𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐘 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄

ꜱɪxᴛʏ - ɴɪɴᴇ

Eden twisted the cupcake around her tongue, licking off the outer circle of vanilla icing as she pondered the thought. She knew that her friend was probably correct in her debriefing—she survived as long as she did without Mav's help, but most of her knew that her impulsivity was the only thing that kept her alive, and if she let it continue, that very thing would get her killed.

It wasn't Arabella's fault that she had no clue what her past was like. That it had been filled with opioids since the day she lost her only friend at eleven—that she lived on the streets until she was thirteen where she found her spoiled cousin, all too obsessed with hacking the mafia. She had no clue what her rankings were; to her, she was another blue-eyed, blonde, bimbo.

She liked that she was a no-one in here, but she hated that everyone treated her like there was some silver spoon shoved up her ass when she's never once had the chance to taste what that's like.

"Much like you, I'm here b-because of addiction," she swallowed, "We ought to try to get b-better for the people who care about us, if not for ourselves."

"Blah, blah—sounds like a load of baloney."

Eden rolled her eyes and shook her head in a form of laughter.

Though a second later, the smile on her face faded, and she was reminded why she was here in the first place. An attendant rounded the corner; he looked to be heading toward the cafeteria, but as he turned his head and caught sight of the cupcake in her hand, he marched right for them.

"Attending, six-o-clock."

Her friend's head snapped, "Fuck!—I can't get caught again."

"You already have two strikes this week?"

"Yeah," she sighed, looking defeated.

Eden gave her a sorry look before standing up and walking toward the attending, saving her friend the trouble of the bitter and cold solitary cellar. She purposely bumped shoulders with him, flinging him to the side whilst she remained uprooted.

"Oops," she bit into the cake, "Didn't see you there."

"You little—"

He reached over and slapped the cupcake out of her hand. She barely watched it hit the ground before he wrapped a hand around her upper arm tightly and yanked her from the common room and in the direction of her bedroom. Realistically speaking, she could have this man over her shoulder, on the floor, neck snapped, and six feet under all without breaking a sweat, but they couldn't know who she was outside of this facility.

Being manhandled was just something she had to get used to.

As they reached the end of the hall, a second attending came into view. This one she knew—blonde hair and bright green eyes—a pal of hers, despite it being two or three days here, tops.

"Harold, what are you doing with patient ninety-seven?"

"Bringing her to her room, sir," he stood more upright, "She attacked me."

"I did no s-such thing," she whispered under her breath.

Attending number one squeezed her arm harder to try to manipulate her into appeasing him, but little did he know, she shot up drugs that hurt more than his puny grip.

"Give her to me," Attending number two demanded, pulling her anyway, "Go continue your rounds—we can't afford to have the rest of the residents unsupervised."

He gave her a sturdy look, but nodded and turned, heading elsewhere.

Eden, gracefully, picked up her feet and followed the attending she knew of in the direction of the girl's communal bathrooms (they had personal ones in their rooms; these are used for common room breaks). This was normal for them—usually around this time, when the sun dims just a bit outside, not apparent to the uncaring eye, he grabbed her from her spot.