“I’m not fucking leaving, Lex. You’re barely out, and all I get to do is spend half an hour with you before you kick me out? It’s humiliating.”
He stares down at me, possibly angrier than I’ve ever seen him. But those walls he’s built during the past three months, they work both ways. I can feel the rage within him, practically radiating off him. But he contains it. I don’t know how he does it, but he keeps it all to himself.
To my relief—or disappointment—he gives up on me. “Then do whatever the fuck you want,” he mutters before walking up to the secret room. “Iris, open the door.”
The painting opens, and I watch Lex disappear into the small space I spent countless hours in. It closes behind him, leaving me alone once more.
I never expected this moment to go smoothly, but I didn’t think it would go so wrong.
My safety is all that matters to him, and I risked it all. But he should understand why I had to do it, then. My concerns are the same as his, and I’d also do anything for him, no matter the cost.
Soon, he’ll calm down, realize I did the right thing, and forgive me. He needs a little time, that’s all. And now that he’s out again, we have time. A whole life of it.
Chapter 13
It’s as though everything in Sheridan was designed to break me. The constant noises during the day and the loud ventilation system at night never allowed me a moment of rest, even in the SHU. The coarse fabric of our uniforms left me feeling chafed, as if my skin was ripped from me, peel by peel, day by day, leaving nothing but hypersensitive flesh. The tense social interactions never had me at ease, always questioning everyone’s motives, guards and inmates alike.
Months of this have put me on edge, my nerve endings on fire, my brain cells in agony, desperate for respite.
As the hidden door closes behind me, isolating me in the secret room, I experience silence for the first time since the arrest. The faint vibration of the server behind its double-glass partition is there, but nothing compared to what I’ve been going through.
I close my eyes and breathe in slowly, hold it, and then release. I didn’t want to blow up at Andrea like I did, but her pigheadedness got the better of my emotions.
Her actions, as well-intentioned as they might have been, are a betrayal. She knew. She had to. She knew it would break me to imagine her risking her life for mine. She knew I’d endure the implication in helpless anguish, unable to do anything to stop her. I considered calling my lawyers to have them cut the power in my apartment. But knowing her, she would have gathered my hard drives and whatever she needed, and continued from her place, taking even more risks.
So, I waited, watching the news every day from the common room, worried sick I’d see a mugshot of her appearing in the top right corner of some news program. My torment worsened by the day, and seeing she’d done it, seeing the world fall into a frenzy over the new “Nammota” hit didn’t alleviate any of it.
She isn’t safe from repercussions. Not yet. A single mistake in her plan and it’s all over for her. And there’s no fucking way she made none.Not in only five weeks of learning that new skill. Not at the scale she did it.
When I’m calm enough and the rage that bloomed in my chest has turned to a small ball under my ribs, I open my eyes again. I pull the chair and sit before powering on the computer. As it boots, my eyes wander to the mess she left on the desk, like her true self.
There are empty mugs, candy bar wrappers, crumbs, and a couple of plates piled up, with two uneaten pizza crusts drying on top of them. Of all the women out there, she’s the one I ended up belonging to, and in moments like these, I almost question why. Sighing, I pull the bin from under the desk. I slide the dishes to the far end of it, out of my sight, and swipe the crumbs into the bin, as well as the wrappers and the pizza crusts.
As I clean, I notice something else sitting on the desk. The ring Maria Carmen gave me. The one I was meant to give to Andrea once we were ready for the next stage of our life together. I stare at it, questioning its necessity.
Is this life still possible for us? Have we reached a point of no return? I can’t see it happening. Not anymore. Not right now.
If anything, this proved we’re dangerous for one another. She’d risk her life for mine, just like I’d risk mine for hers. That kind of senseless devotion is wrong, isn’t it? We should bring security to one another, not potential pitfalls. Such boundless love feels like a curse more than a blessing, like we’d race each other to hell in its name.
I pick up the box with the ring in it, close it, and set it aside with the plates and cups. This isn’t right for now. This might never be right again.
My brain isn’t as acute as it used to be, and getting into the scripts I open is harder than it should be. I’ve been doing my best to keep myself busy, but aside from programming in my mind, there wasn’t much I could do to make up for the lack of mental stimulation.
I last a few hours, going through Andrea’s work, before the emptiness of my stomach becomes too distracting. Reluctantly, I stand and ask Iris to open the door. With one hand, I hold the plates, with the other, the mugs, and I exit the hidden room.
Andrea is on the couch, doing something on her phone while mindlessly nibbling on her thumbnail. When she sees me, her eyes widen.
“Oh, shit. I’m so sorry, I forgot to clean up in there.” She winces, jumping to her feet.
I don’t answer, heading to the kitchen. She follows me to the sink, and before I can handle it, she pushes me away, pressing the side of her body against mine. “I’ll do it,” she insists.
There’s been enough fighting for today, so I don’t argue. I step aside and watch as she rinses everything and organizes it in the dishwasher. She’s wearing the red dress she wore during our first official date. It doesn’t fit her as well as it used to, loose around her chest and middle.
She’s lost weight. Too much of it. The curve of her hips isn’t as pronounced as it used to be, and the roundness of her behind… well, it’s more humble than it was. Her face also looks changed, less youthful, with her cheeks hollower and laced with fatigue. What happened to my feral raccoon?
On the counter, there are all sorts of dishes still in their containers. The sight awakens my hunger, my stomach grumbling with need. I pick up a few dishes, whatever looks most appetizing, and grab a fork and knife from the drawer.
“Eat something,” I command. Clearly, she needs it more than I do. Now that I’m out, she’ll hopefully start eating normally again.
