My thoughts are with all those on the East Coast affected by the storm.
x x x x
Cath's POV
Out of the corner of my eye I see Sara duck her head.
Casting a subtle glance around us, I move closer and wrap an arm around her slim waist. She jumps at the unhindered skin-on-skin contact, turning to me with a half-accusatory glare.
"Look." I state simply, turning her around enough to see that no one else in the small shower area is paying her any attention.
She narrows her eyes suspiciously for a moment before accepting what I am trying to show her and relaxing a little.
"Hey Lovebirds!" A harsh male voice hollers. "No fooling around! Beat it!"
Sharing a small smile, I tug her by the hand, leading her towards the benches.
I can't help noticing that the guards have been unusually tetchy this morning. It is like there is something in the air – an atmosphere of uneasiness.
Perhaps someone has been stealing blocks of cheese from the canteen again.
"I still don't like it." Sara utters at last, wrapping herself protectively in her coarse towel.
"No one does, Hon." I state bluntly. "But after a while no one cares enough to make a big deal of it."
"I don't think I'll ever understand this place." She mutters to herself, shaking her head in bemusement.
Despite my best efforts, I can't help the laugh that bubbles out of me at her disgruntled attempts to wriggle into her clothes without losing the fierce grip she has on her towel.
"Give it up sweetheart." I suggest lightly. "They've seen it all before."
"I don't care." She insists, finally succeeding in making herself somewhat decent.
Gathering our things together, we shuffle out to make room for the next batch of prisoners being herded under the cold water.
One thing I have desperately wanted to do ever since gaining my new roommate is to play with her gorgeous curls; and the desire strikes me yet again as I watch her fruitlessly attempt to drag a comb through them. Clearly the cheap shampoo here is of little use to her unruly mane.
After silently observing her struggle for several minutes, I give in to my urges and drop down beside her, prising the comb from her fingers.
Normally it is at this point that she would squirm away, but today she remains still enough for me to take her damp hair and run it through my fingers gently.
"You need to make the most of the moisture." I state, carefully running my fingers through the tangles until they come free. "If you plait it, it'll be easier to manage."
It's a strange assumption people on the outside have that you have to cut your hair short when going into prison. The reality is that many women choose to cut it short because it makes it easier to handle.
"I cut my hair when I first came here." I start randomly as I begin threading Sara's shoulder-length locks through my fingers, draping them into a loose plait. "But it was more an act of defiance than for practicality."
"Oh?" Sara questions, turning instinctively towards me. I gently tip her head back again before continuing.
"Harper liked using it as a control method. She knew that if she tugged hard enough I would pretty much do anything she wanted me to."
X x x
Sara's POV
I don't know whether Cath realises it or not but she has just confessed two things to me, although I had already figured one out on my own.
"Why did you let it grow out again?" I ask, more to keep to conversation going than anything. It is the first time since my arrival that Catherine has spoken candidly about her own experiences in here.
"She got bored with me." Comes her curt reply. Although, contrary to her harsh words and cold, detached tone of voice, her touch remains surprisingly gentle.
Her fingers graze my neck lightly and I feel the skin there tingle. She must have heard my breath hitch because she retracts her hand. However, before either of us can assess the awkward silence that has suddenly befallen us, it is broken by a deep rumble from the floor beneath us.
The floor which is beginning to move underneath our bare feet.
Without warning there is a sudden jolt, like a huge lightning bolt striking the whole prison.
Downstairs, all hell seems to be breaking loose as the sound of screeches and crashes echoes off the high stone walls.
Sharing a fearful look, we shuffle out and peer over the railing.
Hell indeed.
I feel her hand slide into mine and squeeze tightly as we watch a riot ensue across the canteen.
The guards are trying futilely to calm the situation inamongst the chaos unfolding as the huge forbidding building continues to shake in its very foundations.
Only in here could people be so callous as to use a natural disaster as a pawn in a game of one-upmanship with the state.
X x x
Cath's POV
"Earthquake." I hear Sara mumble quietly. I turn my frightened eyes towards her when suddenly a crowd of people crash between us, severing my grip on her hand.
She disappears somewhere on the stairs, washed away with the mass of rowdy inmates, while I remain at the top watching the catastrophe unfold.
Tables have already been upturned and anything remotely breakable has been smashed to pieces. The building continues to tremble and roll, a deep groaning emanating from all around us.
Suddenly the guards' edgy behaviour earlier makes sense. Perhaps there has been some warning that this was going to happen. Due to my current circumstances, I am somewhat out of the loop with regards to breaking news.
Either way, the residents are certainly making the most of the few minutes of chaos.
I narrow my eyes, keeping a firm grip on the railing as I scan the area below me for any sign of my housemate.
I am so consumed in my desperate hunt for her that I don't notice the shadow that falls over me, until a firm hand appears around my mouth and a second around my neck.
X x x
Sara's POV
As a crowd of people surge down the stairs, I find myself torn from Catherine and washed along with the masses. Some of them are only wrapped in towels, having rushed from the showers in their urgency to get in on the action.
At the bottom of the stairs, a brawl is spreading around the room despite the best efforts of the guards to beat them down.
I move to a more concealed area, attempting to keep out of dodge. I glance up, trying to seek Catherine out in the mass of people on the landing but I can't see her.
Having been born and raised in California, I have been through enough earthquakes to know how to protect myself, but she is not a West Coast girl and this is probably a new experience for her.
Keeping my head ducked I sidle around the edge of the room, narrowly avoiding a stray fist, and dart back up the stairs. I was unpopular enough in high school to get pretty good at weaving through crowds unnoticed and make it to the top relatively unscathed.
Catherine is still nowhere in sight. I move swiftly through the hallway, checking our cell first. When she isn't there I begin searching the showers and other common areas.
There are only so many places that she can hide; and wherever she is, she is probably scared to death.
X x x
Cath's POV
I don't know what scared me most; the earthquake or the feel of her hands on my skin again.
The rocking has stopped by the time I make it back to our cell, but my legs are shaking too much for me to notice.
Sara is on her feet in a flash, but her hurried approach towards me comes to an abrupt stop when she sees the growing bruise on my forehead.
For the longest moment, we just stare.
When her pained dark eyes get too much to bear, I look away.
She inches closer, stepping tentatively into my personal space. When I don't move, she wraps her arms cautiously around me. I desperately want to respond to the embrace, but my arms are frozen at my sides.
After several long seconds, she releases me and steps away.
I wipe my eyes, sniffing back tears. She clearly knows what has happened and she knows that it has nothing to do with the earthquake.
It was a matter of opportunity, pure and simple.
We also both know that we won't talk about it. We never do.
X x x
"Sara."
Even to my own ears, my voice sounds weak.
There have been a couple of aftershocks since the quake, nothing major. But I still can't sleep and I'm pretty sure I know why.
I hear her move beneath me and I can practically picture her tipping her head to the side, considering whether I have actually spoken or whether she has imagined it.
"I need you."
The bed creaks as she moves.
I feel the telltale weight at the end of my mattress as she climbs up. I am laid on my side, my back to her, but I lift my head just enough to enable me to make out her figure in the darkness.
I feel a warm hand on my hip and fumble blindly for it, interlocking our fingers together tightly.
"Please." I whisper, seeking out her compassionate gaze through my blindfold of tears. "I need you."