How dare he, I thought to myself. I fell back onto the bed and looked around. I felt tears brim on my water line, but I blinked them back. I felt so lost in this room, even though it was only 11ft by 12ft.
You deserve this, the voices mocked. I could only agree with them, though. I knew it was true, however. Although I didn't want to accept it, I knew that the dirty walls, the rusty-springed bed, and everything else in this small little cell was all a consequence for my pathetic act against my boyfriend.
I began to think about the other people who once stayed in this cell. I remember passing a sign with a large white B painted on it. I could only imagine that I was in Ward B. I guess this ward was for those who did sick things, like kill their families. My imagination got the best of me, and I imagined a man in the same circumstances as myself.
This man was tall, he could hardly fit on the small bed. His legs hung over the sides as well as his arms. He couldn't have been more than 6'3", but that's beside the point. He had been having nightmares like I surely would. The man got up from his restless sleep. He paced back in forth in the cell, taking in his surroundings like I had. He ran his hands against the wall, slicing his finger open on a jagged part of the wall. Snapping back into reality, I looked at the wall I was imagining. There was no blood, but there was a long streak of dirt. I sighed and laid my head back against the wall.
The man winced, cursing silently to himself. He held his wounded finger in his fist and shook his head. He wandered around the small cell once more, being careful not to touch anything. The bookshelf in the corner was empty and dusty. He wished for books, something to pass his time. He walked back to the bed and rested his head against the wall like I was.
Suddenly, I could see the world through the man's eyes. It seemed as though everything in the room aged backwards, to maybe 20 years before I arrived. I could see the dust covered book shelf, a piece of furniture that was missing from my cell. It gave me a sense of peace, knowing someone else had experienced the same room I was experiencing. It gave me a sense of peace knowing that someone else had committed a crime sick enough to land them in this cell. Committed a crime like killing your own boyfriend.
My thoughts suddenly raced down a large hill, and I was out of control of them. It was like I stepped out of my own body and had to watch myself become a train wreck. My last thought kept appearing in my mind, but I was only focused on one word...
Boyfriend. The word rattled in my head until my head hurt so badly I wanted to scream.
I threw my head back against the wall creating a small knock. I immediately felt dizzy and clutched my head with the palms of my hands. I rubbed small circles into my temples and tried to breathe. I was prone to headaches, but nothing like this. Maybe this whole insane thing was taking a toll on my physical health, too.
I curled up into a little ball, a habit I had when I was in pain. I yelped quietly in my cell, hoping someone would come and help me. I wasn't very dependent on anyone else until it came to sickness or pain. I wanted someone here with me to tell me it would be alright and the pain would subside soon. I needed my mother. It was a petty thing to want right now; she was probably having me disowned as we speak.
I couldn't push away the thought of my mother, though. I missed her, even though it had only been 6 hours since I'd seen her last. It felt like an eternity. One thing about missing someone: when you do miss someone, the time since you last saw them passes slowly and every emotion you feel towards them eats away at you until you can't bare it any more and break down.
I was lost in morbid thought when I heard the cell door next to mine rattle to life. I heard footsteps, and cuffs rattling. My immediate thought is that someone was going to be in the cell next to me. I would have to hear someone's late night moans and wails for attention, but they would also have to hear mine. Someone was going to occupy the cell next to mine.
I got up from my bed and pressed my face lightly against the bars of my cell door. It rattled gently, but I held the bars to keep it from making any more noise. I sighed loudly and tried to look at who was coming to stay.
I saw Holden standing by a small boy.
The boy couldn’t have been much larger than 5’5”, by my judgement. I was only 5’6”, so I couldn’t comment. He was shorter than most boys I had seen though. He wore tight jeans that complimented his legs nicely. He was wearing a loose, grey v-neck t-shirt. It had writing scribbled on the front, but I could not make out what it said. He held his head down, almost like I did when I first arrived at Penderghast’s. He held his lip between his teeth. He had two piercings underneath his lip.
I cocked my head to see his face, but Holden caught me.
“Miss Sierra,” he began, a sly grin on his face. I scoffed and rolled my eyes, which caused him to chuckle. “You seem to be acquainted with your room, how do you like it in there?” he mocked.
The boy picked his head up quickly, but before I could see him clearly, he put his head back down. Holden bent down to whisper something into his ear. He had to be the worst whisperer on the planet, or he was making sure I heard.
“She killed her boyfriend, just like you killed your mom’s,” Holden sneered to the boy.
My heart dropped along with my jaw and I saw the boy become much tenser and he shook. With anger or with worry, I wasn’t sure.
I felt my cheeks warm and I slammed my hand against the bars of the door. The boy jumped at the sound and I stomped back over to my bed. I sat with a loud thump and Holden chuckled quietly.
I wanted to cry so badly, but I was not going to let myself. Was holding in tears bad for your health?
Silence filled the area and the boy was put into the cell next to mine. When I knew Holden was gone, I walked slowly to the wall. I rested my back against it and put my ear to the wall.
“Hello,” I said softly, trying to be friendly. I heard no response. “Hello?” I half repeated, half asked. I heard footsteps pitter-patter to the wall and I could almost feel his presence against the wall.
I heard something thump on the other side, and then a voice answered me.
“Hello,” it spoke.
His voice sounded almost gravely, but it sounded honeyed as well. He sounded like he had been crying; sometimes you just knew when people were crying.
“What’s your name?” I asked, spinning my knotted hair around my finger. I waited for a reply, and my heart sank when there was none.
I sat against the wall for a little while longer, thinking about whether I should try again. I figured that the boy did not want to be bothered with my silly questions. How could I even think he would want to talk to me? I was trying to make friends in a ward full of murderous psychotics.
I got up with a sigh and walked to the bed. I looked down at my clothes and sighed again. Sighing had almost become my new language. It suited my life at the moment. I could sigh whenever I felt the need to without hearing my mother tell me I had an “attitude problem.”
Sighing was relieving. It was like exhaling all the pain that was locked up inside my body. Every little thing that I was worried about seemed to slip away momentarily when I let out that elongated exhale.
I finally crawled onto the rusty bed. It creaked very loudly, startling me. I was going to need to get used to the bed shrieking if I wanted to get any sleep tonight. I pulled the single sheet up to my shoulders and turned to the wall. When I finally thought I was asleep, I heard a weak voice call from behind me.
“Lewis.”
