Six months done, and four thousand five hundred and sixty days left in prison. With a black marker, I write the numbers on the calendar and cross today’s date off like I do each day. On the corner of this sheet is a black skull, which I’ve repeatedly crossed out, punctured, and stabbed to vent my anger, imagining it’s her face.
That woman … just thinking about her makes me want to punch holes in the wall I’m staring at.
I hate her to death, in the literal sense. I don’t just want to kill her … I’ll make it happen. One way or another, she’s going to pay for what she did. Punishment and pain aren’t enough … only death is, and I’m going to bring it to her doorstep.
These walls won’t hold me back. Maybe now, but not forever, and when I get out, she’ll be the first to suffer. She’s lucky these steel bars surround me and keep me locked inside, far away from that pretty little lie she calls life. She thinks she’s safe, she thinks she’s innocent, but we both know that’s not true. She’s hiding behind that fake, perfect mask of hers, but all it takes is a snap and it’ll crack right down the middle.
I’ll make sure to bring the pain when I get out of here. She deserves it.
You might think I’m an asshole for wanting to kill a girl, but this girl has gone pretty far … further than most girls will ever go to clear their own name. She framed me so she could point the cops at me and put me in jail. That’s like cutting the heart out of a man. If I had one, I’d be dead already, especially because I involved myself with the likes of her.
I admit that I’m not a saint. I did some bad shit, too. I killed her husband, but he deserved every ounce of the pain that he received. He was a cheating bastard, and so was she. They both deserve to go to hell.
I reek of fury and rightfully so. All I can think about is making her suffer the way she’s making me suffer. Lock her up and hurt her. My fingers twist, grabbing the empty air as I imagine strangling her. I can already feel the bones crack.
She fucking ruined my life, and not just because she put me in jail. That girl is full of secrets, cloaked behind a façade that I’m dying to strip away. Of course, nobody believes me. With my tattoos, piercings, and dark hair, I look like the typical killer, someone whose words mean nothing in the face of a threat. It’s always been that way, and I don’t expect that to change anytime soon. My life has always been about bare-knuckle fights to claim authority over whatever I deemed as mine. That’s all I do, all I know. Fighting in whatever way necessary with whatever means I can gather just to get what belongs to me.
And the worst thing is that I once fought for her.
That’s right; she’s not just my most hated rival, but she also used to be the object of my affection. I say ‘used to’, but I’m not so sure if I’ll gut her that quickly when I see her face again. I might actually fuck her first, and then kill her. Exes … I’d rather ax them.
If I could, I would erase every memory I had of her, just so I’d stop thinking about her. Instead, I’m locked up in this cell, reminded of her day in and day out … thinking of all the ways that I’m going to make her beg for mercy.
“Are you sulking again?”
I turn my head at the sound of the annoyingly sarcastic voice of my cellmate. At times like these, when he says shit like this, I just want to rip his head off. However, the cavity in my chest has reserved a tiny spot for him to the point of it growing on me like a parasite. That’s what you get when you spend months in the same room with another guy. Somehow, you are attached to the person just because they’re there … they’re alive, and you can talk to them. That alone is enough to create a bond. At least, in here it is.
So, I’ll spare him … for now.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Shut up.”
He raises his eyebrow at me, his blue eyes flaring with curiosity. “I know what you’re doing when you twitch your nose, crack your knuckles, and sneer at the wall. You do it every day.” He cocks his head at me as he sits on the edge of his bunk bed, his feet dangling close to my head. “You’re thinking about her, aren’t you?”
“Mind your own business, will you?” I say, shoving his legs aside. “And get those damn feet out of my fucking face. They smell like rotting junk food.”
He attempts to rub his socks against my chin, so I pull his leg so hard he crashes to the floor.
“Ow! Fuck!” he yells, rubbing his head as he crawls up. He runs his fingers through his long, dark hair. “What did you do that for?”
“That’s what you get for taunting me,” I say.
He frowns. “Asshole.”
I smirk. “That’s me.” I flip the pages of my calendar back where they belong and throw it on the table. “Got a problem with that?”
He raises his brow. “Always.”
I smile, and so does he. I know this fucker never gets mad at me, and that’s why I like him. It’s also why he’s still alive. Being in a cell with me isn’t easy … if you manage to survive. What can I say? The fucker has grown on me.
Suddenly, something strikes the bars of the cell, and it makes me jolt up from my seat and turn around. It’s the guard, flashing a cocky smile.
“Sullivan. DeLuca.” With a low voice, he says, “Time to get some fresh air.”
I sigh, packing up my things, like we always do. Everything has to be left tidy and neat, so the officers can check the cell with a quick glance. The guard opens the door when we’re ready, and he escorts us downstairs where the rest of the inmates gather as well. We always go outside in designated blocks, one block never coming into contact with the other. They do it to separate the racial gangs, which are notorious for starting prison riots.
Me? I don’t belong anywhere, and neither does DeLuca, so we stick together mostly. I hate cliques and avoid them like the plague. They have nothing to offer us, and I have no interest in siding with idiots. However, that makes us easy targets, too. That’s why the guards are always on their toes whenever they let us out of the cage.
We walk outside with the rest of the inmates and go to our regular spot near the picnic table. It’s to the far east side of the premises, close to the fence where the grass is still green instead of soiled by dirty boots. I go on my knees and pluck some grass out of the earth as DeLuca sits on top of the picnic table and leans back to enjoy the sun.
“Fucking fine day it is, Nix,” DeLuca muses, groaning as he stretches.
“Mmmhmm,” I agree, but I don’t want to talk with him right now. Outside is the only place where I can think of other things besides that fucking woman, and I can hear more than just his voice. Being confined to a small cell does things to a person. It makes them vulnerable … weak almost, and that’s a feeling I can barely stomach. It makes me want to start a riot just for the sake of regaining my spirit.
I pluck some more grass until I find what I’m looking for—a colony of ants has taken up residence here over the past couple of months. I move a few small stones until I find their nest and just look at it. They crawl everywhere with little leaves and other types of food, bringing it to the nest, as well as carrying the larvae. It’s a tiny ecosystem resembling humans, only on a much smaller scale. I just like to watch them. That’s all. And maybe help them every now and then, just for fun.
Suddenly, a boot comes crashing down on top of the nest, crushing the ants.
Enraged, I look up at the person who just butchered a whole city worth of insects.
“Playing in the sandbox, are we, Sullivan?” he snarls, spit flying out of his mouth and onto my cheek.
Getting up to my feet, I wipe it off and lean in with narrowed eyes. He checks me out from top to bottom while his buddies gather around us, creating a circle to trap me. This guy is clearly looking for a fight … with the wrong dude.
Lifting my hand, I smear his spit right back on his own cheek, dragging it along slowly as everyone watches with parted lips and audible gasps. Apparently, now I’ve gone and done it. Shit’s about to hit the fan. Great. Just the way I like it.
When I’m done, I wipe what’s left of the goo on my pants and cock my head, waiting for him to make the first move.
“You fucking cocksucker. I’ll teach you a lesson.” The guy growls and up his fist goes, right into my face. I take the blow like a man, absorbing the full force and letting my body move with his smack. It takes me a few seconds to recuperate. It’s a good punch. However, not good enough.
“Is that all you got?” I say, turning my face back to him.
The cocky look he’s championing immediately turns into shock, as he probably realizes it didn’t hurt me much. When I smile, he screams and his face turns completely red. Before he can lash out in anger, I punch him in the gut.
That’s when DeLuca gets off the table and hits another guy in the back, causing him to buckle. Then he gives him a knee to the face and steals his knife. He cuts another attacker’s arm, who screams for help, while I fight my attacker until he’s down on the ground and I’m on top of him, beating the shit out of him.
DeLuca scares the others away with the knife, stabbing anyone who dares to come close, as I pummel my opponent with no remorse.
“Who’s teaching who a lesson now, huh?” I yell, my fists spreading his blood all over his face.
By the time the guards arrive, his face is already split open at various points, and his nose is crooked as fuck. I probably broke a few bones here and there. The guards blow on their whistles and sound the alarm, yelling at everyone to get down on the ground. I stop at this moment, as I’d rather not get a fucking Taser on my ass. That does hurt like a bitch.
We lie down, and my attacker is groaning from the pain as the officers swarm in and cuff us all. I’ll probably be put in solitary now, but it was worth every punch I gave him.
Nobody messes with my business. Whether it’s ants or a kill, it’s my fucking business, and everyone best stay out of my way … or I’ll take down every last one of them.
***
VANESSA
“And cut!”
When the director calls out, I let out a sigh of relief and pull out the ribbon that holds my hair together.
“God, I’m so thirsty,” I say, as my assistant hands me my bottle of water, which I eagerly chug down.
“Great performance, Vanessa,” the director tells me as we both watch the images on the screen.
“Thank you,” I say with a broad smile. “I think I just needed that final push.” After thirty takes, it was about time.
“It looks great,” my assistant says. “Especially the kiss. It’s really authentic.”
“You think?” I say, fishing for more compliments. I love hearing how good I can fake things.
She nods. “Loved it!”
She gives me a high five as the director shakes my hand and winks. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Thanks, David. Great work today. See you,” I say, waving as I walk away.
The smile instantly fades from my face as we walk to my dressing room and my assistant, Paige, keeps on yapping.
“Don’t forget you have an appointment with the vocal coach tomorrow.”
“Yeah, I remember,” I say, as I open the door and walk in, taking off my earrings, which hurt.
“Oh, and before I forget … Happy Birthday!”
She suddenly wraps her arms around my neck, catching me by surprise. I have no idea what to do with this sudden affection, especially when she refuses to take her hands off me after half a minute has passed.
“Thanks,” I say, as I peel her off me. “But I’d rather not know.”
“Why? Twenty-seven isn’t that old,” Paige says.
I place my finger on her lips. “Not another word.”
She frowns at me. “Okay …”
“I just don’t like to hear it.” I shrug.
“Well, I do hope you have a great party,” Paige hums.
I give her my regular fake smile. “Of course. Once I get home, I’m pulling out the champagne.” I wink.
She smiles as if she really believes me. “Good. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow then.” She starts to walk away, but then turns to face me again. Walking backwards, she says, “If you need anything, just give me a call, okay? I’m always there to help.”
“I will.” I smile and wave until she’s gone out of sight and then close the door, sighing.
Either being alone is the best feeling in the world or it’s the scariest thing there is. Trapped in silence is sometimes a good thing, especially after a busy day, but on days like this … it cuts into my soul.
I sit down behind the mirror and grab the face wipes, gently patting down my face until I’ve removed all the make-up. Rinsing my face in a bowl of water, I look at the mask I’m peeling away, layer by layer, until there’s nothing left but a lonely, bitter bitch.
Stripping away everything until only the nakedness remains forces me to face the cold, hard truth. What I see is paperwhite skin, interrupted by an ugly purplish blue bruise. It’s been a long time since I saw one of those, but seeing it now is like a brick to the face. It breaks the façade I hold so dearly.
My eyes grow watery, but I shake my head and take a deep breath, pushing away all thoughts as I clean my face again.
Someone suddenly knocks on my door.
I turn my head, covering the mark with my hair as the receptionist leans in. “Excuse me; someone left these for you at the front desk. I’m supposed to give them to you.”
With furrowed brows and parted lips, I gaze at the enormous bouquet of roses she holds out.
“Who’s it from?” I ask.
She looks at the card and then smiles. “Arthur.”
Something twists at my insides.
I swallow away the lump in my throat as she brings it to me. “I won’t bother you any further,” she says after an uncomfortable moment of silence.
“Thank you for bringing them,” I say.
“Yeah, no problem,” she says, and then she closes the door again.
The roses lie on my desk, right on top of my make-up, and all I can do is lean back and stare at them as if they came out of a long, dried-out well. I can read the note from afar, saying ‘I’m sorry, Vanessa. I didn’t mean to forget your birthday.’
Anger boils up inside me, and I do the first thing that comes to mind. I grab the roses and throw them in the garbage. He’ll have to come up with something better than that to make up for what he did. Especially considering he completely forgot to mention it.
I get up from my chair and put on my coat. Then I put on a big, round hat and some shades, hiding the mark. It’s not perfect, but it’s good enough to get out into the streets without anyone seeing it.
As I walk out of the building so I can get to my car, fans flock to my side, wanting to take a picture with me and demanding my autograph. Of course, I dish them out everywhere, loving the attention. The bright flashes from the cameras clear my head and blur all the bad thoughts swirling through my mind. I do it for these fans, the ones who adore me and love me like no other. I do it for these short moments of happiness, my time in the spotlight, before I have to return to a gloomy, lonely home.
Ignorance is bliss.
