Page 9 of Twisted Heathens
Brooklyn
I Want Out by Lowborn
Sunlight bathes me in warmth. Streaks of orange, pink and red paint the sky, the darkness of night abating. I let my gritty eyes sink shut, savouring the feeling. It’s been way too long since I’ve watched a sunrise that wasn’t behind metal bars.
My mum used to drag me out of bed to do it with her when I was a kid. No matter the weather, come rain or shine. She insisted we watch, and it became a daily ritual for most of my childhood. Right up until they left my life for good in a cloud of ash.
Come on, Brooke.
Put yourself in the way of beauty.
Another yawn rips free from my mouth. I’m exhausted. By the time I’d swept my hand over every inch of the tiny room assigned to me, it was past midnight. But you always have to check, I learnt that quickly in Clearview. When they put me in solitary for the first time, I discovered a stash of pills in a cracked brick. Based on the coma-like state they left me in after I overdosed, it was someone’s meds they fake-swallowed and saved for a rainy day.
No such gifts were left for me here.
I’ll have to do it myself.
Nearby footsteps break my precious solitude and I look around, my eyes landing on an early morning jogger. Seems I’m not the only one who can’t sleep.
He’s gangly, all long limbs and skinny skater-boy vibes. Even from here, I can see the dense curls sticking out of his baseball cap. My attention focuses on the hard muscles of his calves. He’s shredded in a way that suggests this is a regular exercise routine.
He doesn’t notice my presence and just keeps on running. I’m really not up for conversation. I was awake all night, tossing and turning as the walls laughed at me. Just the thought of my upcoming morning tour leaves my mouth dry. That preppy geek, Kade, is supposed to be taking me.
I don’t need a tour.
Once I see the shrink, I can get the ball rolling.
It won’t take long to build up a nice little cocktail of drugs. Enough to stop my heart and choke me to death. Not a pretty way to go, but beggars can’t be choosers. The level of privacy I have in this place is incredible. They make you shit with the door open in Clearview, so this is a fucking dream to me. Doc was right, what an opportunity. One that I fully intend to embrace.
I take off through the quad, intending to avoid the crowds. I’ll just be fresh meat for them to pick apart and bully. I still remember my first day in Clearview. The guards marched me into the rec room and sat me amongst the other lifers. They were exchanging diagnoses like it was a fucking slumber party, all competing with one another. Fuck that.
I’m floored when the entrance door refuses to open. Not even a bit. Cursing, I kick the stupid thing as it still doesn’t budge, slamming my body into it and relishing the resultant pain. I don’t have a fucking ID yet. Kade let me in last night.
There’s a high-pitched beep and it swings open, causing me to stumble. My back hits something hard, but it’s too warm and nice smelling to be a wall. I turn my head and meet the bright green eyes of the jogger. He’s staring at me blankly, looking almost shocked. His hands grip my arms to prevent me from falling.
“Uh, thanks,” I stammer.
He continues to look straight at me, those emerald orbs piercing with intelligence. Not a word passes his lips as he studies me before eventually releasing his iron-grip. I watch as he disappears inside the building, leaving me staring at his back like an idiot.
Clearly, it’s not just me that dislikes small talk, but with a tight ass like that, he doesn’t really need to say a word.
Back in my room, I prepare for the day. It’s not that bad here. With a surprisingly comfortable bed, white sheets and fluffy pillows, it’s better than the lumpy cot I had previously. The room features grey walls and a built-in mahogany desk, along with matching curtains hiding a heavily barred window. Not too shabby. I guess the private sponsors for this experimental program pay well.
Heaving my bag up, everything is a mess inside after the search last night. My belongings are meagre. Four t-shirts. Two sweaters. Two pairs of jeans. One journal. Some old photographs. My dirty Chucks and a pair of ancient Doc Martens. Beneath the stitching, tucked into a secret pocket, there’s a half-empty carton of cigarettes, lighter and two more razor blades.
I don’t own much. By the time the cops caught up to me, the contents of this bag were my entire life. I’m lucky that I’ve managed to hold onto it. Especially the creased, dog-eared polaroids. I intended to throw myself in front of the train while holding them but was arrested instead.
Choosing my favourite acid wash jeans and worn Nirvana shirt, I dress in silence. My mind ticks away anxiously, even as I lace my neon pink Doc Martens. I wonder what will happen to the bag when I’m gone. Will they throw it? My shit is worthless. I should get rid of the journal myself. Someone will only enjoy reading it and feigning insight into why I did it. Fuck that. This is my moment to own. Dying on my terms, in my way, when I choose to.
Not like he did. You took that from him, a voice whispers from across the room. My head snaps up as I search around, finding nobody there. Not even a shadow taunting me. Someone knocks on my door, bringing me back to reality as I force air back into my constricted lungs.
“Brooklyn? You in?”
Sliding my best blank expression into place, I grab my pack of cigarettes and leather jacket before opening the door.
“Good morning,” Kade greets.
He’s dressed to the nines again. This time in a pale blue shirt with a navy tie. With his black-rimmed glasses and slick blonde hair, he’s probably the fantasy of many women around here.