42
Robyn
My jail cell is gray. It has gray walls, a gray floor, and a gray door with a small slot at the bottom for food trays. There’s another at eye level that they slide open whenever they want to look at me. The bed is a slab of concrete with a thin mattress on top and a blanket I keep pulling up to my chin, even though it isn’t cold in here.
The gray overalls are too big for me. The sleeves swallow my hands if I let them. I keep folding the cuffs back, and they keep slipping down.
They took everything from me when I came in, including my cell phone. They even took my hairband. I feel like a criminal, even though I’ve done nothing wrong.
I roll onto my side and stare at the wall.
This can’t really be happening to me.
I keep hoping to wake up. To open my eyes and find that I’m in my bed, in my apartment. That none of this is real.
Do my staff know I’m in here? Do they think I’m guilty?
Ridge said that he thinks I’m innocent. Was he just saying that?
Why did I let him into my life? There was that voice telling me not to. Why didn’t I listen?
The worst part of all is that I still have feelings for him, after all that he did to me.
I still want to trust him and even forgive him.
I’m an idiot.
There is only one reason Ridge came back into my life. It was to find evidence against me.
That’s it. The end.
Why did he have to sleep with me to do it?
He didn’t need to. He had an all-access pass to every area of my life. He could have done his job without ever laying a hand on me.
So why did he?
I roll onto my back, looking up at the ceiling, which is also gray.
I think he did it to get an edge. Ridge took every bit of that edge and used it.
He used me.
I blink hard and turn my face toward the wall.
I am not going to cry. I cried last night after they locked me away in here, and now I need to be strong. I drag my hand under each eye and roll onto my back.
I’m exhausted. I’ve barely slept. Every time I start to drift, my brain reminds me where I am.
The mattress is hard. The pillow is harder. The lights in the corridor stay on all night.
My stomach is in a tangle. They brought me a breakfast tray this morning and another one an hour ago for lunch. I couldn’t eat any of it. The thought of food makes me feel sick.
The tray is still sitting on the small ledge under the slot in the door, untouched.
Footsteps sound in the corridor, and they’re coming this way.
I close my eyes. They’re probably coming for the tray.
