Page 37 of Undertow

But personal relationships aren’t an option for me. I can’t give my captors any more leverage than they already have—another lesson learned with painful clarity.

And a personal relationship with a mark? The fact that I’m even asking that question is answer enough.

Nothing good will come out of sincere attraction to the person I have to betray.

Why does she think I’m going to crush her one day?

Because I will. It’s what I do. An enslaved hurricane of destruction wherever they direct my fury.

Tonight’s words will be an explosion.

It’s the first day of Spring and I don’t care if I have to beat persuasion into these lungs,

they will not sink.

I am playing with colors and watching the grass grow as slowly as I have,

and though my diaphragm is filled with disappointment,

I know things are beginning to change.

There’s a virus destroying the people and filling their lungs with fluid.

I’ve been sick for years so there’s no way of knowing if this virus has been the reason I’ve been fighting to breathe for so long,

but I’m beginning to like the idea of water in my lungs.

The world is waiting on answers,

and I’m waiting on a cure.

I’m waiting to feel the flowers bloom,

breathing less and wanting more.

-JD August 12, Part 3

THEN: BLOOD SPATTER

“His daughter was with him!” My defense comes out scratchy through my parched throat.

I don’t know how long I’ve been in this crude prison cell, buried deep in the basement of the hotel. Hours? Days? Not days or I’d be dead without water. I always thought this was a utility room. Now I know differently. This is where you go when you rebel. When you refuse to cross the line from villain to monster.

“Your job was to extract the informationby any means necessary.And now we have nothing. Worse! We tipped him off. You had the perfect weapon. Do you need a demonstration?”

“She was just a little girl?—”

Air expels from my lungs at the sharp thud of a fist in my side. I double over on the floor, coughing out the remnants of putrid air and stale blood. Dry heaving echoes off the concrete walls, and my heart hurts for the victim of that discordant melody.

Then I realize it’s me. My gasps. My groans. My blood staining another surface on this callous earth.

Plastic restraints cut further into my raw skin as I struggle for oxygen. Three men look on with relaxed stances, enjoying the show of my suffering. They wave a gun around like it’s a threat. For me, it’s a goal.

I manage to pull in a full breath just as a foot flies at my face.

My vision blurs, my body contorting to combat the pain, but it’s no use. Everything hurts, every breath agony. Blood sears down the side of my face, dripping to the floor in perfect beads.

Drip.

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