Author's Note: Thanks so much to karen8899 and LolzRawr for helping me writing this story, proofreading what I have written and just being there for me. Maybe I should add your names as co-authors? You've been wonderful guardians to me throughout this story. Thanks, you guys!
I gaze out the window. Scorching light is streaming into our prison cell, and just outside of that horrid, thick glass is land -- land that stretches for what seems like forever. Being stuck here for ten years, I guess it was sort of my fault. I murdered my boyfriend since he was rather violent, but taking away my freedom? I would rather be dead. Two years have gone, and now many more will fly out the window as well. That is, if anything was able to escape the window.
Escape. That's when it hits me. Drake slants against the wall in the corner, playing with his fingers. My heart races with excitement.
I push away a black curl that topples in front of my face and skid across the floor on my knees. Drake stares at me surprised, and loses amusement with playing with his fingers.
"What are you doing?" he questions as he gingerly stands to his feet.
"I just thought of something, something absolutely fantastic." I grin grabbing Drake by the shoulders, pulling him closer, chest to chest. I lean over to his ear and cuffing my mouth with two hands.
Drake stares at me, shocked. "You didn't think of that . . . hmm, maybe two years ago? Instead of now?"
He hisses, then blinks, and stares at me in what seems like letting all his anger out. He presses his wet lips against mine, takes my hand then places it on his shoulder.
"What do you want from me now?" I ask, taking a step away from him, wiping my lips with a hand in disgust.
"Oh nothing," he snickers, darting his eyes around the cell. I take a long stare at him. Earlier in the cafeteria he was flirting with the young server lady, the young guard, the office manager and now he kisses me?
"What was with you flirting with all those women, and especially the new cafeteria girl, Annabelle?" I question, crossing my arms. I remember her printed name on her bright red shirt.
"What, aren't I allowed to? I really wanted Jell-O and the prison map." He laughs, sliding the map from his pocket onto the small table centered in our cell.
"A map! You were planning to escape, and you didn't even bother to tell me?" I snap. Fury boils within me, and my fist instinctively lashes out, punching him in the stomach. Drake groans with pain and falls to the filthy stoned floor, clutching his abdomen.
"For a girl like you, you are quite the feisty one." He smiles again after a while, standing to his feet, all the while trying to recuperate.
"No, I'm not," I sneer, staring down at my orange suit. It's marked with a big black "M" on the pocket which stands for "murder", which fortunately, I didn't do. I didn't murder the young girl.
"I was gradually going to tell you after I planned it out. No one knows our plan, and Annabelle is so stupid she'll never guess. She must have thought I liked her. I'm not that good looking," he retorts. Wrong -- to girls, Drake is like an eye opener, really attractive. He has curly brown hair, green eyes, and a few freckles across his nose and cheeks. Any girl is lucky to catch him, but at times I find him too annoying and goofy; he doesn't take the prison seriously. He's made friends with our cell guards, though as a guard, it's illegal to do that.
"Oh okay," I say, mulling over the new prospect. After a short while, I respond. "Let's shut the curtains in front of the bars to get some privacy, so we can start our planning," I say, forcing a smile across my face. I move away from the table and stretch out my arms, grabbing the dirty gray curtains and pulling them together. Usually when someone pulls the curtains, it means that they're close to death or sick. All eyes are cast upon me; even the guards stare at me in astonishment, thinking Drake has gotten terribly ill. I shake my head dazedly and tie the curtains together with a large rope on the ground.
"So I thought, Eden, that maybe when we go to the cafeteria tomorrow for breakfast to grab some spoons, forks and plastic knives. We can use your Spice girl poster to cover it up the hole we dig up with the spoons." Drake grins, obviously feeling proud of himself.
"Uh . . . seems like a ton of work, but have you looked at the wall? It's made from stone, Drake, stone! Not rubber or plastic . . ."
Drake butts in. "But -- but, it could still work. It's not like you have a better idea."
"Um, I think I do. Why don't we escape from the window?" I insist, leaning against it, while crossing my arms. Drake stands still, breathing in my face. It smells like last month's dump. We haven't brushed our teeth since last week.
"We could, yes. But do you realize how thick the glass is? And that there are, like, ten centimeter bars, behind the window?" Drake says, tapping the glass with his dirty fingernails.
"Fine, then we'll get the stupid spoons and scoop the wall out. Gosh," I squeak in a funny voice, stomping to my top bunk.
"Good night Eden," Drake shouts, sitting down on his bed. He gets ready to sort out tomorrows day. I ignore him and it seems, fall asleep instantly.