Obsession... What's That? I Just Wish Someone Would Help Me Escape - Chapter 18
“This isn’t the master bedroom, you should probably do your lovemaking where no one is watching, and Prisoner Number 1, sit up straight.”
He tossed out the comment nonchalantly and moved on.
Typically, wouldn’t prisoners be disciplined for engaging in such acts?
The whole arrangement of mixing men and women in one room was odd enough.
“Beatrice Kido.”
I jumped at the voice coming from under my chin.
It felt strange hearing my name instead of my prisoner number.
Perhaps because it was surprising that he knew my name at all.
“Sir Johann, you know my name?”
“Drop the formalities when you call me.”
“Okay… But is that all for the secret conversation?”
He lay straight on his back, hands clasped over his chest.
He was gazing at me silently before lifting the corner of his mouth, marked by a scar.
“I was going to say you look ugly from down here.”
I bit my lip involuntarily. Such a multifaceted jerk.
How many could survive being judged from such an unflattering angle?
“Are you some kind of zombie, ghoul, or ghost?”
Johann’s random inquiry only made me sigh.
Despite everything, being called unattractive, boring, or ugly was something I simply couldn’t tolerate.
“So, you’re saying I’m hideously ugly?”
“Not to say that you don’t look like sh*t, but you’re okay at a 45-degree angle.”
Truly, a man who says anything that comes to mind.
***
Days passed, yet I found no comfort in the confines of my cell.
My cellmates were still crazy, the guards were merciless, and the labor was backbreaking.
To add insult to injury, I endured the other prisoners’ bullying and belittlement.
It was treatment I’d never faced before, but I decided to let it go.I decided to empty my mind.
But of course, I kept a mental note of every grievance for revenge in the future.
I felt my health deteriorating day by day.
Though the prison had a so-called infirmary, it was nothing but a facade, offering nothing but painkillers laced with stimulants for any complaint.
They were effective enough to get even bedridden patients back on their feet for labor.
It felt like trading the remainder of my lifespan for survival in the present.
“Ah… it feels like I’m living because I can’t die.”
I yearned to escape.
My assets and lands were confiscated, but I had managed to squirrel away a substantial amount in an overseas bank just before being captured.
With a broker already in place, all I needed was to get out, cleanse my identity, and live incognito elsewhere.
And, of course, I planned to exact revenge on the relatives who betrayed and sold me out.
Escaping on my own seemed an impossibility, and assuming he wasn’t imprisoned or dead, my only potential ally was Uncle Claude.
Despite efforts to glean information on him, it was difficult to succeed.
Neither fellow prisoners nor guards were inclined to share, and my long-term cellmates, Johann and Enrique, seemed oblivious to the world beyond these walls.
How could I possibly escape from here?
Wallowing in helplessness, I swallowed the pill Damian had given me, using the drug’s potency to endure another day.
During the evening cleanup, someone shoved me roughly from behind.
As snickers filled the air, Prisoner number 37 crossed his arms, looking down at me with smug superiority.
“Hey, Prisoner Number 49. Didn’t I tell you to do my laundry? Did you do it?”
The main source of my torment came from the prisoners ranked in the 30s.
“Prisoner Number 37, according to Prisoner Number 49, she’s too precious a noble to engage in such tasks.”
The prisoners in the 40s didn’t bully me directly; instead, they used insinuations and spread rumors to torment me.
Prisoner Number 40 jabbed me with a mop, taunting,
“Hey, why so silent? Where’s all that cheeky backtalk gone?”
Too drained to respond, I simply sat there, gazing at the floor, preoccupied with thoughts of escape, barely registering their words.
“If you don’t listen to your superiors, you should be punished, right?”
Prisoner Number 37 then lifted a bucket, drenching me with dirty mop water.
As the filthy liquid soaked me, a line from someone in my memory flashed through my mind.
‘Saint Justina, you must be punished for not listening to me.’
Suddenly, the content of the novel I had forgotten amidst the harsh labor life came flooding back.
According to the original storyline, Justina would start visiting the prison for rehabilitation purposes, and Johann and Enrique, obsessed with her, would escape the prison to ruin her.
“That’s it.”
It’s as if something just clicked in my head.
