He kisses me on the mouth this time, his forked tongue brushing against mine, turning my core molten. I’m on the verge of breaking and telling him to take me away from here and fuck me senseless.
Or hell, he could push me up against the bars and violate me seven ways from Sunday right here for all I care.
Shadow pulls back and regards me with an unreadable expression and then nods, accepting my decision with a resignedsilence. He turns back to the bars of the cell and steps through them, disappearing.
Only then do the rest of the women unleash screams of terror, their cries echoing off the cold walls.
Morning breaks into chaos.
A discarded body is found on the front steps of the building.
The guards are baffled—no clue who did it or how Carmela got out. The security footage is useless, just fuzz and shadows. Outside the news crews crowd, their microphones and cameras like a forest of electronic eyes and ears, while from upstairs, the sounds of heated arguments trickle down.
In the holding cell, I lie back on a cot as if it's a lazy Sunday while the other women avoid me, leaving a ring of empty bunks around me despite the tight squeeze.
When the guards start pulling out the scared women for questioning, I don’t bother to get up. I doze off again, taking advantage of the safety Shadow has extended to me. No one will touch me after what happened.
I know all too well what's coming next—stories of monsters in the cell, and it'll all point back to me. Whatever shit storm comes, I’ll figure out a way to handle it.
"Smith, you got a visitor," a new guard calls in the afternoon. He eyes me warily, and I know he’s heard the stories.
Cuffed and paraded back to the processing area, I meet my state-appointed attorney, Caleb Mitchell. He's a young Black man with short, cropped hair. The rumpled jacket that is too big on his slim shoulders, likely a secondhand suit. Despite his age and appearance, he carries himself with authority and conviction.
"These charges are crazy," he argues, waving his briefcase for emphasis. "Monsters? Drugs? Really?" He rolls his eyes. "Seems like the cops here are the ones huffing glue and making up bedtime stories."
Across the way, I lock eyes with my sandwich benefactor. Tony’s face turns ashen. He must have seen what happened to Carmela and by now he’s heard the stories too.
I brought a monster to the yard.
I can tell just by the way he blinks, he doesn’t know what to think of me.
A little thrill goes through me, and I can't help the small smile that breaks through. His eyes flutter wider before he turns and rushes off to be anywhere but near me.
My attorney leans in close, lowering his voice. "We're gonna get you out of this mess, Ms. Smith," Caleb assures me. "They have nothing on you, and this witch hunt will not stand."
Within an hour, the charges are dropped, and the cold cuffs are removed. Walking out, I feel everyone watching me go. They're all still trying to piece together the puzzle, but they don’t really want the truth.
I step out into the fresh air, the noise of the precinct fading behind me. I’m free, but I taste the lingering chaos I’m leaving behind.
I’m not the same girl as when I went in, and I have a feeling this new version of me is about to make life very interesting. I’ve gotten a taste of power. I’ve stepped into a part of myself that refuses to let anyone hurt her any longer. In the past I’ve always thought it wise to keep my head down, to roll with the punches, but that’s over.
I am the monster I’ve claimed to be, and next time Shadow comes, I will show him exactly how alike we are.
On The Edge
My apartment is actually cold. Between walking out of that jail and the difference in temperature, it feels like I’m walking into a stranger’s place. Or maybe that’s because time yawns out in front of me without a job to keep me occupied.
Evie, the quiet house cleaner, no longer exists. I left her behind in that jail cell.
But I can’t sit on my hands. If I want to keep a roof over my head, if I want to eat this week, I’m going to have to get a job and keep moving forward.
If there’s anything I know, it’s starting over.
Finding a new job turns out to be even harder than I thought it would be. I spend my days trudging back and forth from the library's aged computers to cafes, to check out bulletin board listings. My phone, a basic model incapable of anything beyond calls and texts, is of little help.
Cleaning houses was my go-to, but even those opportunities have dried up. I scour online listings, send emails, make calls, but every lead is a dead end. Days blur into one another, each as unproductive as the last until I become restless.
My finances are a dwindling clock, each tick a reminder of the approaching empty. Food becomes a luxury. Even my cat friend stares up at me with hungry eyes that I can't satisfy.
