It's Not Magic

Ten

Day 3

Well, at least I got my promised food yesterday. But even that was shit. Everything here is shit. I woke up, my head still pounding, and my body stiff from the healing wounds, only to find a fucking orange jumpsuit by the door of my cell. Great. Just fucking great. And to make that even better, officer number two stopped by, giving me the smuggest of all the looks on the planet.

"Put that on," he said. "Since you're an official prisoner of the Police of the United States."

I'd glared at him in return, pushing my empty tray towards him. "I'm not wearing that thing. And you can take that, bus boy. I'm done with my breakfast."

"You will wear it," he commanded, crossing his arms. "If you're not by the time Sargent comes for your interrogation, you'll be in bigger trouble than you already are." He gave me a smug smirk.

"What do you mean?" I asked, crossing my legs despite the pain coursing through them.

"I hope your breakfast was shitty," he said as he walked away, the tray in his hand.

"It was delightfully shitty," I called after him, crawling over to the orange jumpsuit. It was a hideous neon orange, and I knew as soon as I looked at it that I'd have to strip in order for it to fit. My other clothes were shit anyway. They were covered with my dry blood, and had started sticking to the floor when I slept since the blood was drying in the cloth as well as on the floor.

So, I did the only reasonable thing I could think of. I sat there on the floor, leaving the jumpsuit in front of me. I was not going to change into that to save my life. I may have hit bottom, but I haven't hit rock bottom.

After the throbbing in my body seemed to become unignorable, I laid on my back, stretching my body out, not even caring that my legs covered the jumpsuit. Something like that color didn't need to be seen anyways.

Since when have I cared about what I wore?

Probably from the moment I found out I was going to die. I was not going to die in an orange jumpsuit. That was giving up, and that wasn't something I was going to do any time soon.

My eyes closed, and I'd started to drift off when the pounding of boots started heading my direction, from both sides of the prison, which was odd, from what I'd learned over the past few days. Someone must really be in trouble.

"That little bitch!" I heard McPherson's voice thunder throughout the prison block.

Oh shit. It was me that was in trouble. I just knew it. Fuckity fuck fuck. This wasn't good. Shit. He knew. He'd already found out my story was fake. Oh fucking shit.

My eyes shot open and I sat up, ignoring the pain screaming in my body. I stood and looked around my cell, but there was nothing that I could use to defend myself, or anywhere to hide. Oh fucking shit.

Then I remembered, my invisibility. I squeezed my eyes shut, and focused on that, becoming invisible, and prayed that it worked.

"You lying bitch!" McPherson holleredas he approached my cell.

Well crap. Apparently it didn't work. Slowly, I opened my eyes to see McPherson and a crew of officers standing outside my cell. Well shit, I didn't realize I was this popular.

"Aw, Sarge, you didn't have to!" I said, trying to lighten the mood. "How nice of you to organize a release party!"

Some of the officers looked at each other appearing annoyed at my comment, as if I was losing my marbles. And who knows, maybe I was.

"Cut the shit, Lilia," McPherson growled, unlocking the door to my cell. "Your story was fake." He swung open the door to the cell, and one of the officers closed it behind him as he stalked into the cell, his hand resting on his gun, as if he was debating using it.