Page 1 of Scarred Sins
PROLOGUE
Harsh light from the small window hits my eyes. Physically, it hurts. After twenty-four hours of no contact with other human beings and in utter and complete darkness, the sheer light that dares to peek its way through irritates me.
I raise my hand to block the sudden gleam, annoyed when it manages to creep between my fingers. Even the back of my palm is dry. I’d gotten used to seeing myself rot away, used to creating issues so I’d be confined into solitary confinement. At this point, it’s my sanctuary.
At times, it was as easy as starting a fight with another inmate. Other times, it was stealing sharp objects and hurting myself – or others. By now, most people here think I’m batshit crazy and that I belong in an asylum.
Forcefully, I tear my gaze away from my hand, lowering it and hugging my knees. There is a new stain on the wall; it wasn’t there last week. Someone probably tried hurting themselves in order to leave, but that will never be me.
Since the day I got sentenced, being alone was a wish that rarely came true. Other people were like a sore spot, too noisy, too opinionated, too loud. I had to live with women for the past two years, and I’m yet to get used to never having alone time.
The solitary confinement room is soundproof. They provide a meal a day and one glass of water, which is more than enough for me. I only wish I could spend the rest of my life alone. The voices in my head prefer it, too.
We always have something to talk about, but when I’m not alone, they’re silent. At times, it takes them weeks to pop up, and in the meantime, it feels like I’m slowly going insane.
My fingers tap against my knees idly, eyes glued to a single spot on the wall.
Four more hours, and I’ll be sent back into the cell with Cherryl.
Cherryl is older than me by a decade, and I hate her more than words could ever describe. Soon enough, she’ll be released, leaving this rotting place and never showing her face again. She is getting freedom that once upon a time, I yearned for desperately.
Not anymore.
I’m stuck in this place for life.
For a crime I committed, premeditated.
Looks of pity never seem to leave me. Many inmates believe that I was sentenced wrongly, though I don’t share their sentiment. I did kill my mother and stepfather. I did plot their deaths for a full year before finally doing it, and the moment their blood covered me head to toe, I never felt more alive.
I don’t regret it.
They deserved it.
I did not deserve what they put me through; I did not deserve to have my childhood and innocence robbed away from me by the people that should’ve protected me and cared for me the most.
Suddenly, screams fill my mind.
I press my palms on my ears, rocking myself back and forth, trying to block them out. The voices were never this loud, never this painful. The screeching makes my ears bleed, and I can’t shake the horrid stab in my stomach.
Something’s happening outside.
For the next twenty-five minutes, all I can hear are gut-wrenching, soul-piercing screams, pleas for help, and broken voices that overlap one another. My eyes squeeze shut, and I back up against the wall in the farthest part of the cell, unsure of what is coming my way.
“It’s not real,’’ I whisper. “This isn’t real.’’
Except, no amount of lying to myself will change the truth. It’s very real, and I don’t know what will come next. The screams are too loud, and a headache splits through my skull, causing my body to recoil at the sudden pain.
Then, it all goes silent.
Unlike the screaming that tears apart my mentality, the silence probes into the darkest parts of my brain, urging me to rise to my feet and figure out what is happening.
Curiosity killed the cat.
I halt, my feet freezing on the spot. For the first time today, one of the voices is loud enough. She’s warning me, telling me that it’s not worth it.
Do it. Another one says,stop being such a coward.
Somehow, I decided to listen to the second voice, following my instinct.
