Caged (Savage Men 1)

I blow out a breath and try not to think about it. It’s no use because I’m here, and she’s there. That’s it.

However, I can’t stop watching her fume in her cell. She keeps looking at the toilet and then glances at me.

Suddenly, it hits me. She hasn’t used it in some time. Does she need to go?

Maybe. Is that why she’s looking at me? Because she doesn’t want me to see her?

I frown and cock my head at her. “Go,” I say. I never use more words than needed. I don’t like to talk.

I turn around on my bed and look at the wall. It’s covered in cracks, like me.

My ears pick up the sounds of her sitting down and relieving herself, and I smile.

I’m glad she can finally let go. It must be hard for her even though I don’t understand it myself. I never had this feeling. Never needed to hide. Never needed to do anything but be myself in here. If this is who I am. I don’t know … It’s all I’ve ever known, so that’s just what I am I guess.

When I hear the metallic sound of the toilet and a flushing noise, I turn around again. She’s swiftly up on her feet again, pretending as if nothing happened. As if she’s embarrassed even though she has nothing to be ashamed of.

Not with me. I don’t feel shame. Or guilt. Or regret.

Hell, I’m surprised if I even feel anything.

But when I look at her … I know there’s something. Something I’ve never felt before. Something that makes me want to get close and touch her. I want to see her smile. I want to see her … naked.

I wonder what she looks like.

She clears her throat, making me look up. She’s standing underneath the vent, holding out her hands and waiting for something, but what? Nothing happens, so she starts looking around her cell, for what I have no clue. After ten minutes, she gives up and grabs the cup from the bed and fills it with water … Which she then chucks all over her face.

What is she doing?

Frowning, I watch her pour water into the cup and throw it all over herself. Her arms, her legs, her face. Even her feet. Then she washes her hair and squeezes it out. It looks so different when it’s not flowing over her shoulders. But still, she’s beautiful. Even when she’s soaked.

She squeezes out her dress and puts her shoes in the corner. Then she grabs the book she got and rips out one of the empty pages in the back. She goes on her knees and starts fiddling with the paper close to the floor, trying to shove it underneath the glass.

“Won’t work,” I say.

She stops for a moment, not even caring to look at me, and then continues.

She doesn’t stop trying to push it underneath until she’s gone through every inch of glass. When she gets back to where she started, she sighs and throws the paper onto the bed. Pulling herself up, she grabs a loose plastic stool and throws it at the glass.

I don’t make a noise, but fuck, I’m surprised she’d do that.

She’s so frail and small; I never expected an outburst like that.

Then again, I can imagine how it must feel, being confined to a small space after having been free your entire life.

She keeps going, throwing stuff at the glass again and again. One after the other, everything she can lift, she tries. But nothing works.

“Stop,” I say, to try to calm her down, but it obviously doesn’t work because she immediately glares at me as if I’ve hurt her.

Still, she eventually puts down the stuff she was trying to use to break the cage. There’s not even a mark on the glass.

She sits down on the concrete floor in a really weird position. Her legs are crossed, and her hands are resting on her knees, and she’s making an o-shape with her mouth that reminds me of the face I make when I rub myself.

I wonder if she’s doing that now, but that’s not possible since her hands aren’t anywhere near that place.

Still, it looks odd. What is she doing?

She breathes in so loud I can hear it, and I do like the sound.

Ten minutes of doing that, and she lies down on the floor, facing the ceiling. Her hands and legs lie flat on the ground. Her face is pale, and there’s no smile to be found. Her eyes squint and turn watery, after which droplets begin to roll down her cheeks.

Watching that … it stirs something inside me.

I don’t know what. I’ve never felt it before.

Never knew this feeling, this overpowering urge to go to her.

It’s nothing I’ve ever experienced.

Something that scares me.

I never get scared.