Unmarked

44. Grief

Everything is muffled since Teddy confirmed what I've always feared most, my mum being hung.

The receptionist from yesterday is talking to me but his words are lost among the all-consuming grief permeating my mind.

"Madam, these were left for you," he repeats, offering me a set of keys.

"Thank you," I say quietly, taking the keys I gave to Grey earlier.

Grey's gone. I should feel relief but I don't. Instead a tidal of emotions is threatening to drown me which I quickly suppress. "I need an alarm set for tomorrow morning for seven-thirty. I also need my clothes to be washed. I'll leave them outside my door, can you arrange for someone to collect them please."

"Of course. I want to apologise for the mix-up yesterday. I do hope you can forgive me for my misguided assumption," The man says quietly. The smug attitude from yesterday has vanished, replaced by not quite respect but not complete disdain either. Jas has obviously told him some sort of story which means the receptionist is aware I'm not getting paid for illegal fun.

"Don't worry, I often get mistaken for a prostitute," I mumble sarcastically.

"A hamper of goodies has been placed in your room, compliments of the manager," He says.

Probably a hamper Jas has assembled to remind me what will happen if I don't comply with his instructions. I envisage incriminating photos, a doll which looks like me with several limbs missing and a severed head, maybe some bullets engraved with my name if he's gone all out.

What confuses me is why Jas is so invested in the rebellion? A corrupt hotel owner can't be interested in the greater good of the oppressed masses. More likely a less oppressive State means better business for him. He's driven by the prospect of expansion.

At first glance, I'm mildly surprised at the hamper awaiting me on the bed. It contains a range of clothing, a wad of money and a bottle of alcohol.

It's a thoughtful gesture until I look more closely. None of the clothing is appropriate for me to wear outside, all the pieces expose too much flesh and a few ridiculously lacy pieces would barely cover my nipples let alone anything else. The alcohol is my mother's favourite, cheap and intoxicating. The cash is the only useful thing but even that is tainted with the idea I'm being bought.

This is Jas's idea of a joke. I bet he was grinning widely, blinding everyone with his overly white teeth whilst instructing his assistant on what to place inside the hamper.

Screw you, Jas. I will wear the skin revealing clothing and I might even drink a sip of alcohol in memory of mum. The thought causes a pang of something deep and sharp at the centre of my chest. I force an emptiness to quickly override any sensation threatening to surface, and I wonder if this is normal or am I even more heartless than I've been willing to admit to myself? Why is it so easy to push away my emotions?

I don't want to dig too deep to find the answers. I'm scared I may open the floodgates. If I survive the task Jas has set, I'll allow myself to fully process and grieve. I doubt I'll survive.

Digging through the dental floss pieces of clothing, I decide to wear a pair of tiny silk shorts and a matching cami top.

Dumping my constrictive clothing outside the door, I admit the silky smooth material feels good against my skin. The outfit is too revealing but it doesn't matter, I'm alone. I have the whole evening to myself.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I contemplate turning on the Final Judgement Channel. I'm not sure how long I sit in this position, undecided about whether I need to watch her final moments.