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“You don’t need to sound so horrified about it,” he frowns. “Is it really that bad?”
“No.” I quickly say, “no it’s really good. You’re amazing.”
He smiles. I just complimented him.
That is the opposite of not making friends. I don’t want to associate myself with the son of a murderer. I know that Albert has placed him here to manipulate me, but I can’t get past the fact that he is still here; even after I yelled at him and spat in his face. Either he is really dedicated to his job, and so fiercely loyal to his father that he will do whatever it takes to get the job done. Or he’s here because he wants company. Because he wants to help me.
I can imagine it would get pretty lonely here. Being the son of Albert Cunningham probably wouldn’t get you in the good graces of many of the prisoners.
I hand him back the book, and he closes it before putting it back in his pocket. “See ya later, Waffles. I’m glad you’re feeling better.” He walks out the door before I have the chance to say goodbye.
Chapter 8 - Emerson Clarke
Jasper may be good at sketching, but he has no sense of style whatsoever. I stare at the green and blue knitted sweater that I know I’m going to drown in, the skin-tight black jeans and white sneakers. I mean, it’s not the worst outfit I’ve ever seen, but I definitely wouldn’t wear it by choice. Unfortunately for me though, it is this or a hospital gown, so I lean towards the option that would make me the least awkward walking around Calveron.
I stare down at the note that must have been torn from his sketchbook, placed on the chair that Jasper occupied the night before. ‘Since you’re still sleeping, get dressed and I’ll come back in an hour with breakfast. J.C.’ I don’t know when he wrote it, but I’m trying not to be concerned with how off guard I am. Usually I am always on alert, asleep with one eye open, but lately all I’ve wanted to do is sleep. Maybe I think that if I sleep for long enough, I will eventually wake up and find myself back home.
I walk into the crisp white bathroom and put on the clothes. There is a mirror on the far side of the bathroom, and I stare in disbelief at the face in front of me. My long brown hair that was so carefully braided has escaped widely. I take it out, brush it with my fingers and I pull it into a plait down my back. My eyes have deep black bags, although I can’t understand why with the amount of sleep that I’ve been getting. Maybe they’re just stuck on my face after all of the sleepless nights I’ve experienced. They’ll be a constant reminder of the pain I have been through.
I carefully observe the scar that covers most of my left eye. It’s a deep red, although it’s been that way for as long as I can remember. It’s ugly and cuts through my eyebrow, tracing its way down to my cheekbone. Every time I look at it, it makes me want to throw up in disgust. I never knew how I got it till yesterday when I saw myself in that dark room. I don’t know how, but I’m certain I got it in there.
I walk out of the bathroom to find Jasper sitting on the edge of my bed with another plate of waffles in his hand. As soon as he sees me, he bursts out laughing. I realise he’s laughing at my outfit.
“I look like a grandma,” I frown at him.
“A cute grandma,” he smirks.
“Shut up,” I say and steal the waffles off of him before he has the chance to tease me more.
“Don’t I get a thank you?” he fakes a pout.
“Not with fashion taste like this, you don’t.” I scoop the waffles into my mouth, letting its sweet goodness wake me up.
“We’re going to see my dad,” he says suddenly. “But I’m warning you, it isn’t going to be fun.”
“What happened to ‘I can’t do that’.”
“Well,” he smiles, “I can’t. Not technically, but this is going off the book.”
“Aah, so we’re sneaking to his office.”
“If that’s what you want to call it.”
We walk over to the elevator together, and I feel my heart thudding in my chest as we step in. I am silently begging myself not to have another nightmare. That’s the last thing I need right now.
Jasper tells the elevator what floor, and my heart is a thundering train as we begin to ascend. “it’s-” His voice is cut off by the sudden stop of the elevator; I see why when the middle-aged woman walks in.
She stops so that the elevator can scan her face and in reply, the elevator says, “Good morning, Miss Hunter. What level would you like today?” The lady in question is the same one from a couple of nights ago who seemed intent on wanting to kill me right then and there. Her hair is a blazing fire pulled back into a sophisticated bun at the top of her head. She is wearing a pencil skirt and a dark blouse. Her eyes are a gleaming red that drills into me as she looks my way.
“Level 113 and hello Emerson, isn’t it lovely that we meet again. Oh, haven’t you grown my little one? The last time I saw you, you were merely a baby.” Her fake sincerity burns my eardrums and I feel the instant urge to duct tape her mouth together, so I don’t have to hear it ever again.
“I was eight.” I stare angrily into her eyes, back then I was small and scared, but now I will not back down for the life of me. After all these years of fending for myself, I have learnt to never let anyone boss you around; especially not people who treat you like nothing.
“Ah…” Jasper says warily, “I see you have already met, so really no need for introductions. But as protocol, Emerson this is…umm…Rebecca and vice versa.” I can see in his eyes that he is desperately trying to avoid a fight.
“However,” Rebecca says with deep, hollow anger, “You have no right to call me Rebecca. As for you,” she directs her speech to Jasper. “How are you, my sweetcakes? I have been so busy; I haven’t had time to see you.” Her smile beaming as she looks at him.
“Ah…yeah…cool… thanks,” Jasper starts awkwardly.
