The next day she was back again.
The night had been horrible. The monster resurfaced with vigor. I had no idea if it was possible but the monster was scarier and bigger this time. I never remember it being so painful. Those horrible words of that song seemed to bring the monster out and make it mad. The song terrified me. I couldn't get it out of my head. And each time I heard that haunting melody with those words, memories would come up. Memories I didn't want to remember. Once in a while I would remember something. But those were the little things. I was always able to push down the one thing I really didn't want to remember but that song. That song made me remember. And there was a reason I didn't want to remember.
My jaw was dislocated and it hurt all over. The monster had really done a number on me last night. It was going to take forever for all these new wounds to heal. I sighed and coughed violently when I felt a sharp prick in my chest. I decided to keep the movement to a minimum. My eyes slowly darted around. Today, when I saw the face on my wall the fear returned. Fear of the song. Fear of the monster. Fear of the memories. Because today, that face was fixed in that same exact expression she directed at me on that night that everything went down. It was the worst night of my life. And I tried my best to forget it. But this girl just had to come around and I just had to be foolish enough to listen to that song. I closed my eyes in frustration and clenched my battered fists to try and hold back the flashback.
darkness ... bar... flashing lights ... her hands... dancing ... sick ... very sick -
No! I forced myself to think of something else. Anything else. And then I heard the quiet shuffle of a single pair of footsteps and for once in my life I was glad I wasn't alone with my thoughts.
When I saw those yellow eyes I sighed in relief. She saw me and gasped. I suddenly remembered what state I was in. I must have looked like a mangled bloody mess. I suppose that was good then. Maybe the harsh reality of life in prison would scare her off and I wouldn't have to deal with her and her iPod anymore. But the disgust never came. Her eyes filled with pity again and I flinched. I hated that look. I remember seeing that look from so many people after the incident. Pity. An emotion someone feels for someone who is so much more beneath them. And it was true. Everyone who looked at me with that look felt bad because they were so much better than I was. And ever since, I had hated the look of pity because it reminded me of why I was so pathetic. It reminded me of everything that had happened to push me to the lowest of the low.
She reached into her bag and rummaged around for a few seconds. It was the first time I realized that she was carrying a bag. It was a little chestnut leathered bag with colorful beads hanging off the fringes. The strap looked much worn and quite a few scratches adorned the sides. But looking at that small bag made a strong feeling of nostalgia come over me. It made me feel warm inside for a brief second. And I cherished that moment.
Once I came back to my senses I saw that she had a few items in her hand and was heading closer to my bars. They looked familiar but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. I shuffled closer to the bars on my knees and glared at her to let her know I didn't appreciate her proximity but she kept advancing. Her scent got stronger and I sneezed violently. It didn't even faze her and she kept getting closer. All of a sudden I felt very claustrophobic and I backed off. Her gaze softened when she realized how frightened I looked. She slowed down and gently pushed a collection of small things through the bars. She then retreated to her original spot and took a small breath. I looked toward the items she placed in my cells and wracked my brain trying to figure out what they were. There seemed to be a tube of sorts and then a piece of rectangular paper. The blue and red markings looked very familiar. There were about 5 of the little rectangular papers. I stayed in my corner though, and didn't move. The girl cautiously looked around. She craned her neck in each direction from her seat. She seemed to be looking for something and I realized a bit too late. When her eyes fell on the smashed pink pieces at the foot of my bed, my face flushed red. I felt so embarrassed that I pulled my knees up into a tight ball and tucked my face into my arms. I heard a light and airy chuckle come from her and my face burned even more.
She must have sensed my embarrassment because she got up and left, giving me my own space. Visiting hours were over anyways. After she left I looked up and glanced around. Suddenly, I realized that the tube and the small pieces of paper were gone. She must have taken them back while I wasn't looking. It puzzled me. Why would she place something in my cell but take it back when it was time for her to go. Was it something she needed too? I shook it off and crawled over to my bed. I brushed the pieces of the iPod away, cutting my hand in the process and dragged myself up. I lifted one foot and sighed. I gingerly began the process of extracting every little piece from my feet. I hissed each time and I had barely gotten 3 or 4 pieces out when a small pool of blood at gathered at the ground beneath my feet. I started again but the pain was killing me so I gave up with a grunt of frustration. I fell backwards into my bed and darkness ascended.
The next morning was the same as usually. The monster had gone easier on me and my body didn't hurt as much as it usually did, thankfully. I sat up and crossed my legs waiting for the girl to come. I had a feeling that she probably wasn't going to stop coming. And when she finally arrived, she seemed pleasantly surprised to see me waiting for her.
Today, she walked right to the bars which frightened me. I pressed my back against the wall. She ignored my uncomfortable gaze but assumed the same cross-legged position as I was in. She reached for her little bag and took out the tube and papers from the day before. She placed the items in my cell once again. This time there were only 4 pieces of paper. I looked at them long and hard before it finally hit me. The tube was a cream for cuts and the papers were band - aids. It had been a long time since I had seen any of those items. But never the less I felt a bit suspicious. Had she tampered with them? Was this trap? But I didn't even know the girl. What reason did she have to help me? What reason did she have to even be here? The questions swarmed around my head and concluded that I would investigate the items after she left. So I sat on my bed patiently and waited. She seemed to wait too. For what, I didn't know.
When the bell rang, I was glad and curious to observe the items. However much to my dismay she picked up the items and left without a word. She did shoot me a small smile before leaving which left me not only confused, but a bit angry. I pulled off a few more pink pieces from my feet that night before sleeping but the pain was unbearable and I cursed the girl for taunting me with those band - aids that I so desperately needed.
The next day, the same exact thing happened. Except there were only 3 band - aids. I couldn't understand what the girl was trying to do but it pissed me off. When she only took out 2 band - aids the next day I knew that I had to make a choice. The next day, as I suspected she only took out one band - aid. I hesitantly rose from my perch and dragged myself towards the tube and the band - aid. Instead of grabbing for them, I pulled myself up into a sitting position and sat right across from the girl. The items and the bars stood between us. I stared her down for a few seconds before the intensity of her eyes made me look away. She smiled with amusement and didn't budge. My plan was to wait for the bell to ring. Even though she would take the items away, the first thing she always did was reach for her bag and open it. During that time I would grab the items then drag myself back as quickly as my flimsy arms could carry me.
We sat there challenging each other for hours. When the bell rang I keenly observed her movements. She yawned and stretched for a moment. When I saw her hands go to her bag I took my chances. My hand darted out in a flash. Much to my surprise, my hands never curled around the items. Somehow, the girl had anticipated my move and feigned reaching for her bag. Instead she had shot her hand out and grabbed mine. It wasn't even a grab on the wrist, it was the hand. I was so shocked I couldn't even move. I was a statue.
She moved my arm up and down twice. I was utterly paralyzed but my arm was a like a noodle. But then a large smile broke out across her face.
"Nice to meet you. My name is Cammie."
YOU ARE READING
Bars and White
Romance"Some days were good. Some were bad. But most being bad of course." Life in the eyes of 25 year old pessimist Daniel Venator is, simply put: pointless. After being in jail for many years with no one but himself, the last thing he expects to see i...
