POWERLESS
Since my arrest, at least twenty so-called saviors have come through, each promising freedom.
“See yourself out, dude. I don’t have time for your shit. If my stepmother sent you, tell her you took pictures and I look like a fucking mess.”
I turn away, ready to end it, when his voice cuts clean through the stale air.
“My name’s Jake.”
The name hangs there, like it should mean something.
“She’s alive, you know.”
I freeze. My entire body goes rigid.
“What do you mean?” My voice is sharp, anger threading through every syllable. My chains rattle as my fists clench behind me.
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