Page 72 of Twisted Heathens
Opening my mouth and sticking my tongue out as requested, I’m soon dismissed with a curt nod. “Good. You’re expected in Professor Lazlo’s office at ten o’clock for your shot. Next!”
My stomach drops as dread fills me. Shuffling away from the line, I fight to keep my breathing steady. Every inch of my body quakes involuntarily, despite my best efforts. Why am I so afraid of him?
Voices blur around me as I stand stock still, lost in my head. I tell myself that it’s just the others talking, but fear creeps down my spine nonetheless. No matter how many pills I swallow, the shadows and voices won’t leave me alone. They refuse to return to that little box in my mind and sneak back in when I least expect it.
A hand latches around my wrist and Rio sneers at me. I step backwards, attempting to put distance between us that he swiftly ignores. “Your boyfriend put on quite the show the other day. I do hope he’s enjoying his stay in the hole. Send him my regards, won’t you?”
“Screw you,” I mutter, fighting to escape his restraint.
“Not quite. He interrupted, remember? So rude and inconsiderate. Anyway, I don’t deliver without full payment, Brooklyn. You owe me, we had a deal.”
“I don’t owe you shit. You tore up the list days ago. We’re through.”
His hand only seems to tighten at my words, nails digging deep into my flesh. “Nope. We’re not through until I say so. Didn’t I tell you how things work around here? I don’t tolerate disrespect. Pay up or there’ll be trouble.”
“Pay for what exactly? You’re a fucking lunatic. I don’t see what I asked for.”
I shove Rio’s shoulder as he stumbles back, eyes hardening. “You need to learn your goddamn place already. Nobody fucking breathes in this place without my permission. You hear me, bitch? Piss me off and you won’t live to see your precious Hudson again.”
He glances around, giving a subtle nod to the nearby guard. I barely catch the knowing look shared between them before he shoves me against the wall, something cold and hard pressing into my ribcage. The slice of pain tells me exactly what it is.
“Like it?” Rio jeers, drawing the shank across my skin.
“Cute. Never took you for a prison thug,” I hiss under my breath. “Just how many guards have you paid off with daddy’s credit card? Or do you just blow them in the store cupboard?”
I feel the blood spilling beneath my t-shirt as he leans dangerously close. “Your smart mouth ain’t doing you any favours. Here’s the deal. I’ve got some blow for you, but my price has just gone up. Call it interest for messing me around. Take it or leave it.”
I’m so tempted to tell him to stick it up his ass, but my desperation is stronger and soon dissolves any sense of self-worth I have left. “I’ll take it. What about the rest?”
Please, I want to beg. I need that fucking stuff to escape in time.
“This is it for now. Make it worth my time and I’ll think about the rest.”
The blade disappears and the cocky asshole dances backwards like he owns the place, utterly unconcerned. No one says a damn word about the altercation. His buddy on duty is literally looking in the other direction, completely oblivious to what transpired.
“Meet me on the roof tonight at eight. Don’t be late.”
“The roof?” I repeat in confusion.
Rio winks, giving me a flash of the steel slipping into his pocket. I simply nod my agreement and turn away, swallowing the lump in my throat. I can’t face the guys for breakfast now. Not after agreeing to that. Instead I sneak outside, finding a bench to fall onto as my trembling hands reach into my coat pocket, quickly realising that I have no smokes left to occupy myself with.
I want to scream.
Pull my hair, slice my wrists and fucking shatter into a million pieces. Have you ever felt like a stranger in your own life? People talk to you, call your name … but none of it feels real. Like you’re just trapped behind glass watching your life simply pass by, one disaster at a time.
I sit there in the freezing autumn air until the bell rings and patients flood out from their first classes, indicating that it’s nearly ten. Hell awaits for me. I manage to dodge through the crowds to make it back inside, and check in at the desk that marks the entrance to the treatment wing.
“Brooklyn, here for Lazlo,” I mutter, flashing my ID badge.
Bundled past the therapy rooms, I pass Mariam’s door with a wistful sigh. Never thought I’d miss that overenthusiastic bitch, but here we are. The silent guard guides me through several locked doors, until we reach the wide staircase leading down. In my drug-addled state last time, I didn’t notice the sign.
Level Two - Therapy rooms 20-35
Level One - Solitary confinement
Basement - Z Wing
Down the stairs to level one, I’m escorted past endless doors, a familiar sight from my last trip to the hole. Muffled crying and voices fill the air, whispered ghosts telling tales of insanity behind locked doors. I struggle to repress the shiver wracking my body. We pass an open door leading into one of the solitary rooms, and I sneak a glance that has my blood freezing in my veins.