I exercise, doing anything I can that tires me out.
Sit-ups. Planks. Jumping jacks. Boxing maneuvers with an invisible dummy.
I collapse onto my cot, a sweaty mess that can barely catch my breath. You’d think as exhausted as I am, I’d be ready to roll over and go to sleep. My brain, even my body, would be ready to call it for the day.
Yet I’m still buzzing with energy. My mind still feels unchallenged.
The constant nothingness I’m swimming in is doing something to me. I shake my head and run my fingers through my hair, reminding myself I have four days. Five tops. I can do this—I survived captivity that was ten times worse.
I scrub a hand over my face, hoping to clear my head.
Instead a mirage flickers in and out before my eyes. My perception’s been knocked off-kilter.
Delphine appears, tears down her cheeks. The robe she’s wearing hangs loosely on her body. A man materializes at her side and clenches a fist into her curls, forcing her down to her knees.
My heart pounds in immediate alarm. I jump off my cot to save her.
She disappears into thin air. So does the man gripping her.
An illusion my overactive imagination thought up.
The last time I was held captive, I’d been unable to save her. It’s like my psyche has picked up where I left off the last time I was a prisoner.
I collapse back down on my cot and husk out a rough breath. I’m not being held captive by Lucius. That was well over a year ago.
This is an entirely different situation—and yet, as I stare around at the walls surrounding me, it’s like they’re closing in. I can’t help the way my body tenses up. My pulse twitches. I develop a tick where my neck jerks my head and I have to set myself straight again.
Close my eyes. Count backwards from ten. Remind myself that I’m good.
This is temporary. This is only for a few days.
I can’t go crazy in here. They won’t break me.
I look up at the ceiling. My mind wanders to thoughts of Delphine and the others I lead. Has Stitches been looking after her? How is the organization doing without me? Have they made any gains on the person fucking with us and the Giancolas and Kozlovs?
The absolute silence should help me come up with answers. I should be able to strategize our next moves. Instead, I’m left listening to the sound of nothing which then becomes something.
