Arresting Attraction: How To Create A Criminal

Chapter Nineteen

I hadn't left my cell in days.

I had lost count of how many times the sun light streamed into the hallway outside my cell during the afternoon, or the chirping crickets from outside the facility. Everything was just a blur of time, an extended period where my life moved so slowly, I wished I had died long ago.

Most days I had spent alone. Whether it was on purpose, or not, there was no one else in Max Hold 1. I couldn't hear voices, or breathing or even footsteps during the day. A little bit of me wished I believed in ghosts, I wished I could believe in something that made me feel as though there were another presence around me. But, I knew there wasn't.

I had gotten used to the exaggerated beating of my heart that I heard in the silence of the night, and the small sobs that I caught escaping my throat. I had gotten used to the sound of the elevator creaking in the wind, or the sound of small rocks falling from the ceiling as someone walked overhead.

Even the sounds of gun shots and grunts, I had strangely gotten used to. They were what kept me sane. Those gun shots told me somewhere, up there, someone was alive — well someone was alive, but no longer. It was reassurance that I wasn't completely alone. And, I savoured those moments, guiltily.

The only time I saw someone, or heard someone was during dinner. The inmates fed me once a day, or, if they were lazy, once every couple of days. It was usually a bread roll, cut in half, or quartered from its original shape and size. An inmate, most likely, one I had little to no knowledge about, brought down a bottle of water and the bread. He would toss it into my cell and leave without so much of a grunt.

I always heard them coming. From floors above, I heard the elevator creak under a new weight, and the sound of it rolling from floor to floor, reaching the hallway. Footsteps would echo down the hall, usually heavy, booted, and then they would retreat as quickly as they came.

It took me a couple of days before I was able to get proper clothing. I screamed and cried at the cameras in my cell, begging and pleading, knowing they were watching, knowing someone was watching. And, one night, after a long nap, a jumpsuit was folded beside my bed.

Orange threads fit me well enough, aside from me having to roll up the sleeves to keep them from getting in my way. I had even managed to rip off the extra material from my wrist to form a makeshift hair tie to keep my hair from my face. It was knotted and oily, wanting desperately for a brush to be run through it.

My days usually consisted of me pacing, meditating, sleeping, crying or holding handstands up against the wall of my room. I knew that whoever was watching me was questioning it. But, it made sense to me. I needed a new perspective of my life, and propping myself upside down gave me a perspective.

Some days were easier than others. Today, was one of the harder ones.

I had been trying to sleep all morning, but found it difficult. I assumed you could only sleep so much before your body stopped trying to close your eyes. I lay with my arm under my head, blinking up at the ceiling.

A draft was swirling around the room. It was cold, and it was nothing that a significantly thin, itchy blanket could prevent. It was useless at keeping me warm. My body had wanted to curl up, but I found it useless since sleep was difficult to me.

The creaking of the moving elevator caught my attention as I turned my head towards the sound. Following, were footsteps. A pair of heavy, steel capped boots approached my cell. The sound echoed, bouncing off walls until an inmates face appeared at the cell gate, the sun casting a light shadow.

He was light skinned, and dark eyed. A busted lip was evident, as he sucked it into his mouth and looked at me. There was an urgency to his movements, as he unlocked the gate and stepped it.