The Cage (Book 2)

Mirror on the Wall

Mirror on the Wall

Schneider

I hated ugly mirrors. Not all mirrors. Just ugly mirrors that distorted your true form. As far as I was concerned, not all mirrors were created equal. Some made you look fat. Others made your face look too big compared to the rest of your body.

The very ancient one hanging haphazardly on the wall right before me was one such ugly mirror. Its corners were stained by old age, marring my already rough-looking reflection. It made me look thinner. Surely, I hadn't lost all that weight. Surely I didn't look so utterly weak and pathetic.

Nevertheless, I didn't turn away from it. Not that I could anyway.

It was an appearance that I had now grown familiar with. And sick of.

I actively avoided looking into the mirror most of the time, but I decided to look now and take it all in one last time.

I stared at my bearded face with disgust, taking in my hollow cheeks and dirt-stained forehead. My hair reached past my shoulders in tangled, dirty strands, a length I never favored because it made me look like Tarzan. Then I let my eyes slowly travel down the length of my half naked body. I knew I was a fool to deny that I had lost weight; it was only natural given my diet -or rather lack of. No matter. It wasn't anything a cheeseburger couldn't fix.

The wounds inflicted upon me were finally healing. Well, most of them.

The bullet wound in my chest just above my heart had fully healed some ten months ago, leaving behind an ugly hollowed dip in my skin. It was my fourth bullet wound to be added to the collection. The lacerations running down my back however were something new. And permanent. The scars were deep and criss-crossed over each other horrendously, and the first of them still looked new and angry even a year and a half later.

Fortunately, I couldn't see them most of the time on account of me being shackled to the wall by two iron manacles. They were an ugly sight to be sure.

Still, I knew they were there. How could I not? Their searing pain kept me up most nights.

That and the thought of escape.

Today was the day.

I had planned this day down to the last meticulous detail. I patiently bid my time, watching their routes, memorizing their schedules, and concocting an escape plan so iron-clad, only the force of God could ruin it.

I had a feeling God was on my side today.

And God willing, I would be out of here and on my way to prison in less than two hours.

I'm coming, Julian.

****

Julian

Today was not a good day. Everything seemed to be going wrong. It wasn't even lights out yet and three separate fights had already broken out, resulting in a two-hour lockdown that meant there would be no dinner tonight. The prison population made it audibly clear that that was a bunch of bullshit.

My head was pounding by the time the lights finally turned off, and even then Block C didn't settle down for another thirty minutes.

By the time I changed into my nightclothes and washed, all that remained from the initial ruckus was chatter.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror. I had been staring into mirrors a lot lately.

A sigh escaped my lips. I slowly turned my head to the left, and then to the right, taking in all the subtle and not so subtle changes in my reflection. I supposed it was the passage of time working its magic on my features, but I knew better than that.

I had been hardened against my will. Hard eyes. Hard lines across my jaw. It wasn't something I appreciated. Perhaps it was because, previously, I didn't look like I belonged here, with my hopeful yet weary gaze and my eternal naivete leading me headlong into trouble. But now, I fit right in. I looked like a hardened, world-weary criminal. It made my life sentence very real, the endless years trapped here looming before me. No camera crew was about to pop out and say that this was all an elaborate prank. No doppelganger of mine with whom I'd been mistaken would be revealed as the true culprit.

"The tattoo's healing nicely." Cherry said from outside the cell.

I was startled out of my thoughts, but I'd learned sometime in the past year and a half not to let it show. The tattoo in question was a black-and-white tiny doorway leading out to a moonlit sky right under my collarbone, peeking from under my half open shirt. It was a silly little thing even to me, but Cherry had insisted on it tirelessly until I eventually caved some five days ago. It was my first ever tattoo. "Shouldn't you be in your cell?"

"Why, when you're here?"

Our eyes met in the mirror.

The cell's door slid open.

Cherry stepped in and the door slid closed behind him.

He came to stand behind me. Hands wrapped around my torso, pulling me into a warm chest.

"I missed you."

I put down my toothbrush.

I felt kisses feathering my nape.

I resisted the urge to push him away.

I told myself I needed the distraction, and if Cherry was willing...

Well, I needed the distraction.

*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*

:O 

Is Julian justified? 

Thanks for reading! 

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