A Thousand Ways To Run

Chapter 3

I awoke late that morning to three raps against the door. Then I found a room temperature plate of pancakes and syrup. I peered at it from under the mountain of bed sheets that had accumulated around my middle and saw the dull shine of the metal covering. I could smell the syrup and feel my mouth water and my stomach grumble. My body collapsed back onto the bed with a plump, and air ruffled as it traveled through the covers. The room was incredibly dim without any windows, and I was positive my exhaustion would have caused me to sleep until noon. My mental clock, however, was well aware that I should be up.

I flipped the brown comforter over and dressed in my uniform out of habit. I had made my bed before I realized what I was wearing. I shook my scatterbrained head and told myself I needed food.

I needed routine.

This confusion was just a side effect of the change.

The food was cold and had been left to sit for some time before it was brought to me. I chewed lazily on it, letting my mind wander to the events of the former night. My own ego, selfishness. How could I have been so careless?

I shoved forkfuls into my mouth. Everything would go back to normal if I ate like normal. I would study for the day and write a paper. I'd assign myself my own homework. I would go back to myself. Then, I would get out of here.

The plate was emptied, and I set to my books. There was assorted copies of the history of espionage. I re-read one that I had already memorized and decided to summarize it for the day. I murmured to myself how this is the sort of thing that my Professor would assign. That I wasn't torn away from the real world. It was all a mind game. And I was going a little nuts waiting for someone to acknowledge what I did. I wanted orders. Anything but an empty room, being forced to wait for punishment.

The seconds ticked by; the words on the page went on in a monotonous way. I found myself staring at the page and not really doing anything. No one had come to collect the tray and it was after noon. Maybe that was my punishment; one meal a day. The anticipation was chipping away at me like the slow work on sculptures carved in a mountain side. I wanted the dynamite. Why wouldn't they just blow me to pieces?

It was one in the afternoon when I heard movement on the floor. I halted and listened to the voices, matched their faces and wished they would have given me their names.

My eyes lost their focus, and my hearing took over. They were arguing down the hall, making their way noisily to my room.

"Does it really matter how she did it?" the man argued back to her. He was angry, his steps rough and heavy. The woman was clearly the voice of reason in their relationship.

"Yes!"

"No, just as long as we make sure she doesn't do it ever again!" he continued. "You know Warren. Nosy little brat who can't keep his hands off government secrets-"

"He's a teenager!" she snapped, and they stopped about ten feet from my door.

"So is that!" he shouted back with such ferocity that it sent a shiver through me like a rippling stream. I closed my eyes tight and let my head fall. I didn't want to hear, but as they say, curiosity killed the cat. "And we underestimated that. I told you we should have installed the camera."

I lost it.

They barged into my room, and my hands slammed down on the table as I stood up and pushed the chair back so it fell to the ground. We stared at each other for a moment, my jawline hard and quivering with anger.

"They make walls thin these days," I said coldly.

"And teenagers sassy," he quipped.

I liked how I could get under his skin; how he lost all professionalism around me.