Page 27 of Sink With Me

A camera is the first thing that catches my attention, placed right in the corner, giving a full view of the room, and as I look over, the shower. I turn and bang my fist against the door. Any panic I once felt dissipated into pure rage. I’m cooperating, there is no reason for me to be so closely watched. What did they think I would do, fashion a knife out a bar of fucking soap?

After a moment, I lose my breath and let out an aggravated yell which rasps out my lungs and breaks into silence halfway through, though my face reddens with the desperate effort to make more sound. Panting, my eyes lock on the camera. As I stalk toward it I pull off the sweats they put me in and throw them over the lens. If I can’t beat my way out of here, I’ll play the long game. My actions verge on uncooperative, fast tracking me to becoming the most annoying person being they’ve had the displeasure of holding hostage. Feeling free at last, I strip down and step up onto the square concrete slab. There’s no shower door, just the open cubicle with the shower head facing me.

It doesn’t take long for the water to warm as it hits my skin, making the muscles in my body instantly relax. I half expected pure ice to come from the pipes; this is certainly a nice surprise. The soap they left me smells fresh and clean and does a decent job of washing away the memories that cling with the salt and dirt to my skin. But there are bruises and cuts and marks on me that won’t be so easily forgotten. The water flows over my head, but I feel myself tense as it trickles through my brows forcing me to close my eyes. I see things in the darkness, I feel the water as I try to swim. The surface above glowing orange, there are pieces floating that I’m trying to avoid. I’m trying to surface, I’m—

I step back, gasping for air. I don’t know how long I had stood under the water, but I don’t need flashbacks. Not now. I begin to hum to myself, the gentle vibrations distracting me from the suffocating small space. I don’t want to stay here, but getting out means returning to my new reality.

Eventually, I cut the shower off. A dry towel hanging over a bolted rail stares back. It’s not nearly big enough to cover anything but my torso, if that. So, I have a better idea.

My feet leave wet prints as I cross the room to the camera, reaching up and removing the sweats I’d thrown on it earlier. I stand there, naked, facing that lens and staring hard enough that I can see my reflection staring back. Here I am you motherfucking asshole. Is this what you wanted? The wet drops falling from my hair follow my body with each step I take around the room, finally able to get a good view of the olive-green barren walls, a full-size bed resting in the middle with clean, tan sheets. As I dry my body, I wish I would’ve had a razor. Those would feel so good on smooth skin.

There are no decorations and nothing to entertain me, but honestly, I should’ve seen that coming. This isn’t some five-star hotel—though it’s far better than what I’ve endured before. Not cold or dark, and there hasn't been a soldier barge through the door to corner me. I’ll be sure to add an extra star on the review of my stay for the presence of furniture and the free add-on of personal security. Truly very thoughtful of them.

In the corner, under a large, hazed window—through which I’m still able to make out the sky—a steel chair sits, with a pile of fresh clothes resting on the seat. The fact it’s bolted to the ground doesn’t escape my attention.

I saunter over to pick them up. A plain olive t-shirt and a pair of black athletic shorts seem to be the best this place can provide. When I lift the top, pinching it by the shoulders to examine it, a sports bra and a pair of underwear fall out. Good, because I was about to freak out if I continued to be treated like some perverted exhibition.

Pulling them on, the faintest smell of a cigar wafts off, fogging my senses and bringing a new wave of anger over me. Him. It’s him watching me in here. I almost want to pull the fabric back off me but a knock at the door pulls my attention away to a familiar little foul-mouthed teen.

“You didn’t get caught, did you?!”

I want to move over to him, but instead I hold my ground and cross my arms over my chest. His eyes move to the camera, only drawing that same faded smile to his face. He steps in and plops down on the edge of the bed. That’s when I notice the little red light…It’s now off.

“Uh yeah, I did, but it’s okay.” His voice is low.

Shit. I wonder what he did to this boy. I try to disguise my collapse as me simply sitting down on the steel chair, the freezing metal making me wince as it touches the backs of my thighs. I glance across at the slightly open door, taunting me with the possibility of escape. Patience. I have it, I can do this.

“Don’t worry, there’s no one there. I told them he wanted to see them. I nabbed a key card out of Johnny's pocket as he walked away,” held up between two fingers, the plastic glints before he clasps it tightly against his leg again. There’s a change in his tone. “I didn’t think Ca–uh, Tide was uh, well–then he pulled you out of the water and honestly…”

My mouth opens to speak but is cut by the messy blonde man storming into the room, causing me to squeak from the sudden intrusion jumping and placing my body between Moe and the door. In an instant, I’m tumbling to the floor and Moe is being pulled out by his collar. I stand, ignoring the throbbing in my lower back, and allow my trained instincts to kick in.

This isn't like my training; I'm allowed to fight back here.

Number one rule that this dipshit never learned: always be aware of your surroundings. Taking the damp rag I used to cover my body, I quickly wrap it around his neck, my knee lodging into the back of his, forcing him to the floor, and making Moe fall out of his grasp.

The man's face turns a dark shade of red while I tighten the rag, cutting off any circulation that could probably flow to his pea-sized brain. He came into my space and threatened the one thing that had been decent towards me since I’d been here. He pushes his fingers under the fabric trying to ease the pressure, but I refuse to let up.

He deserves what is coming.

Moe yells something, but I’m too lost in the image of making this man suffer and meet the fate he was destined to have from the moment he joined Depth.

Date: 5-5-2024

Time: 1211

“What the bloody hell is happening?!” I thunder as Moes screams of my name bounce off the walls. It’s a sound I never wanted to hear, and the panic on his face is making it even worse. There is a twisting in my chest, warning me something has gone wrong. Has she done something to herself? Is she hurt? Is she dead?

Her little show did things to me I can’t even describe. At first I laughed, covering the camera, a clever woman. But then… it was just me and all of her. Each wet droplet that trailed down her scarred skin with steam surrounding her had me tensing up. I made sure I was alone in the security room; I was to be the only one with the privilege of seeing her. For a few short minutes it was nothing but my palm and the pixel that made her body on the computer monitors. Her stare had me in a trance. I can’t stand her twisted tactics, but I will never be ashamed to admit how good it felt to fuck my hand while she knew I was watching her.

When she finally dressed, I turned it off, almost ashamed of myself and I sent Moe to go to her. With my keycard in hand and an order for the guards to step away, she seemed to trust him. After all, he’s only a boy, what harm could he do to her?

“Sam, he just– she wasn’t– fuck, I’m sorry! I was doing exactly what you told me to do!” Moe sputters incoherently. My jaw flexes.

“Don’t you ever swear around me again.” I hiss through clenched teeth. He backs off, leaving me to round the corner alone. Cordelia and Sam are in a full-blown spar on the floor, his face bright red, with splotches of dark purple forming under his eyes as his hands grab her elbows. She lay, strangling him, her face just as red, her legs flailing beneath Sam’s body as he finally released her grip and shoved her arms down. He starts to pant and blood drips from beneath her unwrapped bandages on her wrists.

I step into the room just in time for her head to rise up gloriously and smack him on the nose, creating an ungodly crack. She is awfully fascinating, and it is interesting to see Sam getting his arse absolutely handed to him. But his fun is over, the fabric of his uniform crinkles in my fist as I drag him from her body, making him stumble back with his hand held firmly to his face. I don’t care if she was on the verge of fucking killing him, no one touches what’s mine.

“What the fu–” I start, but my voice only echoes back at me. Sam pivots, attempting to storm out of the room, blood running into his mouth as he begins yelling.

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