A bunch of people stuck together full of rage, hurt, and fear—that's the same. The competition for resources—also the same. But I usually got a bed, and the food is crappier here.
Amid fitful sleep and the soft murmurs of the restless, the jangle of keys and a beam of a flashlight cut through the dark. Blinking against the harsh light on my face, it takes a minute to make out who it is. The guard from before stands at the bars near me, his silhouette a hulking mass against the faint light spilling in from the hallway.
"Smith," Tony hisses, sliding a wrapped package through the bars. "Special delivery."
I sit up, squinting at the unexpected offering. It’s a sandwich, a little squished but intact. My stomach growls loudly.
Crap.
"I’m good," I say, trying to beg off.
"Take it," Tony’s voice hardens, brooking no argument. I'm not sure what he’ll do if I deny his gift, but I suspect it will kick up a fuss. I don’t want his favor, but I don’t want to wake up or disturb a bunch of my cellmates either. My fingers reluctantly curl around the sandwich as I pull it between the bars.
At the last second, he strikes, his hand gripping my wrist tightly, his thumb caressing my skin. He leans in, breath reeking of coffee and something darker. "You'll get your chance to thank me later," he murmurs.
Fucking fabulous.
I don’t respond, I simply hold his gaze until he releases me and retreats. I tuck the package under my pillow, knowing full well the kind ofthankshe's expecting.
Do I have "dick me down" tattooed on my forehead?
Again that simmering anger boils up like ichor, but I try to keep it under control so I can relax back onto the floor.
Somewhere between dreaming and restlessness, a hand grips my hair and yanks me up. I shout, my hands reaching up to stop the pulling even as chunks of my hair separate from my skull.
It's Carmela, her face contorted with jealous fury. Guess she saw her boyfriend sneaking me food.
Before I can react, her fist connects with my cheek. My head snaps to the side as my brain is jolted violently within my skull.
"He won't want you if you look like a bruised peach," Carmela sneers, delivering blow after blow. "I’ll snap you like the toothpick you are until you are too broken to take his dick, you little slut."
I end up curled into a ball on the floor, trying to protect myself, but her kicks find their mark. My ribs explode with pain, and I can’t find my breath as the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth.
No one moves to help me.
"Are you scared, you little bitch?" she spits out, "Because around here, I’m the monster who will make your nightmares a living dream, 24/7."
That chasm that broke open earlier today widens enough so a dark rage gathers in my chest, spreading outward like a cancer. A laugh bubbles up, bitter and bloody.
She thinksshe'sa monster?
I spit out a mouthful of blood onto the concrete and begin to laugh, the sound hollow and mirthless.
"You think I should be scared ofyou?" I manage to gasp out between hushed laughter and sharp intakes of breath. "I sleep with monsters, real monsters. You can't even begin to fathom what truly scares me."
It sure isn’t as fuck her.
Carmela pauses, her fists clenched. The shadows in the room begin to stir, to coil and twist with a life of their own. My laughter grows, a manic soundtrack to the encroaching darkness.
"I've been through hell," I continue, my voice gaining strength as I push myself up to my feet. I wobble on my unsteady legs, pain lancing through my stomach and chest. I likely have some bruised ribs, but I welcome the familiar discomfort right now. In the well of injury, I’m only stronger.
"I've seen things, felt things... You're just a bully in a cage. But me? I'm the one who dances with demons, who lies in the arms of shadows." The more I speak, the more confidence fills me.
Confusion and uncertainty creep into Carmela’s eyes as the darkness in the jail thickens, an unnatural cold filling the room. The other inmates stir, a murmur of unease rising like a tide. My back is to the corner of the cell that is now empty of women, but fast filling with shadows.
"And the thing about monsters," I whisper, my voice steady as the air pulses around me, "is that they look out for their own."
The bars rattle, a low growl emanating from my corner, the sound of a nightmare made flesh. Carmela backs away, her bravado crumbling in the face of the true horror that approaches.
