Abigail Ketner: Branded

I take a deep breath. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. I’ll never tell anyone about it again, especially you.”

Cole stares at me with a knowing look and raises his eyebrow. “Let me see if I can remember… My report says you were caught having premarital sex and your partner jumped out of your window. But you refused to turn him in.” His voice sounds inquisitive. “Leaving you the only one to brand for the sin.”

“Believe what you want,” I say with a shaky voice. I’ve never been good at masking my emotions, although I try really hard.

“So, you’re not gonna defend yourself?”

“My bedroom was eight floors up in a High Society building. I think it’s reasonable to conclude that a naked boy with broken legs would’ve been caught… but I bet your report didn’t give you those details,” I say, holding my voice steady for once.

He shakes his head, tucks in his T-shirt, and fixes his belt. “There’s no such thing as reasonable. Go to sleep,” he says before leaving my room.

I’ve been trying!

In the darkness, my throat constricts and my muscles lock in place. I can’t see a thing, but I hear everything—the drip, drip, dripping from the bathroom and the tap, tap, tapping as rain hits my window. Screams from outside bounce off my walls and then moaning from the hallway joins in. I shake my head, pry open my throat, and take a breath. Propelling myself off my mattress, I stand at Cole’s door with my hands at my side. It seems weak, but I hate being in the dark. I give in and knock.

“Now what?” he asks.

“I can’t sleep,” I say.

“And that’s my problem how?”

“It’s not.” I bite my lip. “Would it be all right if I kept my light on?”

“Whatever,” he says.

I draw my knees up to my chin, wrap my arms around my small frame, and start to count the cement blocks that make up my walls. My imagination runs wild with every noise in the building and the screams from outside. I hope this nightmare ends soon.

A screaming siren jolts me awake. Did I fall asleep? I leap to my feet and look outside, accidentally knocking over the paper bag on the windowsill. It clatters to the cold floor. I unfold the top and pull out a roll that’s hard as cement.

Disgusting.

I throw it and begin to shake. Biting my tongue, I try to bury myself in the corner. I have nothing but these walls to protect me, and no one but myself to watch my back. I’ll never be able to fight my way out because what lives outside is worse than what is in here.

A shower will help clear my mind.

I turn on the faucet for a long while only to discover ice-cold water rushing out. The water never warms and I begin to understand. The commander thinks he can wash away my soul by freezing me to death in the shower. He thinks he can destroy me by stripping away my possessions. But he can’t and I won’t let him take my memories, my ambition, and my pride.

He thinks I’m so easily broken.

The commander doesn’t know anything about me, what I grew up with, what I endured—the father I lost, the mother I hate, the brother who walked out of my life, and the stepfather I was forced to accept. He thinks since I was rich, making me poor will cause me to give up. What he doesn’t understand is that, after my father passed away, I grew up behind walls of hatred. I had nothing yet everything at the same time. I owned expensive clothes, enjoyed good schooling, and lived in a nice home. But my body was just a shell protecting an empty, desperate heart. My life was a colorful façade.

I had so much time to sit and think. I spent the majority of my life between four walls. I was abandoned, neglected, starved, betrayed, and abused. I’ve already been treated like the scum of the earth, so the Hole is nothing new. He wants to erase every sign of my existence on this earth, but I won’t let that happen. He can strip me naked, but he’ll never reach my soul.

It’s personal, completely personal.

I squeeze the excess water from my hair and slip back into my old scrubs. I tiptoe back to my mat only to find it occupied by Zeus.

Great! How did that happen?

I don’t want him in my room, but I’m unsure of what to do. When he looks at me, his brown eyes widen, his tail whips back and forth, and his ears stand at attention. I wonder what he thinks of me. I don’t know why I care, but I do.

He releases his gaze and drops his head. I comb my fingers through my hair and remain standing.

Cole steps inside my room through the open door from his bedroom. His eyes narrow at me as he shakes his head. He opens his mouth, then closes it, and scratches the back of his neck. Then he shrugs his shoulders and closes the door behind him again.

Weird.

I don’t know what to expect, but it seemed as if he had something to say before he stepped outside. As I’m pondering his awkward facial expression, the door from the main hallway swings open, and Cole reappears, holding another paper bag.

“Here’s your breakfast.” He holds out the bag.

I shake my head, trying to be polite. “No, thank you.”

“Eat it.” He unrolls the bag and holds out crackers.

At least they haven’t solidified like the roll. “All right. Fine. But I could use some water first.”

He crosses the room, hands me a bottle of clear water, and watches as I gulp it down. He places a hand on his hip, takes a step back, and starts rocking on both feet. I can’t hold eye contact with him for more than a second. His stare makes me uncomfortable, and the way in which he enters and leaves through the two doors always reminds me that I have no privacy.

“Come this way,” he demands.

“Where are we going?” I ask, feeling suddenly nervous.

“Don’t question me,” he says. “When I tell you to do something, you do it.” He points his finger in my face and he’s close, too close. It’s the first time I take notice of the stubble on his chin.

“Okay.”

I follow him into his room, breathing in the fresh smell of oranges. It’s set up almost like a large studio with everything in one room except for the bathroom. To the left sits his bed, and to the right is the entrance to his small bathroom. His clothing is piled at the foot of his bed along with Zeus’s food dish and crate. His kitchen area sits in the far right corner and is small but clean with the doorway to the main hall next to it. Against the wall, near the kitchen, sits a wooden table with two identical chairs and a safe mounted above it, where I assume he keeps his weapons. A small laptop sits on his table. On the screen, I see a view of the main hallway and a view of my bedroom.

Outside the window above his bed, the siren screams again. “When you hear that.” He points to his window. “Your ass better be at work.”

I figured that.

He sits at the table and points to the chair across from him. “Sit,” he says as he packs up the computer for more space. “We have a lot to cover. There’re certain rules you have to obey, and if you don’t, you’re toast.”

“Do you have a pen and paper?” I ask. “So I can take notes.”

He pulls on the collar of his shirt. “Don’t move. I’ll be back.” He leaves through the doorway in his room and the door locks behind him. I check just to make sure.

Cole returns with a pen and a piece of paper. He sits back down and slides them across the table.

“Where’d you go?” I ask.

“The guards have a station on each floor for reporting purposes… Now can I start?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes.”

I try to steady my hand while I write, but the letters look like a third grader wrote them. I can’t stop wondering why, out of all things, he chose to be a guard. I bet it’s the control, but I’ll never ask.