The Flames that Engulfed Us

Chapter 30: I'm Not the Kind of Girl Who Likes Clothes...

The hands released me as soon as we passed through the doors. Lincoln, however, only gritted his teeth as they twisted his arms back behind him. I wanted to yell and kick, begging for them to stop hurting him, but when I opened my mouth it came out soft.

"Stop," I ordered without any conviction.

They all turned and looked at me, each of the men in the prime of their lives. They looked like they'd each probably once been someone credible, but their eyes were hard. They looked depressed and hopeless, their eyes glazed so I wondered if they saw anything.

"Don't hurt him."

I didn't expect anything to change as we moved down the hall. The husky voice of one of our captors made me jump.

"Why shouldn't we? If we hurt him, they won't hurt us."

"Sky," Lincoln said, doing an almost successful job of keeping the pain out of his voice, "it doesn't matter. Let it go."

I didn't say anything, occasionally making eye contact with Lincoln until we reached a heavy metal door. One of the men opened it, and the rest shoved us in.

It was a locker room. Lincoln rolled his shoulders gently, moving to a single bench, picking up the cloth that lay carefully folded there. It was a uniform. A prison uniform to be exact.

Do they honestly expect us to wear these," I muttered, more to myself than Lincoln as I picked up a white version of the same thing he was holding.

"I think so," he answered, "but at least it's only the two of us."

  He was right. There were only two of us, and that was an amazing realization. I still glared at the outfit. At least it didn't look stiff or uncomfortable or anything like that. In fact, mine actually looked very soft.

Lincoln's was a pale blue, the color of a hospital gown. Where the uniform I held seemed to bend and mold with a soft elasticity, Lincoln's was hard and stiff. It looked as though all it had was hard edges like someone had just decided to sew something together and call it wearable.

I put mine down. We were alone. What was the rush?

"Hurry up," a voice shouted from outside.

What's that? The rush calling? Tell it I'm not home. Oh, it heard me. Well, still tell it I'm not home. I glowered down at the outfit. Lincoln still hadn't made a move to put his on either.

"Do we have to change?" I asked the outside voice.

  "Yes," it answered, "unless you want us to do it for you, Angel."

I gagged. I physically gagged. I did the thing that was throwing up without the actual production of vomit. When I didn't answer, there wasn't any more sound from outside. I let my hands run over to material again. I would change, but not because they told me to. I also wouldn't be happy about it.

When I had it on, I was very happy about it. This is why I hadn't set my hopes on being a fortune teller. In my defense, I didn't know that it would be so darn comfortable. It seemed as though the clothes were made for my body, everything fitting exactly the way I wanted it too. It was all so soft too.

Shoes rested further down the bench, and I slipped them on. They were those cheap white tennis shoes you find at the dollar store, and they look comfortable, but they never have them in your size. These fit like gloves on my feet.

Lincoln stood stiff and with an obvious discomfort after he'd dressed. I walked over to him and running my hands over his chest, I understood why. Everything about it what like I'd guessed. I let my hands rest on the papery texture, turning my eyes to his face. He pulled me into him, knocking me off my orbit so we were colliding, and then he pulled back, and everything was as it had been. I stood there for a moment and then turned back to the bench. There was a hairbrush and ribbon.

A hair tie would have been okay too, but a ribbon works. Lincoln sat, watching me as I pulled tufts of my hair into a braid, smiling as I asked him to tie the ribbon.

I set the brush down and we looked at each other. For a good, long time, we looked at each other. Then, I took his hand and we both just wandered over to the door.

"I love you," he whispered as I put my hand on the knob.

"I love you too," I smiled, pushing it open.

The men were immediately around us, and they grabbed Lincoln's free arm. The didn't touch me, and they didn't try to wrench us apart. All down the hall, we all went. They guided us to an elevator. It was the kind with the glass, so you can see it as you move up and down, staring creepily into floors you don't want to go to. But I was glad to see them. It was all glass. Just boxes, and boxes, lining the walls, of glass. A person stood, paced, sat, or just occupied each one. The elevator stopped on a floor that was exactly the same. Only two of our escorts stepped out, They lead us to an empty block, opened the door, prodded us both in, and slammed it.

The door didn't have a lock. That was the worst thing about that cell. It could be opened by anyone who passed, but from the inside, it was inescapable. The walls were completely smooth, so there wasn't a way to open the door.

Lincoln slumped down against the wall, letting himself slide down until he was on his butt, looking up at me. I sat next to him, leaning my head on his shoulder.

"Sky," Lincoln murmured quietly, "I'm glad you're here. I don't think I'd be here without you."

"I'll never leave you alone. Even if I annoy you, you're not getting rid of me," I promised.

"You don't annoy me."

"Good. I'd hate to bug the love of my life."

He leaned over and kissed my forehead. There wasn't anything else left to say.

I took a deep breath, not mentioning that it bothered me how Treasa was just suddenly gone. I guess it wouldn't have been the first time. Caleb had once confided in me that she'd died in a car crash on her way home from a night shift. He'd said to never mention it, but I don't tend to take advice that was given by a person in the middle of destruction caused by a house party they'd thrown the day before.