Page 118 of Overcast

Judge Judy’svoice rises in pure annoyance as she snaps at someone in her courtroom about fessing up to what’s really going on.

While my focus remains glued to the screen, another pair of eyes are on me, inches away, silently stealing glances as I try to just relax on the couch and get lost in someone else’s minor problems.

Mills sits next to me on the couch, ping-ponging his attention between me and the show. His bulky frame and stoic expression starves the room of tranquility that I believed I’d procure when Emric told me this morning he was taking off today.

“You can stop staring at me,” I pipe up, watching Judge Judy throw her hands up. “I’m not going to evaporate out of thin air.”

Mills shrugs. “I’m just making sure you don’t shank me or something.”

Pressing my lips together, I suppress a chuckle.

It’s not funny.

But it’s humorous that a bunch of tough killers think they need to “watch” me. Apparently, I need a babysitter. It’d be naive of me to think that Emric would leave anything to chance with my escaping again. It hovers in the air still like a thick cloud when I know he’s on the lookout for any potential jailbreaks.

Although, I can see that he attempts to give me space, to not linger over me for too long, but any unscheduled noises has him on edge and running into the room I’m in. He almost scared me to death when he burst through my room the other day when I accidentally slammed the dresser drawers too hard.

“How can she even prove that they had that agreement?” Mills voices, gesturing to the flat screen. “It’s a he said, she said.”

“You missed the part where the girl said that she has a text message,” I reply with my arms crossed over my chest. “Where he said he’d pay her back.”

“It’s vague.”

“It’s around the same period she let him borrow the money.”

Mills scoffs, clearly, the only one in this room annoyed by the TV show. “You hungry?”

“No, thanks, I’m fine.”

“You want a snack?”

“Nah.”

“Ice cream?”

“Nope.”

“You like chocolate?” Slowly I crane my neck to look at him, eyebrow perked. “Bossman said you had to eat lunch.”

“Then, I can make it myself.”

His brows perk. “Before he got back.”

“And when is that?” I press.

Mills shrugs then scratches his forehead. “No clue how long it’ll take before he—” He lets his sentence drop off.

And apparently, I’m not allowed to be privy to what Emric is doing.

Returning my focus to the TV, I settle back into the show.

“I’m sorry that you’re still mad at me,” Mills offers, after a beat. “I tried everything I could to make it...somewhat better.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Literally.

“I know, but—hey, better accommodations, right?”

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