“Yeah, that’s right.”
Lynch paused mid-stride, and I almost crashed into him. He turned at the waist, and instead of disappearing as I’d hoped, he peered down at me, his teeth yellow and crooked. “We use our manners here at Dolor.” His face was white, and his eyes were crystal blue and sunken, acne scars covering his expression.
“Yes, sir,” I whispered with a grin.
His lifeless eyes sliced into mine, but I held my ground. I’d lived with the same searing eyes for over nine years. Nothing could break me under pressure.
Lynch faced forward again and continued to walk down the empty hall at the same fast pace as before, but this time I kept a good five feet between the two of us.
Large portraits lined over the board and batten in a row. Each picture was framed in tarnished brass containing the same lifeless eyes as Lynch’s. It seemed whoever walked through the doors would have the life sucked right out of them.
We turned a corner and entered an office. Lynch gestured for me to take a seat. Cherry wood bookshelves lined the entire wall behind his matching cherry wood desk, and a large window with a thick red velvet curtain took up most of the adjacent wall. His desk lacked clutter, aside from a single folder with my name printed on the tab. He took a seat, rolled under his desk, and opened the file.
“Your first year will be working toward your undergraduate degree, which is transferrable in the states. If you succeed the two years here at Dolor with appropriate grading, counseling, and group therapy requirements, along with good behavior, you will be discharged with a clear record.” Lynch pulled a paper from the top and handed it to me. “Here is your schedule. You will meet with Dr. Conway twice a week, and you will start group therapy your second week after you have grown accustomed to our ways. Here is the Dolor handbook. I suggest you familiarize yourself with our code of conduct and dress code.” The thick handbook was handed over to me. “Do you have any questions, Miss Jett?”
I shook my head despite the fact I had dazed off halfway through.
“Very well, then. Stanley will escort you to the nurse’s station before showing you to your dorm.” Lynch closed the folder and filed it into a drawer of the desk as I sat in a fog. “Miss Jett, if you miss a session, you will be forced to solitary confinement. If you cause any problems, you will be sent to solitary confinement. If you—”
An exaggerated sigh escaped me. “I understand. Solitary confinement.”
“This is your only chance. If you cannot play nice, you will be forced to leave and be admitted into a mental institution per your judge’s discretion. Do you want that?”
I stared, allowing the words to sink in when he pressed me with a glare. “No, sir.”
Lynch nodded. “Stanley, she’s all yours.”
I followed Stanley to the nurse’s station, the only sounds in the empty halls being the heels of my combat boots against the marble and a jingle of keys attached to Stanley’s belt. I debated back and forth on whether or not to try to get Stanley on my good side with casual conversation and charm, but the moment I opened my mouth, we arrived.
The sizeable sterile room was blinding. All the walls were a crisp white under the fluorescent lights. Three hospital beds with the same fresh white bedding sat in a row, each having the option of enclosure by a thin white curtain. White machines covered in buttons stood against the walls, along with various wired baskets filled with different-sized blue gloves. The smell of hand sanitizer knocked my nose senseless.
“Do you need to use the loo before we get started?” a dark-skinned woman asked, coming from another door off to the side. Stanley had since left and closed the door behind him, but I was sure he wouldn’t stray too far, possibly just outside the door waiting for me like a good watchdog.
“The loo?” I asked, turning back to face her. “Oh, that’s right. You guys call it that here … no, I’m good.”
“Let’s get right to it, then. Drop your bottoms and knickers and lie back on the table. I’ll wait behind the curtain until you’re ready.”
With pap smear, fingerprints, and blood work completed, I was violated in all ways possible. The nurse explained it was routine to check for sexually transmitted diseases, physical abnormalities, and disabilities as we went over my medical history. We talked about my birth control, which I no longer had control over. She would regulate it from this point forward.
Just as I had expected, Stanley greeted me right outside the door. We stepped up a flight of curved marble stairs with a black iron railing and walked down a corridor lined with the same board and batten before we turned a corner. “Classrooms are located on the third level. Living headquarters are stationed on the second. There is a map in your dorm.” We made another left. “Here you have the community bathroom, and the mess hall is located straight ahead and to the right,” he said, explaining with hand motions. “You will be staying in the fourth wing, sharing this bathroom with the third wing.”
“Community bathroom? As in both genders sharing the same facilities?”
“We are gender neutral and don’t discriminate. You will get used to it.”
He paused to check for understanding from my part before he turned on his heel. Heavy steel doors lined the hall on each side. The floor was the same swirly gray marble, but the walls were now a cloud blue cement. We approached a door on the right as Stanley came to a stop. “No classes for you today. Get familiar with the handbook. Dinner is at five-thirty PM in the mess hall and curfew is eight-thirty PM. Doors will automatically lock at eight forty-five PM sharp. If you need to use the loo during the night, there’s a buzzer in your room. The guard on night shift will escort you.”
Stanley grabbed the ring of keys from his belt and opened the door before entering. After thoroughly scanning the dorm, he welcomed me inside. “It will get better,” he added, reading my body language accurately.
And the door slammed behind him as I stood in my new prison.
The walls of the room were gray-blue and cemented like the hall I’d just walked down. I hadn’t been expecting this, though I really hadn’t known what to expect. I suppose a white room with padded walls crossed my mind on the plane ride here. A twin bed without a headboard and a footboard sat against the left wall with a single gray sheet and pillow over a thin mattress, and an empty desk sat against the parallel wall with a single black metal chair. I approached the small window across the room to see a view of the back of the school behind the bars. Nothing but sparse woods and the brick wall in the distance.
My suitcase waited for me next to the door, but I didn’t care to unpack. There wasn’t a dresser, anyway, only a rolling cart under the bed. I sat on the bed and ran my fingers across the thin sheet. How many had slept in this room before me? A clock hung above the only door in the room that read 3:16 PM. I lay back on the bed, folded my hands behind my head, and stared at the ceiling as I thought back to what had put me in this hell-hole to begin with.
Me. I did this.
I’d caused multiple fights in school and landed myself in the principal’s office more times than I’d attended a class. The day I’d lit Principle Tomson’s car on fire was the day I was expelled and arrested. After hours of community service and therapy, I’d graduated with a perfect GPA under a home-school program. I’d hammered my own nail in the coffin when I drove Diane’s BMW through the garage intentionally. My father negotiated with the judge and offered to send me here so I could pursue a college degree in lieu of being forced into the mental institution.
I was smart, but most sociopaths were. The judge wanted to make an example of me, but I knew better. No one ever did anything out of the goodness of their hearts. The only reason the judge agreed was to add another success story to his resume at my father’s expense. I suppose it was better than the mental institution.
I grabbed the handbook beside me and dangled it above my head before flipping it open to the first page when t
here was a rap at the door.
Ignoring it, I flipped over to the second page.
Another impatient knock.
My feet found the floor, and I cursed my way toward the door.
On the other side stood two individuals; a girl with medium-length curly black hair and a skinny blond-haired boy, a couple inches taller than the girl, with bright blue eyes and thin lips.
“See, Jake … I told you someone came in here,” the girl said to the boy, smacking him on the arm. She wore a black choker around her neck and a small, admirable mole to the side of her mouth.
“Not interested,” I said and began to close the door.
The boy wedged his foot in the door. “Not so fast.”
I opened the door again and rested against it with my hand over my hip, waiting for the purpose of this intrusion.
“I’m Jake. This is Alicia.”
“And let me guess, you’re fucking gay as a two-dollar bill, and Alicia here feeds off that shit, both looking for another member of your pity party by showing the new girl around?”
Alicia and Jake exchanged glances before a laugh broke out between them.
My eyes rolled. “Well?”
“We don’t see too many Americans come through these doors, but you’re right,”—Jake giggled between breaths—”we could use someone like you in our ‘pity party.’”
I waved them both off. “Go suck a dick.”
My comment didn’t faze them. Jake leaned over with his hands on his knees, and his giggle grew loud and obnoxious. Alicia patted her friend’s back as she came back from my comment. “I get it, you’re a badass who hates the world,” Alicia said, and I was sensing sarcasm in her tone, “but, if you’re looking for a fun time tonight, find us at dinner.”
Alicia and Jake turned away and proceeded to mock my accent down the hall. “’Go suck a dick,’” one of them said, shoving the other in the shoulder. Their laughs continued to echo through the wing before I slammed the door harder than I should have.
Lying on the bed once again, I pulled my cap over my face in an attempt to bring their annoying British accents to a stop as they bounced around in my brain.
By the time my eyes opened again, the clock read fifty minutes past five. Crap. I’d fallen asleep, and now I was twenty minutes late. With no time to change, I scurried out the door and wandered through the empty corridor, trying to remember Stanley’s directions to the mess hall. I should have listened.
Then, there it was, the distant sounds of chatter growing louder and louder with each step I took forward.
A sea of white shirts and black pants flocked the mess hall. I kept my eyes in front of me as I walked through middle between tables toward the non-existent food line toward the back. The chatter calmed as a stillness replaced the madness. Whispers and questions about my presence danced in the air as I passed each table, but I still didn’t bother to look at them.
An older lady in a hair net and sauce-splashed shirt approached the door to the buffet the same time as I did when she said, “Sorry, kitchen’s closed. Maybe next time you’ll be more conscious of your time.” I opened my mouth to speak, but she interrupted me. “Oh, and … I would go back to your dorm to change if I were you.”
And she closed the door in my face.
“Are you kidding me?” I shouted, hoping she could hear me on the other side of the door. The large mess hall fell silent, and when I turned back around, a hundred eyes were on me. “What?” I called out with my palms in the air.
Silence.
My eyes went wide for a reaction, but no one seemed to have a pair.
Everyone went back to their usual conversations, and I found an empty table beside the glass windows overlooking the front of the campus. Other than the gray day transforming to night, there wasn’t much to look at. A man in a jumpsuit drove a golf-cart-looking vehicle over the lawn, picking up litter. On the other side of me was my new fellow student body. Placed randomly throughout the mess hall were round tables, and students grouped together at each table as smiles, chuckles, and a few sneers crossed over their faces. It was high school all over again.
I noticed Alicia and Jake glaring at me from across the room as they talked in each other’s ears. There were four of them total at their table, and they didn’t bother concealing the topic of their discussion. A guy sat on top of the table with his long legs propped over the seat of a chair as a girl with a toothpick frame, pale skin, and pixie black hair laid her head over the table beside him.
I could tell he was tall by the way his knees were bent as his elbows rested over them. A white shirt hung loose around his neck, black and white tattoos painted over each of his arms, and I could hardly make out the heavy rise and fall of his chest as he took in deep breaths. But I did notice. My attention made the journey to his face when our eyes met. A gray beanie covered his head, but dark strands poked out from underneath. His brows pressed together and then he—barely—nodded in my direction. When I didn’t return his advance, he held his head up in his hands and brought his fingers to his mouth. Rings decorated each finger and a dimple appeared beside his hidden smile.
Breaking our connection, a small milk carton flew across the mess hall between us and my eyes followed it to a young boy who sat at the table across from me, smacking him right in the head. White liquid flew in all directions, ultimately soaking the young boy. The mess hall went up in a roar as the boy, who was just hit, jumped from his seat and threw himself back against the large window. A scream belted from his lungs and I pushed my chair back and stood to my feet.
Tattoo Guy hopped off the table and ran over to the boy. “What is wrong with you, Liam? You have a death wish?” His voice was loud yet controlled as he spoke to the group of laughing hyenas with his arms in the air.
Tattoo Guy crouched before the screaming kid. “Breathe, Zeke,” he insisted, gripping the boy’s arms. The young boy looked up at him. His face was turning from a deep red to a purple in a matter of seconds. “Deep breaths.” Tattoo Guy showed him how by drawing in a deep breath of his own. He counted to three with his fingers in the air before exhaling, and the young boy watched him with the same amazement in his eyes like mine.
The young boy’s screams dissolved and he was able to breathe again. Tattoo Guy glanced over at me, and I quickly turned away. “Let’s get out of here, yeah?” He helped him up off the floor, and Zeke clung to his side as they walked out of the mess hall.
“America, did you think about our offer?” Jake asked as his posse surrounded my table.
I exhaled and retook my seat as Tattoo Guy and Zeke turned the corner out of sight and then answered, “I told you. Not interested.”
“In case you change your mind, it starts at midnight,” Alicia said.
These kids couldn’t take a hint even if it punched them in the face.
The pixie-haired girl smacked Alicia over the head. “You can’t be giving out these details to anyone, Alicia. You have to ask the group first. Have you even talked to Ollie?”
“She’s cool. Trust me.” Alicia continued, “If you’re looking at your window, it’s the fourth block to your left.”
“And how do you suppose I get there?” I had no interest in going, but if there was a way out of my dorm without using my door, I had to know.
Alicia discretely pointed up to the vent in the ceiling before the three of them turned and walked away.
Chapter Three
“Exposing truths and stripping her lies all at once,
And just like that, panic and peace consume me.”
—Oliver Masters
ALL NIGHT I TOSSED and turned over the thin, and incredibly stiff, mattress. Jet-lagged from the change in time zones, and having gotten too much sleep over the last twenty-four hours between the plane ride and my nap in the afternoon, trying to sleep was useless.
I’d managed to count ever
y crack in the cement, every bolt in the steel door, and if I concentrated hard enough, I could see constellations in the swirls of the marble floor as the moon shone over it. A loud click, precisely at six in the morning, sounded when the doors automatically unlocked.
I was the first one in the community bathroom with a toothbrush, my new Dolor shirt, and skinny black jeans in hand. I wasn’t allowed to bring shampoo, conditioner, or deodorant. Not even a razor. My father said everything would be provided to me.
The cement walls in the bathroom were painted white, and a row of six sinks were to my right. Tall mirrors lined the wall evenly, one above each sink. Across from the sinks were the shower stalls. Subway tile stretched across the back wall, and each stall was separated by cedar wood planks with a white curtain enclosure. Clean towels were stacked in the skinny shelves on both sides of the row of sinks, and basic toiletries were stuffed in baskets between the sinks—the same brand for men and women. Thankfully, the smell of coconut didn’t make me gag.
I chose the farthest shower at the end and turned it on to wait for it to heat up. Even though I was fully clothed, I still felt naked and exposed without make-up on in the mirror. Impressing people had never been a goal of mine, and even though I never needed it, I still wore make-up because I knew it bothered Diane. I wore the heaviest of eyeliner, the boldest lip shade, and black on my nails for the simple fact it drove her crazy.
Staring at my reflection, I was just me, looking five years younger with the lightly sprinkled freckles under my eyes and across the bridge of my nose. Though, my eyes didn’t lie. One look, and you could see the secrets, the pain, and the misery beneath the dull brown. My thick brows would usually distract others from the story my eyes held. No one ever took the time to look hard or close enough.
Take my father for an example.
A presence entered the bathroom, triggering my attention to shift. Tattoo Guy shuffled toward me with clothes over his shoulder, wiping the corners of his eyes. Gray joggers hung low on his hips, and a plain black tee covered the rest of him as his wild brown hair lay flat on one side.
Stay With Me (Stay With Me Series Book 1) Page 2