Page 11 of Collateral Damage

I catch my reflection and yesterday's mascara I forgot to wipe off is all smeared down my face, I look just like them. A clown ona budget with bags heavier than bruises. My eyes swell at the girl I do not recognise as my sweaty hair, now dark and inky sticks to my salty skin. In twelve hours, my life has turned from a fairytale into a dark past of a villain's story that they don’t tell you about.

I perch myself on the loo, tugging down my dirty pyjamas still smothered in speckled blood when something falls from my pocket.

My insulin.

Of course, I completely forgot I put one in my pocket for safekeeping in case of emergencies. Mom always drilled it into me to keep one on me at all times and I always used to tell her it was silly to sleep with one when I use it before bed and when I wake up. I take it three times a day but I haven't taken it in over twelve hours so I don't have a clue if it will do anything for me apart from make me worse. I’ve never really missed a shot my entire life, but having strict parents who knew when you pissed and shit I suppose had its perks. A bang rattles the tiled cell.

“You have one minute.” They really weren't kidding. I take the pen, and place it just above my abdomen area, injecting myself with my own drugs to keep me breathing. Holding it for five seconds. I realise it’s the last 40 units in the pen. It’s a sad little life I live really... it’s things like this that make me question why I should keep fighting at all. Once I get out, if I get out, it’s only one cell to another. My own body imprisons me on a daily basis. A daily reminder that I am damaged goods and will never amount to anything as long as I have this medical condition that is not curable.I am not curable. To be truthful. This is probably the most exciting thing that has ever happened to me, and my body is already shutting down. I am like an alcoholic without alcohol. A mad hatter without their meds. It will slowly eat away at me until I'm nothing. I will never be normal. But then I suppose no one is normal.What is normal?

“Times up.” They bang on the door once more, jumping out of my skin as I sit zoned out staring at my pen.

“One second!” I need to hide this somewhere or they might confiscate it. I climb on top of the toilet and can just about reach for the window ledge where I place it flush against the wall. Hopefully they won’t be able to see it, or it will be too small to notice. I jump back down right before they unlock the door, bursting it open with force like they are trying to catch me in the act. I stand stationary like a deer in headlights, startled by their entrance as they put their hand out, holding out a white piece of clothing for me to take.

“Put this on.” My brows furrow, opening it up to realise it’s a t-shirt. And it’s certainly not mine. Staring at them blankly as they keep their eyes on me.Are they really going to watch me change? Pervert.

“Do you really have to watch me?” I find my voice, clutching the t-shirt in my hand in protest. There is no way I am stripping naked in front of them.

“What’s the matter,Puppet. Never been looked at by a woman before?” The air constricts from my lungs, my eyes almost bulging out of my skull. Did they just sayWoman? There is a deviant grin underneathherface paint and I don't know how to react to that damn nickname again.

If this was a man’s doing, I would understand the harsh nature and sick and twisted stunts they have pulled, but a woman? What woman would treat another woman this way? Although it makes sense as to why she has been kinder than most you see on the news. The pillow. The painkillers. Wrapping up my wound. The shirt to cover up my dignity. I have more understanding, yet it doesn't get rid of the nausea in my stomach. They chuckle, or should I say,she. At my clear confusion before slowly turning around to face the bathtub. At least she has some decency.

“Don’t worryPrincess. You’re not my type.” I think I just barfed in my mouth. Shrivelling up my face in disgust as I quietly undo my pj’s letting them fall to the floor and put on my new swimsuit that essentially looks like a hospital gown on me. I’d say she can't be any smaller than 6ft and I'm only 5’4. I look ridiculous, but at least I can rinse off this sweat.

I turn to face the shower, slowly pulling the lever to free the water from its confinement and watch as it falls against my skin, letting out a big sigh. Imagining home, imagining anything but this bathroom I am standing in, where the tiles are cracked and a heavy must lingers. My band-aid begins to soak, water seeping into the fabric and poisoning my wound, it hurts so much. I unravel the cloth until it’s free to breathe, clenching my jaw and grinding my teeth to withhold the impending scream that wants to rip from my throat. It’s partially healed, gammy and gloopy with dried blood smothering the entrance making me heave. I’ve never been one for gore in person, it’s making me lightheaded and angry, alongside the hunger and the deprivation of everything my body needs right now, my body is fighting me to vomit.

I stand and look at her only to realise she is watching me with no shame. This top is drenched and most likely see through. I feel my cheeks burn, unsure whether it’s from the hot water or embarrassment, but even clothed I feel violated and I’m running on so many emotions right now, I don’t know which one to feel.

“Why are you being kind to me?” I cower underneath the flow of heat, warming my lifeless body into the face of a clown waiting for an answer, holding my forearms in my hands trying to cover up my chest.

But she says nothing.

I guess the only clown here is me.

For thinking she would give me an answer.

C H A P T E R 7

MY INCONVENIENCE

Puppeteer

Kind?

She must be joking. I am the furthest thing from kind. Moral maybe. And even that's pushing it. But kind doesn't sit in my vocabulary. The only kindness I give to the world is eradicating the sickness that's poisoned it, which still results in me taking lives and paying the consequences. Kindness never got me fucking anywhere buthurt. Kindness only granted me pain.

Kindnessonly made me realise I wasweak.Being kind doesn't give you special treatment or help you avoid anything. The last time I was kind I got 10 lashings for using the last of the sugar in a birthday cake. That word makes my skin shrivel up like a decaying corpse. It's acidic in my mouth. I'm not being kind. I'm being considerate. There's a difference.

But I will only be so considerate taking into account the circumstances. I have to be careful what I do and say because if she does get out, she'll show them the first place to look and I can't be around. I'll finish what I started and do what I was meant to do before this inconvenience rolled into my life like an unwanted cockroach. She is nothing but dead weight and I'll be glad to get rid of her, I just need to sort some shit out first.

Who knew babysitting was so tiring. She's a toddler in an adults body. I'm so glad I was an only child so I didn't have todeal with this shit.Shepis enough when he’s having a tantrum. She's young enough to be a sibling but fuck it's been a while since I've seen some skin and my eyes have a mind of there own watching her rub her skin of my touch, it makes me want to touch her again, grip tighter so she remembers who and what I fucking am. The last thing I want is for her to get comfortable, but I don't exactly wanna kill her either, that would just go against everything that I am.Or I'm trying to be.

I just need to wait it out until my next port of call is secure. I have contacts but they aren't exactly clean and the last thing I want is to drag them into my mess and get them thrown behind bars again.

She turns the lever, quivering as the cool air catches up to her now that she's used up all my bloody hot water. Scowling at me with dead eyes, eyes that are telling me a million different things. She hates me.Good. She should. I did just murder her parents in cold blood so she's being fairly compliant considering. But I can tell she's not a fighter, she doesn't even have a backbone. She screamskindnessand I hate it, it means I have to match it and I won't, which means I will just push her to fight me and she will only hate me more.

The absence of heat directs my eyes to the one place they shouldn't and I'm no better than a man butfuck, the outlining of her tits against my soaking T-shirt is making me realise I haven't got laid in a long ass time. Far too fucking long. I've been so caught up in finding herDaddythat indulging in pussy hasn't exactly been on my to do list. I've no interest in sex beyond numbing my mind. Prison wasn't exactly a strip club but I still got it. I was nearly caught a few times but that was the thrill of it, I had nothing better to do and it helped my brain stop thinking for a while.

She's looking at me in complete and utter distress right now. I will not take my eyes off her, admiring her skinny little figure,plump in all the right places, so breakable.Focus Hays. I’m fixated on her in case she tries anything stupid and she needs to change out of her wet t-shirt but she has nothing to change into. Lucky for her I was already two steps ahead. I nod my head towards the door gesturing for her to exit, as much as I love listening to people plead for their life, the bathroom holds enough of that.

---