{AVERY}
I spend the remainder of our free time exploring the open areas. I use the description 'open' loosely as it only consists of the hall, library, the courtyard and a few vacant rooms.
Besides the ability to read books, the only other option is to socialize by the look of it.
There's furnishings in the rooms such as chairs, but that's all. And everything is bolted down.
The small amount of windows inside are all barred up and it appears most people choose to spend their free time outside in the courtyard. I can only imagine the chaos that occurs when it's raining and that's not a possibility.
I don't know why Vivian mentioned that no one likes to hang out in the library, because I'm fairly certain that's where I'm going to be every day. At least then I'll be alone and safe. I'd rather take my chances at being cornered in there than deal with the psychopaths outside.
I can't trust anyone in here, and that's fine. It's no different than my life on the outside anyway.
Once upon a time I had friends, but if my mother's circumstances didn't drive them away, then my father sure did. He made sure to isolate me, so no one wanted anything to do with me. Sometimes, I still hear his voice, telling me things. His favorite saying used to be 'You'll never amount to anything. No one will want you. So, you should thank your lucky stars you have me.'
Lucky.
No wonder I hate that word so much. Because if I have to describe my time with my father, lucky is not even in the dictionary for me.
There's a strange screeching noise that rings through the air, and judging by the stampede of people heading back to the hall, I assume that's the signal that free time is over.
Begrudgingly, I head into the hall, lingering to the side in the swarm of gray outfits. The guards filter in after us, ready to escort us back to our rooms.
The same guy as earlier stands on the table, making silent hand gestures to the crowd. He motions to the guards who barely pay attention, and I wonder if he's in Damon's circle. I can only assume he is given the small information I know now. When he holds up two fingers, some people move past me, while others stay still. I have no idea what this secret code is, and as I do my best to figure it out by studying the moving bodies, a voice in my ear scares the hell out of me.
"You're three."
I jump, turning towards the voice. Grey stares at me intensely, like he's waiting for me to thank him for this information which means absolutely nothing to me.
"What does three mean?"
"Group three."
"And how exactly do I fit into group three?"
He grins, tapping his nose with his middle finger, the black nail drawing my attention. "We say so."
"Of course," I groan. "The infamous secret society."
Grey laughs, leaning against the wall next to me. "You'll get the hang of it."
I watch the man on the table, ignoring Grey. I'm ready to leave but he holds up five fingers, instead of three.
"What?" I whisper to myself. "What kind of system is this?"
"The working kind," he says happily.
More people walk past us, heading to the doors as guards start herding them like sheep. A familiar figure moves past me, dark eyes boring holes into everyone's skulls.
I can't help but stare at Theo, the darkness that emits from him is volatile. Vivian might be full of shit, but I believe her when she says he's dangerous. You could be blind and deaf, and still feel that presence from him.
He pays no attention to me, disappearing through the doors with the others. Grey follows my line of vision, whistling low.
"Ooh, girl. He's trouble. A fat no."
"Everyone here is trouble," I mutter, embarrassed that he's caught me.
Grey laughs. "True. But Theo is off-limits."
"Off-limits?" I repeat. "You control who we look at?"
"If we have to," he replies casually. "But that's not what I'm referring to."
This time it's my turn to laugh. "Please. I have no intention of engaging with anyone in that sense," I tell him, dryly.
Table man holds up three fingers and I push off the wall, heading towards the doors. Behind me, Grey snickers, knowing I can still hear him.
"We'll see, little killer. Everyone has urges."
***
I'm only back in my room for about thirty minutes when someone bangs on the metal door. It flings open immediately after, revealing a guard and several fellow patients lingering behind.
"Shower time," he growls at me.
I stand up, looking around the room. "Do I need to bring a towel? I don't have any here. Or clothes for that matter…"
"You'll be given all that. Get moving."
Surprisingly, he doesn't wait, heading down the hallway. I quickly follow suit, following the over five girls. I'm absolutely desperate for a shower. It's been two days since I had one and I'm sure my hair is full of dust from the library.
I missed out yesterday with it being my first day, so I'm not sure what to expect when I walk into the showers.
It's kind of exactly how I imagine prison showers to be, if they gave just a little bit of privacy.
There's half a dozen stalls lined up, with small partitions that hide us from our collarbones to knees. At least I don't have to be concerned about getting a finger in the ass while picking up soap.
The absolute worst part though?
The fucking flowers.
I wish I was kidding, but there's more flowers in here than any other room. It's like the designers planted an upside down garden with dozens and dozens of flowers hanging from vines around the room. The floral smell overpowers the room, which seems to get worse with the steam.
A girl next to me catches me staring and snorts. "Fucking ridiculous, isn't it?"
I glance over, taking in the petite strawberry blonde. "Just a tad."
"Enough chit chat," the guard scolds, giving me a small push towards a stall.
"Okay, I'm moving!" I snap, looking around trying to figure out this shower system.
There's no benches in the stall, or the towel and clothes I was promised. The strawberry blonde steps into the stall next to me
and pulls her shirt over her head.
"Just pull them off inside and chuck them outside the door. They will hand us towels when we finish and new clothes. Then you just need to pick up the old ones and put them in the laundry rack in the corner."
"Thanks," I mutter, pulling my shirt off. "How long do we have to shower?"
She disappears from view for a few seconds, before springing back up to fling her shorts over the stall door. "Five minutes. So, if you need to wash your hair, get on to it straight away."
"Right," I say, panicking. "And shaving? Do we ever get to shave?"
I'm not desperate to have hairless legs, but eventually it will be a bush in a few weeks if I don't do something.
"On Sundays, we get a longer shower and some hair removal cream to apply. Be warned though — it smells like ass and is greasy."
I let out a laugh. Well, of course. Because they're not going to let us have razors in here. The guards are close by, but if someone wants to slit their wrists, it would be too easy.
Speaking of wrists, I stare at my bandage, knowing it needs to come off. At least no one will be able to see, so I quickly whip it off, hanging it over the door.
I do the best I can with scrubbing my hair and body before the time is up, ducking out of sight as to not bring attention to my arm. I'm fairly certain I still have soap in places when the guards yell at us to turn off the showers, before throwing towels over
the stall doors at us.
I barely manage to catch mine, nearly dropping it on the wet ground.
"Hurry up," they direct at us, barely giving us a minute before fresh gray clothes and underwear are launched at our faces.
The underwear smash into my face, and I recoil, pulling them away from my nose. I don't want to consider the possibility that someone else has worn these, so if I pretend and don't smell them, I'll be none the wiser.
My long hair is still dripping when we're ushered out of the stalls. No matter how skilled I get at these short times, it's never going to be enough to deal with my lengthy hair. I guess it's time for a natural dry. Gone are the days of hairdryers. Who am I kidding? I never owned one — just used to wrap my hair in a towel and wait.
As we head back down the corridor, we're pushed back into our rooms, the door slamming closed behind us without a word. If I'm correct, it should be dinner time soon. It feels wrong for me to shower before dinner, the thought of wearing dirty clothes to bed, but it's not a summer vacation.
I hang out in the room, pacing as my stomach grumbles, wondering if dinner does exist. I'm starting to lose hope when finally, the door opens again.
"Dinner — let's go," the guard says dryly.
"Finally," I mumble quietly, happily following. The only thing that can give me happiness is the thought of food.
It's short lived though, when I get to the hall and line up. The wafting smell of food is not mouth-watering, and when I reach the buffet style setup, I'm disappointed to find nothing but unseasoned pasta. I blink, confused.
Even at home, I'd at least be able to chuck some sauce on it. Apparently, the only option for dinner tonight is plain pasta, steamed vegetables and what I suspect is dry chicken. The grayish hue concerns me and I opt not to give myself food poisoning, no matter how much I hate being here. Suicide by moldy pasta is not the way I want to go.
My poor plate looks miserable — a spoonful of pasta and some sad looking broccoli and carrots.
I turn to inspect the seating options, realizing there's no free tables left. I'd have to sit at an occupied table, and judging by the glares, no one is eager to volunteer.
The only table that's mostly vacant has a single sole occupant.
Theo.
I weigh up my options, looking at Vivian in the corner with her crew, to Grey over with his.
Finally making a decision, my feet drag along the ground, like I'm slowly walking to my execution.
I feel several eyes on me as I pass by tables, people watching closely.
Stopping at the edge of the metal table, I wait for a few seconds to see if I get acknowledged. When I don't, I quickly slide into the seat farthest away.
I keep my head down, picking at my soggy pasta with my plastic fork. Eyes are burning into me from every direction, but it's the ones in front of me that I look at.
"Can I sit here?" I ask quietly, trying to think of a back up plan if I'm ejected from my spot. That's if I survive long enough.
Theo glares at me, his own fork poised between his fingers as he twirls it around. "I don't know. Can you?" he spits out sarcastically.
It's like the whole room is watching our awkward exchange, and I have to assume Theo hates it as much as I do. Or as much as he hates me.
"I can leave if you like," I mutter so only he can hear. "I just don't know where else to sit."
The seconds tick by while I wait for his answer. I stare down at my pasta, pretending like it's the most interesting thing in the room. If I'm being honest, it probably is.
Theo doesn't respond, glaring at me for a bit longer before turning his attention back to his food. I peer up slightly, watching as he stabs the sad little vegetables onto his fork — no sight of chicken on his plate either.
I decide that no answer is an answer and continue eating in silence. At this stage, I haven't been yeeted from my spot so I think I'm in the clear.
At least for today…