5. Roman
FIVE
Roman
I don’t know exactly how or why I end up here. Some part of my brain must have been making decisions while I was unaware of it. This option, maybe, has been sitting in the back of my mind for a while because I walk straight through the old Constantine gym like it makes sense.
Light from the street filters in through the high windows, giving vague shape to the punching bags and elevated boxing ring.
Darkness swallows me as I walk along the hallway.
The only sound is my bare feet on the concrete and the harsh puffs of breath that I can’t seem to get control of.
I bypass the locker room where we kill people and take the stairs down to what used to be a storage area .
I hit the switch, flooding the main room with harsh fluorescent light, revealing an old couch and microwave, the underground exit at the back, and the steel door to the holding cell.
I punch in the cell’s code, a number still lodged in my brain from the past. The past does stick like that. There’s no deleting it. Even when you feel like you don’t remember, it’s there.
The lock clicks. I open the heavy door. I go inside and let it thump shut behind me, engaging the automatic lock.
This cell is very different from my last one. It’s smaller, and instead of a long wall of bars, it’s completely enclosed in cinderblocks and steel. There’s a mattress and toilet but no sink.
I start pacing corner to corner, but it’s very frustrating because there isn’t much room. There’s no punching bag or pullup bar. My hands are fisted at my sides. There’s nothing I can do with them.
But that’s the point. Because I almost—
A strange sound rattles out of me as the scene flashes through my mind. The dark room. Lucas trapped under me on the floor, my arm around his neck.
I get dizzy. I catch myself against a wall. I slide down, wedging my back into the corner. I draw up my knees and prop my elbows on them. I drop my head and curl my hands over it and try to not exist.