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“What happened?”
My teeth grind together uncomfortably as I stare at the wall, willing myself not to lose composure. I know that won’t help anything, especially since I will have to somehow prove my innocence, and I have no idea how to do it.
“It’s nothing.” I push some air between my teeth and glance briefly at Jaxon, but I can’t hold his gaze because I know if I look at him too long, he’ll convince me to tell him everything I know. That’s dangerous, and I know I can’t. Not yet. Not until I have a plan.
“You can tell me about it,” Jaxon says.
And I want to. Fuck, I want to. But I don’t. “See ya later, Mr. Jaxon,” I say as the two guards come in for the strip search.
“Taylor,” he argues, but he’s already being dismissed by Mia Armstrong.
“You know the drill,” Armstrong says. “Strip.”
Afterwards, I walk slowly to my unit, head down. I don’t realize I’m biting my tongue until blood assaults my taste buds. A bad habit due to anxiety and PTSD, a doctor once told me. Knowing that never actually made it better.
I turn into my unit to find Lace, Ronnie, and Camilla huddled on the couch watching some silly nineties sitcom rerun. When I approach, all three of them scoot to the side, and Lace pats the now-empty place next to her.
“Hi there, sugar.”
“Hi back.” I take a seat next to Lace and shove my hands into my hoodie pockets.
“How’d it go with your visitor?” asks Camilla. “Was it your sister?”
I nod, but then shrug. I don’t want to talk about it. I worry if I do, I’ll just end up crying, and I can’t do that here. Especially not in front of Ronnie, who is watching me over Camilla and Lace’s head, her green eyes reading the scars in my soul like an open book. I try to avoid her gaze, but after a moment I can’t take it anymore, and I lift my chin to meet her eyes.
“What?” I say. Ronnie shrugs and leans over Camilla to offer me a bowl of popcorn, which I decline.
“Family is far worse than your greatest enemy,” she says after a moment, kicking her feet back onto the table as she reaches for a handful of popcorn. “Because family can hurt you in ways that mere hatred never could.”
Later,I find myself alone in my cell, hands crossed over my abdomen, staring at the wall above my face as I lay on the bed, running Julie’s words over and over again in my mind.
He’s dead. He’s dead.
He’s dead.
I slap my hands over my face and take a deep breath, trying to control my anxiety. For the first time in my short life, I have no grand ideas. No scheme to help me get through this. No advice, not even for myself. But it’s my sister’s indifference that bothers me the most. She’s my twin, my best friend. What happened out there? Julie knows as well as I do that if I’m convicted, it will be years before I see the light of day.
And I didn’t do it. I didn’t kill him.
Fuck, I didn’t even lay a hand on him.
Stinging tears press against my eyelids, threatening to spill over, hot acid against my dry skin. I press a fist to each eye and squeeze them shut as a sob escapes my throat. As I’m just about to break down completely, there’s a tap on my cell door. I suck in a quick breath and clear my throat as Lace comes in, closing the heavy door behind her. She meets my eyes for a brief moment and then sits down on the edge of my bed, right next to where I’m lying.
“I take it things didn’t go well with your sis,” she says. It’s not a question. I bite my lip and turn away, face toward the wall, hoping she will take the hint and leave. But she doesn’t. Instead, she reaches over and rests one hand on mine. Her skin is warm and comforting, and I almost lift my hand to clutch hers, but I resist.
“Nothing I can’t handle,” I lie. Lace smiles, and her fingers move from the top of my hand and toward my face, where she brushes a strand of hair from my cheek. I don’t pull away, because I can’t. And I don’t know why.
But I do. I do know why.
Because … I like it.
I sit up, heart pounding rapidly behind my ribs as Lace’s fingers trace the hot skin under my hair.
“You’re attracted to me, aren’t you?”
I reel back, jerking my face from under her touch. Saying it aloud makes it so … real.
“Maybe we shouldn’t do this.”
