23
Alana
Restlessness is runningthrough my body to each of my limbs; if I’m not walking a rut in between the dresser and the bed, then I’m sitting in the reading nook, wringing my hands together and tapping my foot on the floor. With each second that passes in this shrinking box of a room, I get closer and closer to screaming my fucking head off.
It’s been hours since I’ve seen him, and usually, that’s a good thing. His light knocking on the door makes my aggravation skyrocket, and I’m glad he hasn’t come back sooner than he should. I hope he took me seriously when I told him I didn’t want to see him unless I was getting out of this room. That’s the only way I won’t lose it on him. The tray is by the door, so he doesn’t have to come in here, and I have all the snacks I need in the little goodie box he dropped off. I’m just about to pull my hair out when I hear the knock at the door.
“I hope you’re here to tell me what I want to hear,” I yell towards the door.
The door opens, and I stand, ready to lay into him if he comes at me with some weak explanation about why he isn’t going to let me go outside. But he walks in holding two bathing suits; an electric blue matching bra and bottoms set and a polka-dotted white and black one. The sight of them is like a weight off my chest, and the air around me just became easier to breathe.
I cross the room, keeping my sights set on him, still wanting to go off, but I swallow it all down, which is like swallowing acid. He stands in the doorway, wearing swim trunks, a black t-shirt, and a nervous smile, watching me as I approach him.
When I get to him, I snatch the blue one away from him and head toward the bathroom.
“Are you hungry?” he asks me as I’m walking away. “Do you want to eat something first?”
I don’t answer him. Instead, I continue into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me, hoping he takes my silence as the fuck him and his question that I mean it to be.
I change quickly, anxious to get out of this compartment. Once I’m dressed, I rummage through the cabinet for the sunscreen I’ve seen in there every day since I’ve been here, and I grab a towel before going back out to find Kam leaning on the wall beside the door.
He doesn’t say anything when I come out; he reaches for the doorknob and opens the door, letting me out first.
Walking through the door is like walking into another part of the prison, bigger than my cell but a prison nonetheless.
I make my way to the patio doors with Kameron behind me, and when I slide the glass to the side, I inhale the sweet air, taking it deep into my lungs. The sun feels so good on my skin, like I’ve never felt its warmth before. It’s damn near orgasmic. And the breeze, the light wind that brushes across my skin, carries some of my contempt away with it.
But only for a moment.
After my fifth breath of fresh outside air, Kameron’s presence behind me pisses me off more. Fuck him for making me miss this, and fuck him for making me long for my own freedom. I shouldn’t be standing here happy to be outside, and the fact thatKameronis the one responsible for it makes me hate him more than I already do.
I move away from him, walking barefoot on warm concrete towards the pool chairs. I drop my towel and sunscreen on one and sit on the edge of the one beside it. He doesn’t follow me over, and I don’t look around to see where he is. I stare out at the water, enjoying the smell of chlorine and the soft rustle of the wind in the trees.
Now that I’m out, the idea of going back into that room is maddening. Realizing this time is limited makes my anxiety spike, and dread washes over me.
I have to get out of here before I go crazy.
I grab the sunscreen and start slathering my arms and belly with it, getting the easy parts out of the way first. With a lot of maneuvering, I manage to cover my legs but then that leaves my back.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Kam coming toward me, and I have to shut my eyes to fight off yelling at him to get the fuck away from me. I don’t want to deal with him right now. I just want to enjoy my time in the sun without having to hear his voice, but I have to.
“Let me help you,” he says once he’s close enough.
Both Megan and Veronica are with me right now, but Veronica isn’t saying shit. I can’t help but wonder why as I glance up at Kam, who’s looking pretty fucking determined.
“You don’t give a shit about feeling someone up that isn’t Megan?” I tease him.
He lets out a sigh.
“You’re obviously struggling, and I don’t want your back to get sunburnt,” he points out, his voice tight. “It’s okay to ask me for help. You know that, right?”
I regard him closely, wondering what caused him to go from looking like a nervous wreck to being irritated. I wonder what I did that has him talking to me like he’s fed up?
“Kameron, give me one good reason why Iwouldwant to ask you for help?”
“Do you want me to get your back or not?” He snips at me, and I laugh.
“You came to me. I would’ve figured it out somehow but since you seem so eager to please, do whatever the fuck you want.”