Chapter 8
“Excuse me, would you like some short bread?” I held out the box. “Don’t worry, it's not poison. I am a good person.”
The man who I offered it to—an axe murderer, I think—rebuffed my advance and showed me his back. I decided he was probably gluten free.
Fortunately, a woman killed two people and so she was considered more violent than a girl who beat another with a prosthetic limb which meant my cell was given to her and I was back in gen pop.
At least I did not hear “Princess” every few seconds. The single word teased up my inner thighs spreading his voice into all my insides.
I used my time productively to secure alliances.
All inmates belonged to different groups/cliques/factions/gangs—whatever the term they used to describe their very ostentatious grouping system, letting others know proudly who they liked and who they did not. No one had a flag, and I thought that a wasteful opportunity.
I was not sure how to go about becoming a new member of a gang. There were no application forms for the prerequisites.
“Do you eat cunt?”
“Do I what?” I leaned in further to the group of all women.
A fabulous group to start with. Seven females glued to each other in united sisterhood and so I asked if I could join. Me and my shortbread.
“Do you fuck women?” she asked. “We only accept females that fuck other women.”
“I’ve slept with both men and women in experimentation to seek out a proper orgasm, however that failed. I feel nothing towards anyone, so I am yet to discover my sexual preferences. Unless—do you happen to wear sunglasses?”
“Look, you can’t be with us unless you eat cunt.”
I pursed my lips. “Why not eat shortbread?”
They did.
After, they decided it was not as good as eating cunt and declined accepting me and said that they would kill me later for interrupting them.
Everyone busied in their factions, it was almost sweet in a way. These loveless, lonely people finding companionship. Even the Soulless did not allow themselves to become abandoned.
Meanwhile, I stood alone, carrying my shortbread box.
But then I pricked into instant glee finding my oldest and dearest friend out of them all.
“Panty snatcher!” I ran to him, waving huge.
My old bunk mate from jail sat in a group of others. Upon seeing me, the panty snatcher dropped with mortification.
“Hello!” I beamed a smile. “Good day. How are you? I was wondering, can I join your group?”
“Don’t talk to her.” My old bunk mate told the others. “She asked me to kill myself. She’s a monster!”
“No, I'm not,” I said. “I am a good person!”
They showed me their shoulders.
That night I slept under my bunk in case I had an unwanted late-night visitor. Thankfully, the inmates were far too preoccupied with the Execution Battle.
Everything was quiet.
A graveyard of noise.
People either slept to soak in their one last night of peace, laid awake in a sea of dread or colluded with others to discuss action plans. It smelled like urine.
I counted my heartbeats, tapping my chest.
There must be someone out there like me.
Another being who knew the absence of tears and would hold me in their arms and finally, I could click into them like a puzzle piece.
Honestly, the worst part about this all was not being considered Soulless, was not going to prison, was not the stripping of my rights, was not being slammed to death tomorrow… it was being alone.
How awful this was, this loneliness.
I wished I could cry.
A noise emitted from the cell next door. I knew it well by now. The chorus of Tommy crying. He did that frequently. Most ignored him like a dripping tap in the bathroom or the flashing light on the coffee machine. Without his constant whimpers the prison would be too quiet.
He sat in the corner of his cell next door, rubbing his face.
“Why do you cry?” I bent to him.
“Go away!”
Under the damp dark his face was blotched and the capillaries in his eyes grew red.
“Tommy, it is my firm belief that you should not be in here, more so than I. I am undoubtedly Soulless, however you are a true innocent who has been caught in the cracks of our institution. I am determined to get myself out, however, I will find a way to get you out before myself. I hope you understand the importance of what I am saying—making you my main priority—because I truly do not want to be in here and have no problems of self-admiration.”
I did not think he was listening.
I was unsure if I cared about people. I helped people, yes. But I believed that did not come out of the goodness from my heart, but rather the understanding of following a moral code. Structure was easier than emotion.
We could not have starving children, and so I launched charities to feed starving children.
There was not enough aid for the disabled, and so I launched charities to aid the disabled.
Elderly people were dying in their homes without proper assistance, and so I launched charities to assist elderly people in their homes.
I spent our families fortune and Magnus’s accounts faster than spilling sand for others.
This was simple; find a problem where compassion was needed and fill it with my family’s money.
People thought I was benevolent and generous and packed with love. In fact, it was none of that. I think, deep down, I just wanted to prove to myself that I wasn’t Soulless.
Look, I said to myself. You care about people, you cannot be a psychopath, you cannot be Soulless.
I looked at Tommy with sudden desperation clumping up inside of me. He needed to get out of here.
It did not make sense.
I was now Soulless, I no longer needed to prove to myself that I was not, it was deemed and stamped and marked in me. Yet… why did I care to help Tommy?
I watched Tommy’s tears, envious. Something cracked in my chest, like the breaking of glass. “What does it feel like?” I asked him. “To cry? I heard it feels horrible, but beautiful. Like a rainbow after a storm. Can you describe it to me? Maybe I can try to cry too.”
“What?”
“Would you like a hug? I loathe hugging. However, I am aware the act of affection offers others relief. I am willing to embrace you if it will make you feel better.”
He kicked at me. “Don’t touch me.”
“Oh, I apologise.” I put distance between us that I hoped made him more comfortable around me. “Is this your first Execution Battle tomorrow?”
“Go away!”
“It is also mine. Would you like to partner together?”
“Everyone wants to kill you.”
Ah. He had a point. I supposed his best option for safety would be to find a hole and hide in it. He was small, he’d fit in most places. “Tommy, if you plan on hiding for the full ten days, that will not work. You will die of dehydration. You will need water.”
“Go away.”
“Also, the agony of starvation might get to you.”
“Go away.”
“Would you like some shortbread?”
“Go away.”
Morning blared with an alarm telling us our cemetery was awaiting.
The prison was buzzing. Inmates hyped up on adrenaline skated their eyes to each other and held tight in their groups. The taste of rushing fear and leaking anticipation hung in the air.
I hugged my box of shortbread. Five pieces left.
We dressed.
For the Execution Battle, inmates wore what they had been arrested in or clothing which they had picked up in previous Battles if they had survived.
Inmates went in through one door in boring red and came out through another in clothing that told a story.
Thick leather boots, joggers perfect for fleeing, sports bras, sweatshirts, jeans, caps, beanies and spiked belts.
Now in their clothing I saw the personality of each person.
The skin of personal clothing seemed to act like armour. Excitement. It pumped into the people as they felt over materials they had missed and soon their grins reflected onto me.
I wore my dinner dress and kitten heels.
A lovely A-line, shoulder strapped, in pearl white silk. It fell like a waterfall and shimmered into diamond.
Everyone laughed.
“Ha.” I waved with a smile. “Yes. It is hilarious. I am unprepared. I will not be able to run in my heels. The dress is absurd. Thank you.”
Tommy hugged himself in the corner donning a green football t-shirt.
I made a mental note of his appearance. I wanted to wave to him and offer him comfort but thought it best not to draw attention to him since most attention was already on me.
If people saw that I favoured him they might chase after him too.
I waved instead to Vil. “I love you!”
The large mountain man lost his wiry glare planted on me. Vil muttered something; “what the hell?” I think.
“My darling, Vil!” I shouted to him from across the room. “My sweetheart, my pumpkin pie, I will see you in there!”
Everyone dashed their sights between us, their eyes narrowing in on Vil.
Vil loosened his crossed arms. “Hey! I’m not with that bitch!”
“Sorry!” I touched my lower lip. “I forgot you told me not to tell everyone that we are secret lovers.”
“Shut up, bitch!”
“I miss you already!”
The crowd parted as the officers brought in the inmates from downstairs. Violence in human form.
They filed out one by one, chains clinking from their wrists, darkness brewing upon their shoulders.
The last caused everyone to glide back like fish to a shark.
Dig Graves.
He strode like a stalking wolf in his procession. Wide shoulders back, his legs precise in each calculated step.
My breath held as I saw him so clear and visible in the light, a mirror image to himself seven years ago when he had crawled into my bedroom with a blade.
He wore the same attire.
Dark jeans, a black t-shirt that showed the definition of muscle across his chest and a leather jacket with a hood pulled up over his head. His face was hidden in the shadows of the hood, and he kept his head down, showing a hint of a perfect sloped nose and pink lips.
And sunglasses.
Oh, freckle me.
Red, heart-shaped sunglasses.
He looked up, searching, a flick of black hair fell across his cheek.
I sunk into the crowd.
Though I hid well behind a bundle of people and he had not seen me, he faced in my direction, glaring as if he knew I was there.
The officers organised people into groups of who would travel together and be assigned in the arena in the same starting place.
Since there were hundreds of Soulless from three different prisons, they did not all begin in the same area of the arena.
Instead, a dozen at a time were dropped off in different starting points.
It seemed the officers were breaking up the factions and it became very apparent that those they were forcing together were people who had disputes with each other. Two inmates who had a skirmish just yesterday were forced into the same group.
My brother had told me this was routine. By placing personal enemies together, the Execution Battle started off with an incredibly entertaining bloodbath.
An officer called my name, and I strode to him smiling. His job would be particularly difficult. It did not matter who I was placed with. Everyone hated me for certain reasons without a personal grudge, there was no one, absolutely no one who—
“Freckles!” I jolted as he rammed me to stand next to Dig Graves.