SEVEN
THREE AND A HALF YEARS AGO
Yet again, I’m in shackles. Two police officers are on either side of me, silently dragging me toward the doctor’s office. Their hands are tightly wrapped around my arms, and the longer we walk, the tighter their grip gets. This is my fourth time misbehaving in the past month, but is it really my fault?
My cellmate, Cherryl, is a fucking bitch.
She’s the only inmate I ever get physical with, and this time, I didn’t hurt her too much – just enough to have her remember me for a long time. She returned the sentiment with more force, which resulted in her revealing the knife she’d gotten her grabby hands on. She stabbed my shoulder before I was able to get the weapon out of her hands, but once I did get a hold of her knife, I stabbed her in each thigh.
She’s being taken to a different doctor, and of course, we were only separated when it was me on top of her, inflicting the wounds. But when I was screaming in pain, no one came to check up on us; no one bothered to look at us, only when the bitch started screaming.
“You’ll be taken to solitary confinement once you’re treated.”
Officer A states, voice flat and void of emotions. Instead of responding, I stare straight ahead, familiar with the hallway. I’ve been here almost too much, and by now, everyone thinks I’m a trouble magnet, because every week, there’s a different woman breathing down my neck.
And the worst part? They won’t separate Cherryl and me. We’ll remain in the same cell, and this is bound to happen again. In fact, I’ll bet that they’re counting on us killing each other so they wouldn’t have to be bothered by our antics anymore.
“Behave,”
officer B warns. “If the doctor complains, you’ll face severe consequences.”
With an eye roll, I nod.
Once we reach the infirmary, the officers remove my bounds, knocking on the door. They quite literally push me inside, treating me like a piece of dirt under their shoes. Sure, many of us are here for murder, but even the girls who committed crimes in self-defense are treated horribly. They see us as pigs, as vile beings that don’t deserve any human decency beyond the mandatory prison requirements.
It’s the reality – my reality-and I have no way out.
The door closes behind me, and I start inspecting the inside of the small office. My eyes narrow, and I don’t take another step forward. My arms fold in front of my chest as I look at the doctor.
“You’re not Melissa,”
I state the rather obvious. “Where is Melissa?”
The moment the man turns to face me, all air leaves my lungs.
“Doctor Melissa is sick, so I’m covering for her.”
This is suspicious. In the past month, Melissa’s been sick too often. Many other doctors have been covering for her, too. She’s either battling a severe illness or the man in front of me is lying.
“When is she coming back?”
I ask, blood dripping down my arm. “Only she will treat me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,”
he scoffs. “You’ll get an infection.”
I lift a shoulder. “So be it.”
The man rises from his chair, pushing it back, and walks toward me, his height towering over mine. There’s something unique about him, unrealistic almost, yet I can’t quite place it. Not only is he acting suspicious, but his face… he looks too young.
“Please,”
he pleads. “Let me look at the wound.”
“Aren’t you a little too young to be a doctor?”
He grins, pride evident on his face. “I’m just a genius. My name’s Benjamin Miller, by the way.”
“Fine,”
I sigh. “You can inspect my wound.”
Quickly, he grabs the essentials, pulls his chair over, and sits in front of me. I slump onto the hospital bed and can’t help but hum. Given the terrible mattresses we have in our cells, hospital beds feel like heaven.
“I have to touch your arm.”
“I’m aware,”
I drawl out. “Go for it.”
It’s… odd. I’m wary of him, yet there’s something oddly soothing, calming about him. He’s the first doctor, the first person to tell me what they were about to do to me. No one ever gives me that decency, and it feels weird.
Firstly, he cleans the wound with some gauze, then pauses for a few moments to inspect it thoroughly. He applies some disinfectant, and I bite my bottom lip to prevent a pathetic sound of pain from coming out. I’m not used to being treated like an actual human, and even Melissa’s hands were rough, more often than not.
But Benjamin’s? His hands are so soft.
His touch is so gentle that it momentarily makes me forget the wound on my shoulder.
“You need a couple of stitches,”
he says. “Do you want me to numb the area first?”
I shake my head. “No need. I’m used to this; just get it over with.”
Reluctantly, he complies.
It’s still very strange. If he’s a genius to the point of being a doctor at such a young age, why is he wasting his time in prison? There have to be better ways to spend his time and jobs that are better paid than this. Unless there’s someone he cares about on the inside that’s keeping him here.
I wince, pain shooting through my shoulder. He does it rather quickly, stitching up my torn flesh and then, to my surprise, softly stroking the skin around it, as if to soothe the ache. For some reason, his touch doesn’t disgust me. It feels almost natural to have his finger linger on my skin.
He looks at me, and something happens. I don’t know what it is, but something twitches in the pit of my stomach, and it’s the first time I’m ever feeling like this. I don’t know what it means, and I don’t have the time to figure it out.
His eyes are as gray as thick, prowling clouds in a thunderstorm. And thunderstorms have always been my solace; they always made me feel safe, as if no one could hurt me. His harsh stare reminds me of brutal storms that cut through the sky, bringing on the catastrophic, dark nights.
“I would like to keep you here overnight for observation.”
I get snapped into reality, brows furrowing together. “Why?”
He sighs. “You’ll be sent to solitary confinement, and it’s not exactly the cleanest place. I don’t want you to catch an infection.”
“Then go and talk to the officers outside.”
He’s swift on his feet, opening the door and stepping outside for a moment. I’m left alone, and in the meantime, I quickly get off the bed and head toward the cabinet drawer. I know exactly where Melissa keeps all the good sweets, and one of these days, my sweet tooth will be the death of me.
“All right, you’re definitely sta–”
he stops himself, both brows raised to his hairline. “What are you doing?”
From his perspective, this looks terrible.
I’m behind his desk, drawers opened on the cabinet behind me. Only a few of them are still closed, and I swallow thickly. My back is turned to him, and slowly, I grab the first thing that I feel under my fingertips in the drawer, then turn around.
I almost screamed.
The distance between the door and the desk is at least fifteen feet. Now, he’s standing right in front of me, his tall figure looking down at me. How the hell did he get behind me so quickly, so silently?
“Candy,”
I responded, showing him the bag of M some have their limbs missing. Someone massacred an entire prison, and I’m the only survivor.
My feet drag me outside, and I don’t stop running. I dart toward the woods, the cold, crisp air causing shivers to dance all over my skin. It’s a matter of time before the scene is discovered, and I need to be as far away as possible.
I don’t know how long it took for those people to die. In fact, all I know is that the screaming is something I’ll remember forever. It’s only after the power went out that I was able to push the door of solitary confinement open, and that means that the cameras aren’t working, either.
My cheeks are freezing, and the tips of my ears are almost getting frostbite. Without looking back, I continue running. Branches snap under my feet, and a couple of them trip me, but I don’t stop moving. My feet are getting tired, and I’m struggling to breathe.
I pause briefly, bending and holding my knees. My eyes snap shut, and my ears perk. From a distance, I can hear cars on the highway. My heart almost leaps at the thought, and although I shouldn’t do it, it’s my only option.
Hitchhiking.
My prison uniform is filthy from all the blood, but it’s at least dry now. With profound strength to push forward, I start running again toward the highway. From the corner of my eye, I see a clearing and a road behind it.
A wide smile tugs on the corner of my lips, and I make my way toward it.
My head whips to the right when I hear a car approaching. It’s a big one, black, and it’s coming my way. I don’t know much about cars, but this one looks to be brand new, and coincidentally, it has no license plates.
The car stops right in front of me, and the tinted window rolls down.
A man who looks old enough to be my father is inside; his salt-and-pepper hair and stubble are the first things I notice. His piercing, green eyes stare at me, revealing nothing. His eyes flicker all over my dirty clothes, the bloodstains, though he doesn’t comment on it.
“Do you need a ride?”
His voice is silky smooth, and strangely, I don’t feel threatened by him. I manage a weak nod, and the window rolls back up. For a moment, disappointment blooms in my chest, but it vanishes once he opens the door from the inside.
“Hop in.”
I shouldn’t do it. He’s a stranger, and he could be just as dangerous as the men who used to hurt me. I’m trying my best to be wary of him, but he offers me a smile, and I can’t keep up with the stern act.
Slowly, I enter the vehicle, closing the door behind me. While I’m buckling up, he speeds off, not looking at me. The scent of lemons from the air freshener that hangs on the rearview mirror hits my nose, soothing my aching nerves.
“What’s your name?”
I blink, then swallow. “Blair. My name is Blair.”
“Nice to meet you, Blair,”
he chuckles to himself. “I’m Hudson.”