Page 15 of Pen Me

Normally I’d have caved to them, I’d probably have led the dance in them, but that nausea doubled.

I took out my phone and hit the speed dial on the local pizza joint.

“Carry out or delivery,” a peppy voice on the other end asked instead of greeting me.

“Delivery,” I barely managed, causing a sound to lodge in my sister’s throat.

I placed the order for a pepperoni pizza with mushrooms and then paused when the address was requested.

“Yeah it’s – What was that house number, sis?”

Her jaw set and she flopped back on the sturdiest looking box, “Eight o’ three.”

“Right, eight o’ three” I relayed and finished up the call under her heavy glare.

“You asked me to put the stuff together,” I reminded her.

“I– I could have figured it out.”

“You could tell me what's up, too,” I pressed, leaning back against the wall.

“Nothing is up.” She shot off the box and started toward the kitchen.

I followed her through it and into her bedroom, but she slammed the bathroom door shut, and I didn’t dare contest that.

I huffed and turned to leave, but something on her dresser caught my eye.

I’d seen military discharge papers before. My father had them.

He didn’t have that big ugly word stamped on his.

Dishonorable.

It wasn’t any of my business, but I couldn’t stop myself. I gravitated toward it like some destined moth. I was halfway through the accompanying paperwork when the bathroom doorknob made a faint click.

I startled hard, guilt flooding my cheeks in a warm dose. I flinched and the papers jostled in my hand. A pamphlet fluttered, and I looked like a fool trying to juggle it all and catch it. When I saw the letters stamped on the front of it, though, I regretted ever touching her things.

HPV: Cervical Cancer.

“Shit. Sorry,” I stammered, but when I saw the mortification on her features and that flicker of hurt in her eyes, I was smacked with an understanding that might as well have been a brick.

Chapter Eight

When it Rains

Menace

I lost track of time in that cell. The light in the hallway dimmed at times, but if I drifted off, I’d be lost until the next tray came. I didn’t know what day it was when a guard appeared at the doorway and smacked the bars with his flashlight.

“Get up, Zade. You’ve got court this morning.” I heard him click the button on the flashlight just before I was blinded.

“Shit. What the fuck?” I groaned, drawing my arms up. “Who goes to court at night?”

“It’s three in the morning. Be fed and ready by four.” He shoved a tray inside and the flashlight clicked again before his footsteps receded down the hallway.

The tray on the floor would have been comical if I hadn’t been shown the same thing every morning since I arrived. The oatmeal was always so thick it held the shape of the ice cream scoop it was dropped onto the tray with. The toast was so overdone it made my mouth dry just looking at it. There wasn’t any steam or signs of warmth, so I doubted that half frozen slice of margarine was gonna spread worth a damn anyhow.

I was contemplating if I even wanted to get up and go through the motions of placing it in my mouth, when a half-inch shadowscurried along the bottom frame of the cell wall. It shot toward the tray and scurried into the oatmeal.

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