VIOLA
“Pascal,” I say, trying Griffin’s niece.
“Lily isn’t waking up,” a terrified voice says through the wall. I clench my jaw against another wave of pain and suck in a breath of air.
“Is she breathing,” I say tersely. I remember seeing a couple of over-the-counter painkillers in the bathroom.
“Yes, she’s breathing.”
“Okay, good. Put her in the recovery position while I go into the bathroom.”
“Wait, don’t leave us.”
“I’m not leaving,” I grit out, closing my eyes and then opening them again as the pain erodes away my patience. One thing is true—I absolutely hate kids.
After I find the painkillers, I settle onto the floor next to the wall facing the door and listen for Lily waking up. Every so often Pascal asks me if I’m there and I say, “Yes, I am.” And then we lapse into silence again.
It gets dark fast. Eventually, Lily wakes up and wants a burger.
I check she’s okay, as much as I can by asking.
She’s subdued, but she says she’s fine. If she says so then she must be. I can’t read between the lines at the best of times, and clocking her body language is out of the question.
“Do you still have the liquid E?” I ask her just after the man outside leaves and before the next one arrives. In my head I’ve worked out the rota of the guards on the doors and how many. One usually, two at most. They’re cocky bastards who think with their dicks more than anything.
“Er, yes, it’s up my vag? Why?” Lily says.
“Just hold on to it.”
“Fine. I was hoping to trade it for a burger,” Lily snorts.
I roll my eyes. She has the appetite of a horse. I don’t blame her though. So far, they’ve fed us twice. Once at what felt like midday, and then later just after sunset. They do it in pairs and I have to sit on the bed while they slide the tray through the door and into the room. They don’t give me anything that could be used as a weapon. Just a tray of sandwiches, a box of juice with a paper straw, and some more pain killers. I’m used to a light diet, but Lily hasn’t stopped complaining. She reminds me of Jude.
Fuck, I miss him.
Long after the girls have fallen asleep, when my wrist has settled to a dull ache thanks to the drugs, and there’s no sign of Kristian, I let myself drift. The dreams I have are dark and full of fucking blood. More often than not, I wake to Lily asking me if I’m okay.
I forgot that I do that—shout in my sleep.
Only the boys know about that little quirk of mine, and they never say a fucking word.
The next dayis much the same. Guards changing, bland food arriving, and no Kristian. On the outside I appear sane and calm, but inside I’m seething. It’s like a black hole has opened up inside me and everything I am is being consumed into it. I’m becoming this dark, soulless thing with only one desire—to slice Kristian into little pieces and feed him to my father’s fucking dogs.
After two more days, the girls are getting restless. So am I. I don’t see the need to sit by the wall anymore, so I use the time and the facilities wisely. There’s a shower so I use it. My demand for clean clothes goes ignored. The underwear I’m wearing still has spots of Kristian’s blood on it, but I’d rather wear it than be naked.
I’ve stopped taking the painkillers. My wrist is less painful day by day though it’s still quite sore. Lily occasionally cracks a joke through the wall but mostly I leave them to chat amongst themselves. I spend every moment looking for weaknesses, especially in the windows (which have bars) and the door. I stress the furniture in case it could be broken easily. I save up my painkillers just in case. And I pace the fucking room looking for any way out.
Occasionally, I cut myself with my nails and leave drops of blood under the mat and behind mirrors. Should anyone come looking for me, it’s useful for them to know I was here. If I die, at least the police might find my blood all over this room.
On the fourth day of being in this shitty room, I’ve had enough. I stalk up the door and bang on it.
“Bill, I need more meds,” I say through the door to the guy outside. I’ve chosen to target Bill because he’s the quieter one. He’s also the one who speaks to us with a kinder voice. I know his name because I’ve heard the others call him it occasionally. Bill doesn’t answer at first. He probably doesn’t know what to do or say now that I’m talking to him.
“Bill? Are you there?” I say again, giving a gentle tap. “I’m in a lot of pain.” It’s not a lie. Since I’ve stopped taking the drugs they give me with every meal, I’ve been in downright agony.
Both Lily and Pascal have stopped talking. I wish they would bloody act normal because they’re making this a bigger deal than it is.
“I can’t get you any more,” he says, eventually.