As the guard removed my handcuffs, I stared blankly at my hands. My eyes were empty, devoid of meaning. It was as if I had grown numb to every kind of pain and suffering, having accepted my fate within the prison walls.
After lingering in the crowded cell for a while, I stepped into the yard once night had fallen. I lit a cigarette, then lifted my green eyes to the stars glittering overhead. Taking a long drag, I let the smoke fill my lungs, calming my frayed nerves. The yard was quiet and peaceful at night, and the only thing keeping me company was the sea of stars above. It was nothing like the chaos and violence of my cell, and for a brief moment, I could almost forget where I was.
I sat there, lost in thought as I gazed at the stars, when I heard footsteps approaching. They were soft, almost silent, but unmistakably drawing closer.
I turned my head toward the sound, my green eyes narrowing instinctively. Whoever it was moved carefully, almost cautiously, as if trying not to make their presence known.
I looked at the face of the unfamiliar inmate.
He appeared to be in his late thirties. Leaning against the wall, he took a drag from his cigarette and studied me for a moment. With his scruffy beard and tangled hair, he looked completely unkempt.
I had no interest in making eye contact, so I looked away, making it clear through my body language that I wasn't interested.
Of course, he didn't seem to care.
"You don't look like you belong here."
As his eyes wandered over my body, they lingered on the countless scars covering my skin. There was curiosity in his gaze, as though he were trying to figure me out.
The moment I realized he was staring at the scars, I instinctively tugged at the collar of my shirt in discomfort. He noticed the gesture immediately. It was obvious that his attention made me uneasy.
He took another drag from his cigarette before speaking again.
"You've got some impressive scars," he said, his voice rough. "Must've hurt like hell."
He noticed the stark contrast between my scar-covered body and my unmarked face. It was a strange sight, as though someone had deliberately left that part of me untouched.
Taking another slow drag, he examined me carefully.
"Your face is the only place without scars. Looks like someone wanted to keep it... pretty."
His words made me rise to my feet.
I crushed my cigarette beneath my shoe and turned to head back to my cell.
Seeing my reaction, the man smirked. He knew he'd struck a nerve.
"What? Did I hit a sore spot?"
Pushing himself off the wall, he took a step toward me, quickly closing the distance between us. He stopped directly in front of me, blocking the doorway so I couldn't pass, his eyes fixed on my face.
He leaned in even closer, his voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial whisper.
"You know, there's a lot of gossip about you, sweetheart. Some of the guys in the other cells have been talking."
He could see the tension in my eyes, the way my body stiffened at his words. He knew he had my attention now.
"They say you're off-limits. That nobody's allowed to touch you. And if anyone tries... well, they'll end up wishing they hadn't."
My body tensed with anger.
"Move. I'm going through."
He noticed the way I stiffened and couldn't help but laugh.
"Oh? So you've got a temper too? I like you angry. It suits you."
He chuckled and stepped even closer, practically towering over me. He was taller, stronger, and he knew it.
"But I don't think I'm moving. Not until I'm done talking to you, sweetheart."
"What do you want? What do you really want?"
His brown eyes locked onto my green ones. He studied my face carefully, as though trying to read my thoughts.
"I just want to know more about you. Everyone keeps saying you're untouchable, that nobody's allowed to lay a hand on you. And let me tell you, that's really pissed off a lot of the guys in here. I just want to know why you're untouchable. Why can't any of us touch you? It doesn't make any damn sense."
Just as I was about to answer, a hand clamped over my mouth, silencing me.
I knew exactly who it belonged to.
A shiver ran through me before I could stop it.
The most dangerous man in the prison had arrived—the man who was obsessed with me, and the very answer to his question.