Not a Monster Anymore (Double Crossed Book 2)

Chapter 9

"I don't grow much," I mutter, complying for the sole purpose of not wanting to bend them the wrong way. They hand me the jumpsuit, and I step into it. The fabric is scratchy.

"We need your backpack too," they say, grabbing my shoulder to turn me around and disconnect my Pak.

Thinking quick, I push against them, knowing that will be frowned upon, but ignoring that because I need that damn thing to live, not to mention the two gaping holes that would be in my back when they took it off. Instead, I stutter out an excuse: "It's a... a tumor," I say hastily, hoping to all hell that the human is as stupid as I believe them to be. "Ask anyone I know, I've never taken it off. It can't be taken off."

They raise an eyebrow, but other than that, I'm once again held by the shoulder and guided further into the building. Cells fly by as we walk down a hallway, full of children with books, or rubber balls, or other abstract entertainment items in their hands as they attempt to keep from boredom. Like the human said, they are almost all wearing regular clothes- hoodies, sweatpants, T-shirts- and look at me strangely, noticeably eyeing my jumpsuit. I give them hard looks in response.

We reach an empty cell, which they open for me, taking off my handcuffs once I'm inside. The cell has a bed, a shelf, a toilet and a sink. Other than that, the room is scarce, with nothing but a window for any contact with the outside world.

"Dinner is at seven," the guard informs me, before turning and locking the cell behind him, leaving me alone. I listen to his footsteps as he walks down the hall, waiting for the slam of the door before moving. This place is going to be hell. Twenty-five years? That's like almost three years on Irk. I groan. I won't be able to take off my disguise either.

I have the sudden impulse to tug at my antennae in anger, but fight against it since there's most likely cameras all around this place. After a few moments, I hear a voice.

"Hey. Over here."

In the cell across from me is a boy with brown hair, sitting on the floor right next to the bars of his cell. He's wearing a black hoodie- minus the hoodie string- and a pair of jeans. One of his arms hangs lazily out of the bars.

I stare at him. "What?" I ask, sitting down as well. My legs will get tired if I stand pointlessly.

"Name's Sean," the boy says, grinning a little bit. His left ear has been pierced, as I have seen many humans do, but the 'earring' is larger than most others, and has a hole in the center, making an 'o' shape. It can't be any smaller than a centimeter.

"Zim," I answer. Sean nods. "Why are you here?" I ask. If he's wearing that it mustn't be that bad.

"I stole a car. Or, well, tried to, anyways. Didn't get very far before they caught me," Sean shrugs. "I got fifteen months left."

"That seems unreasonably long for stealing a vehicle," I scoff. "Especially considering you've likely been here for awhile before me."

"Oh, yeah, the dude that owned the car was this snobby rich guy. He bribed them to keep me in here for three years. Apparently his car is just too important. I didn't even wreck it." Sean rolls his eyes at this. "So, what are you in for?"

Avoiding eye contact, I reply, "I killed someone." Human morale shows that murder is severely frowned upon, and I don't want to see his face.

However, he doesn't make any indication that he's disappointed or anything of the like when he says, "Woah. Why'd you do it?"

"I honestly have no idea," I answer, shaking my head. "One second I was just standing there, the next, I was on top of him. Hurt my boyfriend pretty bad too, he's in the hospital for god knows how long." I extend my arms out of the bars and wrap them around. "I'm in here for twenty-five years."

"Damn," Sean says, eyes wide in awe. "Never met a killer before. At least, not that I know of." Then, he leans forward a bit. "Was he older than you?"

"Definitely not," I say without hesitation. I'm older than any human alive, though I don't share this part with Sean. That would hazard some explanation, which would not end well for me. "We shared a class, though."

Sean nods. "Your story is a lot more interesting than mine, " he says, grinning at me. His teeth are slightly crooked, though not so much as some others I'd seen. If you squinted, his might look perfect, aside from a bit of plaque that's formed at the top.

"What time is it?" I ask. I'd been unconscious for awhile, presumably, because it was light out when we walked to the building, and I'd been drugged when it was still night time. Sean turns his head to look out the window, pulling his arm back into his cell to prop himself up. When he turns back, he sticks it out again. Maybe it adds some sort of sense of freedom for him.

"I'd say it's probably around six forty-five," he answers, "which is good, because I'm pretty hungry."

I nod, but don't say anything, deciding that the conversation is over, at least, on my side. To emphasize this, I pull my arms back into my cell and stand up, walking to the bed and pressing my hand onto it. I'd expected it to be rock-hard, but it's actually softer than I thought. Not comfortable soft, but it has some give to it.

Well, the next quarter century is going to be a pain in the ass.