Page 121 of Judas

Cut him some slack. He probably thinks someone is going to hunt him down in his sleep or something.

Fury

Probably. That’s what he gets for forgetting me on my birthday this year. Little prick. Anyway I gots to go. Nadia, you’re my friend and have been since you came to Bluitt. Don’t let any new information make you think otherwise. I love you, your prison family loves you. Be good beat some ass.

Me

Bye bitch.

Fury

Bye ho

I’m off the merry-go-round at this point. I’m afraid if I ask ‘what comes next’ I’m going to get hit with a bomb or something equally devastating. The little battery in the top of the screen flashes at me, telling me it needs to be charged. Sliding the drawer out of the nightstand, I search for a charging cord that looks like it will fit. It takes a couple of tries but I manage to get it plugged in. Just one more thing to worry about. Being out of prison is tiresome. Went from phones that were attached to the wall to ones you have to more or less feed or it dies.

My shower is short lived. Took the whole thing on autopilot when I initially wanted to soak and let the heat of the water help soothe the exhaustion and pain in my muscles—oh well. I scrubbed my body as thoroughly as I could, some areas a bit harsher than others. Twisting the faucet valve, the water shuts off with ease. Left over water dripping from the shower head is unheard of in this fancy cave-like walk-in. When I step out, careful not to slip on the tile, a wave of nostalgia hits me—can you be nostalgic over prison?

Pulling the towel I used earlier off the rack, I wrap it around my chest, tucking the top corner between my tits to keep it secure. Thankfully the heater is blowing again, bathing the wetroom in warmth where I wont get an immediate shock to the system when I exit the shower. Stepping out into the cold and getting smacked with goosebumps is almost abrasive. Like, here, you were just standing in nearly one hundred degree water scalding the demons in your body, let’s drop your body temperature so fast it makes your muscles cramp.

In front of the mirror, I pause to look at myself. I almost can’t see the grey strands that started to appear a few years ago. The well saturated locks of hair mask their silver luster. Vividly I remember the day Fury pointed them out. Little bitch. I donated all of her tampons and feminine products to the rest of the population for that stunt. You don’t say anything about a woman going grey. Weight and age are always off limits—probably the only ‘proper’ behavior I’ll ever advocate for.

Leaning over the counter a bit, I pull at a few of them, plucking the damned from the scalp with tiny bites of pain. Quickly giving up, outnumbered a hundred to one, I shake my head. Someone told me a long time ago that grey hairs are like hydra dragons—if you pluck one, three grown in its place. Which is fine, I guess. Rather be fully grey than this.

“I love that about you.”

Startled, I spin towards the voice that just invaded the last sliver of peace I have. A hand clutches the front of the towel without thinking. Half concerned for modesty, the other half instinct. There stands Kace in all his exasperating smugness, arms crossed over his chest and lazily leaning against the door frame as if we are on speaking terms. Right now I’d rather swallow glass. Answering him with a scowl, he returns my attitude with a huff and a hint of a smirk.

The fuck is he smirking at? At what point did I give him permission to come in the bedroom, never mind the bathroom? Refusing to give him anything, I march right up to him and before making contact I step around him.. He catches me around the waist and hauls me back to him. Not hugging me, not pressing his body against mine—good. I’m liable to cut one of his body parts off if he tries one over on me right now. After all the shit in the living room, he better hope I’m not screaming bloody murder for help.

“Let go of me, that’s the only warning you’re getting.”

“I’ll never let you go, babygirl. It’s about time you got that your through your thick skull”

“The density of my skull has nothing to do with you taking your goddamn hands off me.”

No shit, he leans in and kisses my temple. Every muscle in my body tightens when he does it, still I don’t run or shove him away. Almost as if the stupid thing in my chest wants to be here, my head though. It's being realistic and knows being with him could be the end of me.

“My hand isn’t on you.” He replies.

Why I oughta throat-punch the dickhead. This is not the time to be a smart ass, even if sarcasm is his only language. The least he could do is be bilingual.

“What are you doing in here?” My question’s more of a growl than a true inquiry.

“Shower. Just finished up cleaning most of the living room, packing away the weapons and shit. All that’s left is your brother and the plastic on the floor. Broke a sweat carrying the interrogation tools down to your cute little car.”

“Torture devices is more like it. Also, you can take a whore’s bath in the kitchen. Get out.”

“No, I’m taking a shower in here. After that I promise I will give you all the space you want. You can have the bed to yourselftonight too if that’s what you need, Nadia. Besides, I want to keep an eye on Lucien. You got him pretty bad with that club and he still isn’t awake.”

“Why would you give a shit if he succumbs to the injury? Just another crime on my rap sheet, and I will have completed the mission you set out on.”

“Because you care. At some point you stopped wanting him dead and I suppose it’s because you know he’s family and that you’re kindred spirits in a way. Whatever you want, is what I want. So, I’ll make sure he survives the night. Tomorrow I will prepare him for transport to the place where he will spend the rest of his life.”

I can’t help thinking he’s lying to me. He’s hidden so many important things from me, it's going to be a struggle to trust and have faith in him again. What happens if I turn around and he kills Lucien instead, and I never find out? Why can’t I know where he’s going? How is he going to be transported? Should he be getting real medical treatment since I apparently fucked him up so bad he’s unresponsive?

See what I mean? There are too many questions that are unanswered and that doesn’t really give me the happy-feelings. This isn’t court, he doesn’t get to maintain his fifth amendment rights and skirt by like nothing is the matter. Not when he’s jeopardizing everything over secrecy. I understand there may be things he can’t discuss with me but he has to give me something—we’re too vulnerable right now. One wrong move and the remaining threads holding us together will snap.

Let’s try my luck.

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