AN: writing on mobile please forgive typos.


It was easy to arrange. All I had to do was get my schedule set to match hers in one area, and get the guard aptly motivated to ignore what might transpire within. Not my first time arranging such a dalliance and certainty wouldn't be my last. She was already on shift in the small little laundry room, the clicks and clacks and rush of water for the running machines would create excellent natural mufflers. It was perfect. She glanced up from the shirt she was folding on the table and her momentarily wide eyes jumped from me to the empty doorway. Registered that the guard was not in it, as they were supposed to be, and she was stuck here with me. That alone had drawn screams for mercy from men much larger than her in the past.

I wore my gleeful smile, the one that has so often been rightfully called creepy by so many others.

"We have a full hour session ahead of us." I informed her, slowly approaching the table between us, allowing it as a barrier for now.

"And no one will interrupt?"

"They certainly won't. It's just you, me, and the darkest corners of your mind." I reached under the table and found the small canister taped beneath it. Just where it was supposed to be. The small amount was only good for one person. But then that was all I needed. The tiny canister fit between two fingers. It would be enough. She moved around the table towards me. I pretended to be preoccupied with the canister. I paused more than long enough to give her the opportunity to run. She didn't. I waited for her to realize what she was doing, wise up, and run. She didn't. She waited.

"This is your last chance to change your mind." It wasn't, actually. Mine was made up. But I tempted with the offer all the same.

"How does it work?" She asked instead.

"All you have to do, is breath." I sparked the canister, releasing the puff of gaseous toxins into her face. She inhaled deep, eyes closed. We waited. She opened her eyes.

"How do I know if-" she swayed mid-sentence.

"It doesn't take long to kick in." I answered, knowing how distorted my voice likely was already. She stumbled backwards, the pror physical anxiety tells doubled to those of a full on panic attack.

"Don't forget to breath."

"I'm trying!" Gasping, struggling, backing away until her back hit the dryers stacked two by two on top of each other, lost her footing, fell to her but. She was still trying to crawl backwards, until her attempts found the edge of the dryer row and kept going. There was a small space of wall between the dryers and washers, and she was small enough to fit there. I couldn't help the chuckle that came from my chest, as I moved to follow her progress. She was curled with knees to her chin, rocking back and forth, eyes wide and hands gripping her head. I was well acquainted with the position.

"What do you see?" She whimpered instead of answered.

"No, what do you see?" I leaned down to pry an arm free, and she shouted in answer.

"Get off me!" The reaction was instant, I barely had time to let go, she slammed her arm into the side of the dryer hard enough to leave a bruise later, her glasses flying off her face with the swift motion to retreat, and then curled further into herself.

"I hate you." She hissed, "I hate you. Every last one of you are going to regret this."

"Aaaaah, there it is. You're speaking my language. How many are there?" She buried her head, "no, answer the question. How many are there?" She whimpered past a sob, "too many." It wasn't a scream.

"How many?" She didn't answer this time. I reached down to dig, past the arms and knees and futile attempts to squirm further away, and pried her tear drenched face out. I held it between both hands, but she stared right past me. And it wasn't fear on her face. It was agony. She didn't look at me and cry out in fear. She didn't shriek. She didn't shudder. Exhaustion, and it struck me in an instant. I knew the look. I knew the whimper. I knew the mix.

Every time I ran, until my legs wouldn't carry me anymore, my lungs burning with every gasp. The pelt of rocks chasing me. The taunts, the jeers, the snide remarks and sideways glances. The adults who were just as cruel. Granny's suit, the barn, her prayers, and the peck of crows. And those moments, however brief, when I was too tired to feel anything. When my only thought was how nice it would be to fall asleep, and never wake up. Before the agony turned into righteous fury, fueling me not to the path of self harm but the path of revenge.

I yanked the sleeve of her uniform up, and found the still healing stitches. Down her arm, not across it. She wasn't afraid if this killed her. Maybe part of her wanted it to.

"I understand now." Something about my tone going gentle brought a flicker of recognition in her eyes. She was looking at me now, and somehow it was laced for the first time with actual fear.

"No. Nonononono." Renewed struggle to pull out of my grasp, I let her this time.

"We will talk soon." I sat back, as shivers wracked her crippled shape. From there I was only able to catch the occasional mutter, nothing of enough substance. The expressions of emotions reflected the waves at the ocean shore. Rising and crashing, a few times it sounded like she wanted to scream. She would open her mouth, and clamp it shut, her throat physically constricting to cut the sound off. A struggle between the expression of emotion, and what looked to be a hard wired habit to shut it off even here. Learned instinct. We would need to work on that.

I glanced at the clock. Thirty minutes had passed. Her shivers were starting to lessen and slow. Soon she was breathing steady.

"Welcome back." I got barely a mmm in response as she unfolded, hands groping for her glasses, finding them and wiping her face on a sleeve before setting them back into place. She sucked in a deep breath. Exhaled slowly.

"I needed that." I felt my brows raise without my willing them to.

"You-"

"Needed that. Yeah. Bottling things up is a bad habit to break."

"...so it is. You said there were too many of them."

"Yup."

"And you're not going to tell me who they are?"

"A girl's gotta keep some mystery about her."

"And that suicidal gash up your arm-"

"I didn't do that." It was the same snap she had given me before. A corrective razer laced with poison.

"You didn't cut your own arm open?"

"No. Not that you'll believe me."

"On the contrary, I do believe you." She blinked at me. Assessed me with a fresh expression that quickly morphed to suspicion. So I elaborated,

"You don't have a single other scar. No test cuts. No build up. You don't have any tattoos or piercings. Self-harm, of the physical variety at least, isn't your go to. And besides..."

"...besides?"

"You told your demons they were going to regret this. Those aren't the words of someone suicidal."

"Hu."

"Hu?"

"I'm not used to someone with actual brains or observation skills. It would be nice if the so called doctors in this place noticed."

"I'll go a step further. They did that to you, didn't they? The people there are too many of?" Her eyes traveled to the floor, fingers picked at a stain on the concrete.

"Yeah. Needed an excuse. To get me out of their way and shut me up. Who's going to listen to a crazy girl?" Her hand curled into claws, then a fist, slammed into the dryer beside her with a satisfying crunch.

"And then they get to pretend it's their loss. Poor them. So sad for their dear deranged friend. Thoughts and prayers."

"I'll take it you haven't mentioned any of this to your therapist?" She laughed.

"I'm letting them think I'm a tragedy," The fire in her eyes was a mad roar and it carried to her voice and the twitch in her limbs, "before I teach them the meaning of the word." A shudder picked her up of the floor, her neck bent both ways with pops. The murderous gaze drifted over me. Then cooled.

"Well. I appreciate your service. You do good work after all, just like your reputation says."

"And yet I didn't get a scream."

"Don't take it personally. I don't know how."

"Sounds like I need to teach you."

"I can't tell if that's a threat or a proposition."

"Lady's choice." She regarded my remark, a sentence that flew from my lips more naturally than I anticipated something like that could.

"I also can't tell yet if I'm going to adore you or hate you."

"Then you'll fit right in with our merry little rogues gallery."

I stiffened as she moved closer, leaned down, I hadn't actually meant it. Or didn't think I had. Was she taking me seriously? Old instinct kicked in and I didn't know what to do besides freeze in place. A gentle hand cupped the side of my face and I had to force myself not to flinch. Or focus too hard on the warmth of the soft skin on mine. I hoped that uncertainty didn't reflect in my eyes, or my suddenly dry mouth.

"We will see." She answered, and slid away. She glanced up to see the guard returning and she walked towards the door. It took me a second to catch my breath and glance back. That...wasn't a no. By any definition of the word. To any of the potential in my offers. Interesting.