Trudging footsteps indicative of theotherperson who’s been stopping by to keep me fed pull me out of my emotional hole. They pause for a moment, as they always do, before sliding the metal slot aside and thrusting in a tray. Two bottles of water, a new washcloth, and a container of food that was probably warm like two hours ago.
Still, I can’t be ungrateful. I’ve been serenaded by the sounds of my stomach eating itself for at least a full day.
“Thanks,” I mutter, accepting the stuff, going straight for the food, tearing into the container like an animal.
“Chin up, okay?” Velle hums. I can see the shadow of his combat boots. “We’re in the home stretch.”
“Why can’t you just let me out of here??” I whine, voice so weakened, it’s like a wisp crawling from within my throat. I barely have the energy to speak.
“Working on it,” he grumbles.
Then he stalks away.
It’s just… confusing.Who does he think I am?
Why can’t he just open the damn door and let me out?
That officer is involved, I’m sure of it. The asshole who grabbed me, Officer Zaza. The Ivory must have had his guards replace the control room operators as well, including whoever had been watching out for me.
Long story short, I’m screwed.
Finishing my food, I clean up with the washcloth and some wet wipes I have leftover. Not evencloseto the same as showering, andlo juro por Dios, if I do ever get out of here, thefirst thingI’m gonna do is find somewhere to wash myself. Stuff some food in my face.
Then kill The Ivory.
Lying down on the cold, hard floor, I flip my knife over and over in my hand, cringing when the screaming starts. The aggrieved bellows of inmates being tortured in the East, reminding me that it could be worse.Maybe… Not?
I think I’d take the torture to starving to death in complete darkness.
I’m pretty sure it’s Ren. I’ve heard Velle, Rook and Joy talking about him. I think he’s nearby.
More footsteps approach, and I crawl closer to the door, peering underneath to watch. Someone is wandering around. Definitely not a guard. From the ratty sneakers and dull gray jumpsuit pants around their ankles, it appears to be aninmate.
When I notice that they’re sort of lingering, I ask, “Is he okay?” Just to see what they do.
Even from the feet, I can tell they’re looking around the hall, unsure of where the voice is coming from. I smile, and it feelsreallygood.
“Does it matter?” He responds. British guy… “No one is okay in here…”
The newest inmate… Trevel Fenwick. I think that’s him.
“Fair point,” I mumble.
He’s quiet for a moment, stepping closer, until his shoes are right in font of me. “Leo?”
My brows knit. “Sorry, no.”
I stare at his feet, wondering how the hell he’s just traipsing around on his own. Then I remember The Ivory talking that day,about how Trevel was helping him with something relating to Dr. Love.
“Are you… a friend of The Ivory?” I ask, curious.
He leans against my door. “It would appear so, wouldn’t it?”
I sit up. “You’ve put your trust in him?”
I certainly hope not. People have died tragic deaths for such naivety.
“I wouldn’t go that far…” he replies, and I huff.
