I still own nthing of the 28 days/weeks later series, but I do own my antisocial OC Cassandra.

"...Menha beas..." Those were the first 'words' I heard is I was waking up, and even well I was doing it I was vaguely aware that I wasn't hearing them right. My mind was turning back on, but my ability to translate the meaning of syllables into language hadn't turned back on yet.

"...Miss Bell?..." It has now though, and I'm almost upset about that because it means I really am waking up. It isn't like I have anything worth waking up for anyways. All I have to look forward is four more days until my life uproots itself again, though I guess I should be grateful that it didn't actually have time to root itself to begin with.

"Yes, sir, room 286, level ..." I know that voice. ...Bollocks... its my 'not husband', Howard. He is talking with the soldier on guard duty, whose voice doesn't sound like either of them last night. Not the private with a volume control issue or the guy who brought me 'tequila and taco bell'.

Is annoying is his presence was I cant deny that the ginger ale and aspirin were appreciated. Throwing up the charcoal they fed me only gave me a head and stomach ache on top of the one I already had from the forced hangover. Oh those were definitely appreciated.

I also appreciated it when he left though. Nothing against the guy, he was probably some of the best company I've had in a while...which is a very depressing thought actually. My life has become so messed up that sitting miserable in a prison cell and being the nights entertainment for a stranger is even a candidate for one of my best times in recent history.

Also calling myself the 'nights entertainment' makes me sound a little like I just compared myself to some back alley whore. My thoughts are more colorful then usual, I think I still might be a little buzzed.

That just wonderful, really, considering whose presence I'm in. What is he even doing here anyways? It isn't like I told him where I was going to be or anything. Though then again, there's not a whole lot of late night options in terms of places I could be after curfew if I wasn't in the room.

I hope he didn't spend the evening looking for me or something, it would have just been a waste of his time if he did find me. The whole idea was that he didn't know where I was, and that they didn't tell him.

That's why I ditched the ID in the trash can when I half pretended to be sick. People have a tendency to avert their eyes when a woman's bent over a bucket heaving her guts out.

I thought it would buy me time away from him. I also thought it worked, I mean they spent a while trying to get my name out of me before they gave up and tossed me in here for the night. Which leads to the observation of why I heard my name a second ago.

I know I heard it too. A persons name is one of the first strings of sounds they learn. Its identified no matter the voice, accent, or amount of background noise that accompanies it. Its just something your ears recognize, just like they recognize the words I hear next. "well, it locks like your free to go miss."

I don't respond, I don't even move with the exception of the fact I'm breathing and blinking. I'm at an emotional impasse is the soldier on the other side of the bars unlocks the cage and holds the door open for me, finally meeting my eyes is he waits for me to stand up and leave.

I do of course because I have no other choice, and also because I've overcome that impasse, and am kind of mad.

Its not a rational response, and I cant even really begin to come up with a justifiable explanation is to why I feel this way. I'm just angry, because it seems people are making choices for me again.

Even is I do it I can see my actions from an observers lense, and knowingly acknowledge that they are a bit childish, but that doesn't stop me from storming over to the door leading out of the detention center, and wrenching the door open with more force then necessary before stomping through it.

"Wait!" I don't know why I do this either, but hearing that word I follow its meaning, and stop. I should have kept walking in truth, because I didn't have to stop. Its not the soldier who said that word. Its Howard.

He jogs up behind me, and to my almost disappointed disbelief I can see him breathing with a bit of heaviness. If I had any questions about what ordeals he went through to be here today I have answers to them now. He didn't, and I actually feel a little hate form toward him because of that. It must be so nice to get to come back in the aftermath.

"What do you want Howard." My distaste is all but dripping of those words, but I have no concern about it and make no attempt to keep it out.

"I, uh, I" Though given the way he pulls back a little I perhaps should in the future. He looks like he half expects a physical confrontation to happen any second now. I may not be here much longer, but its till a bad idea to earn the attention of the soldiers. Especially in that regard.

"I thought you'd want this." He finishes, regaining his ability to speak evenly is he realizes I'm not going to punch him.. But my attention isn't really on his words so much is the object in his hand. Its a deja vu moment. He is holding out my ID card again. The little plastic rectangle swaying mockingly on the end of its lanyard.

I know the words I should say to that, but instead what comes out is a flat "where did you get that?" After all, last time I saw that it was being hidden under a half devoured order of barbeque chicken fingers.

"Uh..." His ability to speak seems to suffer again, and he evne looks at me a little confused, which I mirror soon is well. "...well, it was hanging on the door..."

The expression of confusion drifts back to a neutral one is my brow looses its tension, but then it regains it in another way. I can feel my lips pull into a tight line is my eyes drift closed. That bastard.

I didn't really think about it till now because of stress and a high blood alcohol count, but there must have been a reason he showed up other then to just show up. I mean, if bugging the prisoners was something soldiers did on a regular basis he wouldn't have been the only one.

"...with a note." That last bit cuts off my thought. A note... "What did it say?"

The question was obvious, of course I would want to know that, but once again Howard seems unsure how to answer. He comes to a decision though when he notices me raise a brow in impatience. "Well, it said 'Jose or Patron? Does that mean something to you?"

"..." you MUST be kidding me. "It does." I say with a sigh before I hold out my hand for the piece of plastic, trying not to let a smirk over take my lips. Persistence.

So there's another chapter for you to enjoy. Please leave a review.