“I’m not your fucking slave.”
I almost laughed, wondering how she didn’t also object to being my girl. But laughing hurt too much, too.
She found the water and threw it towards me, not caring where it hit. Not caring if it caused a flip inside my head and a war in this room.
The bottle crunched as the weight of the water hit my ribcage.
I unscrewed the cap and took a swig.
That hurt more than fucking anything. It brought tears to my fucking eyes.
“Get some rest. We have a busy day tomorrow.”
“We do?”
“It’s our last day here. So, we’re going to enjoy it.”
I kept my eyes on Jolie while waiting for the heavy flush of slumber. I prayed she’d bring me happy dreams, but her image could do that or give me nightmares.
She was still beautiful to me, despite the scars. . . the burns. . . the painful fucking reminders.
But she had no idea how haunted I was by all that happened to her.
I closed my eyes, focusing on the weeks ahead, not the years behind us.
And I knew, if I was given the chance, I could make her happy.
I could make her forget the pain. Again.
I could make herlove me, even more than she hated me.
“This is gonna hurt, kid,” warned my cellmate, without giving me chance to respond in my sleepy, groggy state as he yanked a teenage me from the minimal comfort offered by the top bunk.
He’d interrupted a dream—a really good dream—the best.
I was free, running through the daisies, leaving the darkness behind.
The heat of the flames warmed the chill of loss from my bones. The smoke touched the fluffy clouds above, mingling its dark shade with their gray as the orange fire and black smoke ate up my home with giant bites.
I looked back to the abstract image of loss and gain. Of pain and freedom.
It was just us. Just me and Jolie. . . free.
Jolie’s hand wrapped in mine. My fingers tight around hers as I let her guide me from the flames. From my parents and Nessie. From Woody, who I begged to stay with his little sister. From Hell. . . so, I could show her heaven. The real Heaven. . . the real me.
But that was all over now, my blissful fantasy, rudely awakened by a brute’s hands.
My scrawny body was saved from the concrete floor that was about to knock out my teeth, by a man almost too big to fit in this 8x8, let alone bring guests with him.
Letting go of my sweatshirt, he propped me on my feet, and not a second later, he ripped my pants from my body.
My fingers rushed to stop him, but my tiredness handed leverage to him when I wasn’t quick enough.
The material flayed and fell to the floor in tatters.
I looked down at the result of his actions. My pathetic reaction gave him time to push me, literally push me, from the boxer shorts concealing my modesty.
I hit the wall with a thud, and the concrete gifted me a migraine as a welcome gift.
