I sit on the edge of the bed and stare at the screen.
There is a woman kneading dough and it's kind of mesmerizing.
But after a few minutes, the calm turns into something else. Maybe restlessness with my new look.
In the Order, I always had tasks.
Scrubbing floors. Folding linens. Preparing altars. Memorizing verses.
I hated it, but at least it kept my hands busy, kept my mind from wandering into places it shouldn't go.
Here, I have nothing and nothing can be worse.
Because nothing means thinking, and thinking means remembering.
And remembering means seeing the girl's face as they burned her alive.
I stand abruptly, shaking my head.
No.
I'm not going there.
I pace the room instead.
From the bed to the window. From the window to the dresser. From the dresser to the door.
I try to count my steps, but it doesn't help.
I stop in front of the door and stare at the handle.
I know it's locked.
I've checked it a dozen times, but I check it again anyway.
I reach for the handle and turn.
It doesn't budge.
I jiggle it, pulling harder this time.
Still nothing.
Then I hear it. A key sliding into the lock from the outside.
I jump back as the door opens.
It's the same guard I have been seeing.
He stands in the doorway, his expression neutral, his hand still on the doorknob.
"Hi," I say.
He nods.
"Am I just supposed to sit here again today?"
He looks me over, his gaze lingering on my pants, the shirt, then the shoes.
