Obsession... What's That? I Just Wish Someone Would Help Me Escape - Chapter 24
“Are you asking to be in a relationship with me?”
“That implies equality between us. We are far from equal.”
“Whether it’s a romance or a mere fling, you’re not my type. You resemble a bruised potato I dropped.”
As I made the ‘bruised potato’ comparison, I faintly remembered having used the same metaphor to reject his pathetic advances in the past.
“Tch, you can’t even take an opportunity when it’s given. What can you do?”
Number 30 gripped my chin painfully and smirked.
He seemed intent on taking revenge for his dark history with me, where he had even shed tears trying to win me over sincerely.
His mouth quivered, looking like he was trying to stay calm, when was actually seething with anger.
“Hell is about to unfold for you.”
He kicked the old bed where I lay and stormed out of the infirmary, furious.
I realized I might not even survive long enough to face survival training, let alone die before that.
“How stupid, to confess his own crimes.”
I muttered to myself as I struggled to sit up on the bed.
He saved me the trouble of uncovering his background.
Dragging my heavy body, I returned to Cell 7 and gazed at the slightly open lockers of Johann and Enrique.
I came up with a good plan to effectively deal with Number 30.
At the same time, create an opportunity to improve my relationship with the high-ranked Clara.
* * *
Free time before roll call.
Determined to properly torment me, a group of prisoners from the 30s crowded around me, threatening me with fists raised.
“If you don’t do the laundry this time, you know you’re dead.”
“Got it.”
Watching from a distance, Number 30 seemed pleased as I obediently picked up the laundry.
Laundry and ironing are usually supervised by the prisoners from the 30s and done by the lower-ranked prisoners from the 40s.
And this jerk had ordered me to do all this laundry by myself.
“The 40s are avoiding being in the same space with you, claiming it’s due to contagion. So, make sure you finish everything by roll call, and don’t forget to iron the uniforms for the 10s first thing tomorrow morning.”
Even the evil stepmother from Cinderella wouldn’t go this far.
I grunted under the mountain of laundry, trudging towards the laundry room.
Of course, I had no intention of actually doing it properly.
I dislike hard work and I’m not physically fit.
Since I was alone in charge of laundry, the laundry room was empty.
Rummaging through the clothes, I found a tank top prison uniform with the sleeves ripped off.
It’s Number 7, Clara’s spare uniform.
I set aside her uniform and poured in some diluted bleach that needed to be used carefully, then I called over Number 37, who was passing by the laundry room.
“Hey, can you check this? It’s Number 7’s uniform, and the stains just won’t come out.”
“What? Hey, 38, you go ahead, I’ll handle what I was instructed to do first.”
The fellow prisoner, Number 37, ordered something to Number 38 and came inside.
Clothes belonging to higher-ranking prisoners required special attention.
After all, any damage could mean trouble for the supervisors of the task.
“You must have been raised too delicately to know how to do anything.”
Number 37 clicked his tongue as he entered, picked up Clara’s prison uniform, then screamed and dropped it on the floor.
“Aah! You idiot! Soaking it raw in this toxic concentrate, are you out of your mind?”
I looked at his fingers, now severely burned, with a face full of faux sympathy.
“That’s what happens when alkali reacts with oxygen—it oxidizes. The fabric is going to be ruined, isn’t it?”
“What kind of absurd nonsense is that? You knew. You did this on purpose?”
I glanced around once more and smiled leisurely.
“Hmm, it seems there’s no one else here? Number 38 saw you helping me. Given how you treat him, he’s unlikely to take your side unless you frame him for this.”
As I showed him my undamaged, clean fingers, Number 37’s face turned pale as he grasped my implication.
“You’re going to frame me for this? You think that’ll work?”
“I think it’s quite possible.”
The harassment by the 30s was already a publicly known fact, and it would be just a minor addition to blame them for deliberately ruining Clara’s uniform to mess with me.
“Since you understand the situation, how about we collaborate on a little project?”
I grinned wickedly. I was a top-notch socialite. Gossiping, false accusations and manipulation were my specialty.
