ʜ ᴏ ʟ ʏ

14.

The room was cold, far to her disliking. The blanket prickled her skin, her lips were quenched with thirst, her words clogged the pipe of her throat, and the scratchy new uniform drove her mad. There were so many things wrong in the situation physically, but her mental emotion was indescribable. Sure it was dark, cold, and alone in the room but that could come no where close to the pain that pierced her chest. Getting sent down to confinement wasn't helping her in her state of mind. Every second of passing time Marcy envied the girl who put her here for doing the exact same thing she did. And it hurt her, twisted her core that no one would believe her when she said so. Vivian was to "pure" to commit such acts. Not only that, she was also stripped of her prized possession. The thing she depended on the most, her money jar. Only after a few days of selling the stolen drugs would she had enough money to escape the school. Hitchhike to a place far away from here and start a new. No more of her rarely seen father, no more of Saint Anne's, no more of Vivian, no more of Bonnie. Those words didn't settle right in her gut. No more Bonnie? She could hardly imagine herself without the girl. The only person she could rely on was probably above her starting a new life in the school with new friends. She had pushed her away with her sadness and that hurt to know. But this was want she wanted right? Right? She didn't know and it hurt her head to think about it. Marceline wished dearly that she could escape the prison like room. That was what confinement was like, prison. All girls who misbehhaved were sent down here. Dozens of blank white rooms built underneath the school meant for reshaping resiting teenage girls. Marcy could almost say they were reshaping her little by little. On the day of her falter, the principle and a staff monitor rushed Marceline back to school, pratically drug her down the stairs and threw her in the room, the principle not refraining from getting her hands dirty. That's how upset she was. And for the first 24 hours they left her there to rot as her pleeing screams filled the corridor. No food, water, or proper lightening. Just the bed, the toilet, and a leather back bible to fill the space. The next day they plucked her from the cell, striped her of her clothes, and forced her to bathe in an empty shower room. She was far to ashamed under the guarding eyes but they didn't stop her from cleaning herself in shame. She clothed her self with indignity and allowed herself to be dragged to the next room. She knew better than to speak or she would receive a slap to her cheek. And in that plain white room, they cut the years of hair she had grown. "A proper haircut will suit you. That nappy main of yours could use a cut." She could recall the words freely as the women Snipped away her hair while she cried silently in the seat. Now what reamined was her straight black bob that draped down her jaw and closer to her shoulders. And upon the cut, Marceline allowed her anger to overcome her. She made the mistake of snorting back a wad of her saliva and releasing in on the face of the principle. That night, Marceline received the worst beating of her life. Her eye was swollen shut, her elbow bent awkwardly, and her stomach caved at the hits taken. It only took her two weeks to regain her sight ability in her eye, the healing yellow color coating the skin around her optic. She didn't act out ever again after that. She made sure to be on her best behavior with her multi purpose tutor to avoid the beatings. Yeah, multi purpose tutors were a thing down in confinement. It was still expected of them to learn for a subject for 2 hours a day before being sealed back into the darkness. "There's no room for ignorance." The principles quote was clearly present within her. For a month now, Marceline had gone along, plotting her silent revenge up until she realized there was nothing she could do. Vivian always had the upper hand every situation she put herself in. What could Marceline do to the daughter of the principle that she wouldn't go mouth off to her mother? As much as she wanted to plant her knuckles deep within her face, she had plenty other things to worry of. Her main worry was her source of income. The principle finding and confiscating her jar of money is what got her an even longer sentence. All the money earned through her selling, gone faster than the snap of a finger. That was money that would be used for her getaway. Money was needed for motels, food and drinks, transportation, just enough to get her out of state. And now it was all gone. There was no way Marceline would ever able to be sell within the school, sure that Vivian would snitch upon her again. The only choice that came her way was a summer job. But what about Bonnibel? She had promised her she wouldn't let her go through Saint Anne's camp but money was scarce. For now, the girl merely rested herself. It hurt her head to think that hard, and her chest to even think of Bonnibel. Her thoughts were pulled away without warning, the sound of the keys clanging against one another sounded outside the door. Her head instantly drew upwards as the door was pulled back, the outer hallway lights pooling in her room and partially blinding her vision. "Breakfast." The stern staff spoke, gripping the tray lined with food. Slowly, Marceline slumped from the corner of the room and reached out and pulled the tray in her grasp, the door being shut back in place and locked. She couldn't see much but from the gap under the door the light littered her tray. Cold oatmeal, stale toast, and a pint of chunky milk. This was pathetic, she was pathetic, everything was pathetic. No girl should be treated this way. Thrown out of your home and into a boarding school for a choice you didn't make, growing up with a mostly absent working father, dead mother and no friends in a very toxic school, gaining a friend and loosing her to a stupid thing you did, and confinement. Marceline began to breathe heavily as she tried to console herself, but not even her words could stop the tears streaming her face. Her sobs were jagged and harsh as the endlessly drip of tears rolled down her healing cheek, her chest squeezed tight around her, and her sobs overlapped her need of air. Her body crumpled to the floor with a whimpered cry, her hands snaking away from her scalp and holding her knees to her chest. She was wretched.