Page 59 of Inside the Wicked

Ithink days have passed, though it might be weeks. Time is peculiar in this place. It mocks and torments, and the only way to get through this is to pretend time doesn’t exist.

I’ve been trying to write a letter, and it’s distracting me from the lonely hours. It’s like I can pretend there’s someone here; that I’m talking to someone.

Rhett, I don’t know how we got here?—

No—too grim.

To Rhett Kaiser?—

I scratch that out in a messy scribble instead of using the eraser.Stupidly formal.

Rhett motherfucking Kaiser, you’d better stay the fuck alive, because I haven’t been searching for you just for all this to be for nothing?—

I sigh, snap the pencil, and reach for a new one. I only have one whole left. By the end I’m sure there won’t be any, and that seems fitting.

At least it gives me something to do. I want to get this right, though I don’t know what exactly I’m writing this letter for. It’s not that I’ve given up hope. I stare at the blank page each time with the opposite of lost hope swelling in my chest. I didn’t getthe chance to tell him how much he means to me before we were torn apart, and now I have all this stillness to decide how to do it. Maybe it’s silly and wasted time. Maybe it should come in the moment, from the heart.

But this might be my only moment, and he’s always in my heart.

Dear Alistair, see you in fucking hell.

I tear off that sentence and decide not to shred it. I slide it to the top of the table, and my hatred grows at seeing his name.

I engross myself in words, scribbles, paper, and this last 2B pencil.

My next train of thought is to write words desperately, my hand aching to keep up. So when the tip breaks mid-sentence I know I’ve been here far too long with words, scribbles, and this last damned pencil, because I lose it.

The chair knocks back as I stand, furious with this stupid fucking pencil for failing me. I break it, let it go, and stand around the four pencils I’ve made into eight. I stuff my half-finished letter into my pocket. I’m still wearing exactly what I wore in Lumina. There’s abucketwhere I’ve been forced to relieve myself, and I’ve cried several times, as silently as I could, at the fact I have no privacy.

This is inhumane. So deplorable.

I turn and glare up at the camera, imagining Alistair enjoying my spiral to madness, waiting for me to beg for forgiveness, plead for his company, promise to do better ... I’m fucking livid.

Dragging the chair over, I stand on it. My hands wrap around the neck of the camera, and I step off with gritted teeth. It’s more robust on the wall than I anticipate, so I let go.

I stand, grab, andjumpoff this time. Something snaps.One more time.

Stand, grab, jump.

It snaps from the wall, and I heave breaths of exertion.

“Show fucking over,” I say, tossing it to the side.

Part of me is crawling with nerves over what Alistair might do in response to my act of rebellion. A larger part doesn’t care. He’s a damn coward to not have faced me at all since locking me in here.

It doesn’t take long for someone to come. I wonder if they’re worried I’ll do something to myself, and I can’t deny I’ve thought of it.

I’m so, so tired. My heart is in pieces, and it’s easy to want it all to stop in the moments of weakness. The pain won’t be over if I manage to get Rhett back. In fact, I think it could get worse, and what if we don’t know how to make the new sharp edges made of us fit together anymore? I can’t bear the thought.

And so some days ... just for a moment ... I want to give up.

You’re not allowed to give up, little bird.

I hardly react when the metal door groans against the stone. I have a flicker of hope it’ll be Jeremy, but it’s not. I haven’t seen him again since the first time I woke, and I don’t know how many days have passed since then.

Instead it’s a man I’ve never seen before, but I can tell by the way he smiles, feline and hungry, he’s seen me. He has a wicked black eye and a split lip that makes him all the more menacing.

“I’ve been most looking forward to seeing you at last, Miss Kinsley,” he says.

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