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She didn’t have paint but promised to get some ordered. Secretly, I hope I’m not here long enough to receive anything that needs to be ordered. Though, that’s likely nothing more than wishful thinking.
I press the charcoal tip firmly against the paper, creating bold lines that I then smudge with the side of my thumb, blending them to my satisfaction. Gradually, I transition to lighter strokes, adjusting the angle of my wrist with each movement, until the image on the page starts to come alive.
I remember hearing that visualization can be a powerful tool for manifesting desires in life. Inspired by Justine’s empowering words, I decide to draw what I long for, allowing time to slip away as I pour my heart into the sketch. As I gaze at the final result, I can’t deny that it’s far from perfect, but it carries the essence of what I need.
The scene depicts me kneeling in my mother’s once-vibrant garden, now lost to neglect. Yet, in my drawing, I visualize its revival, a tribute to my mother’s memory. Above me, the radiant sun beams down, and I can almost feel its warmth, as though my mother’s love is embracing me from above.
Emotions surge within me, a mixture of longing and sorrow that threaten to overwhelm. I close my eyes, clenching my fists, fighting back the tears that beg to cascade down my cheeks. “I miss you so fucking much, Mom,” I whisper, the words heavy with pain.
I lean my head back against the pillow, holding the drawing to my chest, desperately clinging to the hope that I will escape this wretched place. This can’t be the end for me—I refuse to believe it.
A renewed determination surges through me, fueled by Justine’s unwavering support. Yet, even in my newfound resolve, the ache and fear remain.
While Luca previously mentioned that I’ve earned another freedom, he’s yet to return to my cell, and that hasn’t gone unnoticed. I try to convince myself that his absence is a positive sign, but with each passing moment, doubt gnaws at the edges of my hope. However, I won’t let it consume me. Justine’s advice echoes in my mind, a reminder that I must play the game, and not merely as a participant, but as a victor.
After a few more moments of solace with my first drawing, I flip the page and start anew. This time focusing on the flowers I intend to replant. Though, that only desperately makes me miss my paints.
The vibrancy and life that my acrylics bring to the canvas are the reason I can get so lost in the art when my heart is hurting. Yet today it’s the dark strokes of the pencil that I must focus on.
Once I’m done, I appraise the soft round petals and picture the deep pink they should be, inhaling deeply, imagining the sweet scent they’ll provide in my yard one day.
A true smile graces my lips for the first since before the auction and my heart feels lighter. Yes, this is what I needed.
I’m halfway into turning the page to start on another image when the echo of footfalls sounds in the hallway, heavier than Justine’s. The sound has my heart rate rising and I tuck the drawing behind me, not wanting Luca to take something so precious from me.
The lock disengages, but I stay on the bed, refusing to show him more respect than he deserves. At least until Justine’s advice whispers through my mind, reminding me that I have a game to play here. No, not just play. One I need to win.
Making sure the pad of paper is still hidden, I stand next to the mattress just as the steel door swings open.
Luca’s dark eyes sweep across my cell, his expression devoid of any trace of approval. “Where did all of this come from?” he demands, his tone laced with irritation.
Great. He’s going to be furious with Justine and she won’t be able to see me anymore. I want to lie and cover for her, but I don’t know who else I could blame.
“Never mind.” He reaches for my wrist. “Come with me.”
I attempt to keep my feet rooted to the ground, to deny him the obedience he demands. But my body betrays me, and I stumble forward, colliding with Luca’s side. His grip tightens around my wrist, causing my arm to twist awkwardly, sending a sharp pang through my shoulder as I fall.
“Fuck,” I hiss, wincing at the sudden jolt.
With quick reflexes, Luca wraps his other arm around my waist, hauling my clumsy ass back up. Once I’m standing on my own again, his finger lifts my chin and for a brief moment, I think he’s going to ask if I’m hurt.
“Be fucking careful,” he admonishes, his sneer erasing any remnants of the unexpected attraction his touch momentarily sparked.
“Then, don’t manhandle me,” I snap back without meaning to.
“Maybe it’s not time for you to leave yet,” he muses, and I mentally smack myself.
Play the fucking game, Danes.
I brush a hand pointlessly over my filthy clothes. “I’m sorry. That hurt, and I have a headache, and…”
His hard stare tells me he doesn’t give a single fuck about my reasons, so I let the sentence trail off.
He releases me and points toward the door. “Out.”
I nod, playing the obedient woman he seems to need me to be. I stand in the hallway, waiting for him to lead the rest of the way.
As he walks in front of me toward the elevator doors we previously came through, I wonder where we’re going, but I keep my mouth shut. Instead, my gaze involuntarily drifts to his back, observing the way his charcoal suit molds perfectly to his form, accentuating his broad shoulders. The hem of his pants hovers just above his impeccably polished dress shoes.
