Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 46398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 232(@200wpm)___ 186(@250wpm)___ 155(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 232(@200wpm)___ 186(@250wpm)___ 155(@300wpm)
I don’t want to think about that bastard in the door anyway.
I want to think about the girl.
Most times when I come in here, I like to think about the window. There’s one window on the far wall. It’s a narrow rectangle of foggy glass, so I can’t see out. It lets a little light in, though.
Most times when I come in here, I let myself look at it just once. They don’t like when I look out the window. They probably think I’m planning some escape attempt. But I just want to see something different.
Sometimes I do, but mostly I imagine scrambling up the wall and somehow bracing myself so I can punch the window out.
I think about how it would feel for that glass to break under my hands. Probably terrible, since it’s probably thick, but when it finally broke—damn, that would be victory. It wouldn’t matter if I cut myself or broke my fingers. I want to break this place as much as it’s broken me. I want to rip a part of it off and make it bleed until it chokes out its last breath and dies in front of me where I can see.
That’s just a daydream. I’ll never have a chance to break the window. Even if I could climb that high and keep myself up there, I wouldn’t have time. I’m strong enough to make it to the ledge, but like I said, we’re never alone. The man standing in the door could reach me before I threw the first punch, and he wouldn’t stop at pulling me down to the floor. He’d get a few punches in, too. I’d end up restrained at best and tortured by myself for who knows how long.
And then drugged up again. They force pills down the throats of the ones who fight back. They keep us weak.
I’m not thinking about that when I unzip the black slacks they gave me. I’m not even thinking about how that sick fuck is watching, or how they pretend it’s for our own good. I’m used to the fact that we’re never alone by now. I’m used to the smell of bleach and piss. I’m used to thinking that it smells like a prison and calling this a school is somebody’s idea of a joke.
I’m not used to thinking about a girl.
I haven’t stopped thinking about her since I saw her through the one-way mirror earlier in the night.
It’s obviously not a one-way mirror. There’s no sense arguing the point, though, because the people who run this place will just beat it out of us. There’s no convincing them because they know they’re lying. It’s enough that I know I can see through that damn window.
It’s a punishment if we do it. The lying. They scream in our face and the spit and smell of rancid coffee is enough to make me vomit. Liar! Fucking liar! They scream until my chest vibrates. Even if we’re telling the truth.
But they can lie to us. They can say we can’t see through it and we have to agree.
I was so surprised when I saw her sitting there. Her eyes were so wide and scared and sad, and she was still wet. Her hair all around her shoulders, wet and curling. She was shivering and cold, trying to warm herself up without moving. I didn’t expect anyone to be brought in and I wasn’t waiting for it.
I shouldn’t have looked but I remember that day. I don't remember how long ago, it’s been months since I was brought here at this point. Looking though… I shouldn’t have looked. That was just an excuse for more punishment, and my own mistake. I knew looking at her would earn me some strikes, and I knew saying anything about her would earn me more.
I was hoping she was okay though. If she just stays quiet and listens. She doesn’t look like she could take what they do to people here.
I still can’t stop thinking about her and the look on her face. I already know better than to make a face like that, but this girl—this beautiful girl—she’s never seen anything like this before. She doesn’t know what this hell is. She has no idea.
By now, she’s not as innocent as she was when she first got here. They take that from you in the first hour. But she still has no idea how bad it can get. She might even think there’s a chance of getting out.
I flush the toilet, pull up my pants, and wander over to the sink. The staff member at the door sighs and rolls his eyes. If I take too long at the sink, he’ll drag me away by the arm.
I count in my head. Twenty seconds is all you’re allowed. I’m going to wash my hands every chance they give me. It’s one of the only things I can do to stay human, even though by this point there’s not much humanity left.