Page 57

“I just want to get through the next six months so I can move on,” I sigh, taking another step back, wondering if it would be overkill if I made a run for it.

It may be, but worse yet, I wouldn’t put it past them to chase me.

“Why were you still a virgin?” Andrya asks, following my slow movement toward the exit to block it off.

Blowing out a breath, I force myself not to close my eyes in defeat when the guys gasp.

“Bullshit,” Sidney laughs. “Wait, you’re not kidding me right now?”

“Isaac attacked me in the middle of the night and explained some very important things to me about Silla. Like the fact that her prostitution charge isn’t true,” Andrya continues.

“I’m not a prostitute, but the judge didn’t seem to care about that,” I shrug. “It doesn’t matter much, because I’m stuck here regardless. Also, Isaac was pretty pissed about how he found me, but I did tell him he shouldn’t have attacked you.”

“I didn’t know Isaac did that,” Ayden says, chewing on his lip. “Fuck, I should have come back to the room instead of taking a detour. Isaac has always been somewhat of a caveman in the bedroom, I think you told us that, right, Andrya?”

I know Isaac warned me that he’s slept with Andrya, but it still makes my chest pinch. Breathing hurts and I shake one of my hands out. The three of them follow my movement, and I swear they remind me of predators hunting. I don’t think I’ll ever be comfortable being in the same room with them.

“How old are you, Kitten?” Ayden asks, taking a step toward me.

“You really do shitty background checks if you don’t know that,” I deflect, wishing my hair was down now so I can hide behind it.

“You’re twenty-four, and the step-sister to the queen,” Sidney growls. I feel as if I'm being corralled as they circle around me.

It’s funny, even though the auditorium is huge, it feels as if it’s shrinking in size. I’m quickly forgetting about how I feel about Isaac’s relationship with Andrya, because my anxiety has decided to take precedence.

“You’re very uncomfortable in small spaces,” Ayden continues, and I swallow hard, willing my throat to open.

It feels as if my body is slowly shutting down as my anxiety constricts my body.

“But there’s very little else in your file, and that’s just unnatural. It sounds as if your trial was rushed as well,” Andrya says, laying her hand over my pulse that’s beating rapidly. “What’s wrong? Why are you so pale?”

“Air,” I wheeze, my hand on my chest as I have a panic attack. I’m so tired of my body working against me constantly. “Please… back up.”

“Fuck, we’re the damn problem,” Sidney mutters. “Step back. We didn’t realize we were ganging up on you, Kitten.”

Sidney forces Andrya and Ayden to step back, and my legs collapse under me as my eyes close.Breathe, Silla.

I will myself to do things that’ll force me to think about something else. Pinching myself above my bandages hard, I gasp for air.

“Don’t… you’re hurting yourself!” Ayden exclaims, but I ignore him.

Clenching my toes together over and over again until I whimper when a cramp hits, my lungs open. Coughing, I shudder.

Brushing my hand under both eyes, I lean over my foot that’s cramping the worst, hissing in pain.

“Godsdammit, I need a damn nap,” I sigh. Getting up, I look up at them. “You three aren’t good for me to be around. I don’t care what the Warden told you to do, I can’t do it. All I can think of is small spaces, screaming, and slowly losing my mind. I’m also no longer hungry.”

“How long can you possibly skip meals?” Sidney asks, vexed.

Shrugging, I limp on the foot that’s still cramping. My mother once left me in a closet for seventy-two hours without food and minimal water, but I won’t be telling them that. I’m enough of a freak show as it is. “I guess we’ll see,” I tell them as I begin to walk away.

“We didn’t dismiss you,” Ayden calls, and I roll my eyes as I stop. I swear, these three love exerting power over others. Somehow, I doubt this is what the Warden had in mind when he wanted them to spend time with me.

“Yes?” I grind out, wiggling my toes to help with the cramping.

“Why are you limping? Are you hurt?” he asks.

“There’s things that I’ve learned to do when my anxiety is tripped to pull myself out of it. Most of them involve pain,” I explain, turning to look at them. “I refuse to be weak or lose my shit as long as I’m not, you know, sealed in a fucking wall.”