𝐇𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐑𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐫, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐆𝐨𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐬.
Love is hope for the hopeless and sin for the saint. Love makes you do things you never intended to do, but it's distinct when you hold hands and promise to behold each oth...
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Warning: Death, Gang R*pē!
Target vote: 330+
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Every breath is a war.
They can break the ribs, but they can't break the heart that beats inside. Not when- the heartis already caged in someone else's hand.
I woke up with a sharp pull in my chest, my ribs aching, and the dull sting of something hanging from my arm. I blinked my eyes open, taking in the sterile white walls and the dim light above me. The saline bottle hung next to me, its clear liquid dripping steadily.
The Central Jail hospital smell hit me next, and I immediately knew where I was.
I tried to sit up, but the pain in my side made me wince, and I collapsed back against the bed. My right hand- mistake, my right limb instinctively searched for my prosthetic, but it was lying on the table across me. I was alive, but I wasn't sure for how long.
The sudden sound of boots echoed in the small room, and I turned my head. A guard stood in the doorway, his posture rigid, his eyes cold as usual.
"Get dressed," he barked, his voice as indifferent as ever. "You've been black out for three days. Quick."
Three days? I hadn't even known I'd passed out. The last thing I remembered was... Ella. My heart skipped, panic clawing at my insides. Ella had been right there, in front of me, just before I'd slipped into unconsciousness. Had something happened to her? Was she okay?
I ignored the pain in my ribs and, through gritted teeth, forced myself to sit up. "Did-did I receive any letters?" I asked, my voice hoarse, desperate for any scrap of news from the outside. "Please, anything... from anyone? Any piece of paper?"
The guard chuckled darkly, shaking his head as he stepped closer. "Letters?" he sneered. "What do you think this is, some kind of love story? No one's sending you shit. No one cares about you, prisoner 704."
