I ignore him, moving faster down the stairs until I’m swallowed by the darkness at the bottom and my feet move off of the wooden steps and onto the cold, basement floor. I reach blindly in front of me until I feel a heavy piece of string, pulling on it until the bare light bulb in the ceiling switches on, lighting up part of the basement.
My skin tingles, not with the cold dampness in the air, but with the need to run to the other end of the basement. Each step I take deeper into this spot beneath the prison makes another brick in the wall of my mind break away and crumble to dust. I remember being five years old and already filled with anger and hatred. I remember feeling like I didn’t belong in this family, and, even at that young age, I can still remember the way they always looked at me—in fear.
Nolan’s hand suddenly slides around my waist and he pulls me back against the front of his body, stopping me from going any farther.
“You don’t have to do this if it’s too upsetting,” he says softly right next to my ear. “I know you feel like all the answers are down here, but maybe we should go back upstairs and do it another time. You’ve had to deal with a lot lately, especially finding out you have a crazy man for a father. I’m just afraid this might be too much for you.”
Wrapping my hand around his wrist that’s pressed against my stomach, my fingernails dig into his skin as I pry his arm away. I keep digging and digging, squeezing and squeezing, even though he’s not resisting me. I want to hurt him for calling Tobias crazy. Who is he to judge a man he only saw through a glass window and never even spoke to? Who is he to have an opinion about a man just because I made the mistake of telling him the things Tobias did that put him in prison? He doesn’t know how hard it is to ignore the need, and he doesn’t know what it’s like to feel dead inside until you finally give in.
I feel something warm and wet beneath my fingers, and I look down to see blood trickling out of the holes my nails are making in Nolan’s skin.
“Ouch!” he suddenly shouts in pain, jerking his arm away from me. “Careful with your nails, Ravenna.”
He says it in a teasing voice with a hint of laughter, probably to make sure he doesn’t do anything to frighten or upset the girl in front of him, who appears to be coming apart at the seams.
Bringing my hand up in front of my face, I stare at the small drops of blood that stain my fingertips, resisting the urge to lick them clean. Instead, I rub my fingers together and let it smear, the tension slowly leaving my shoulders.
I let out a slow, relaxing breath, forcing myself to calm down before I make a mistake, and Nolan leaves in disgust or fear. As much as I didn’t want him down here a few moments ago, I’m glad he’s here now. It’s time for him to see who I really am.
“When this was a working prison, this entire area was used for solitary confinement,” I explain to Nolan, speaking softly as I begin walking again, moving slowly, deeper into the basement.
Talking puts a stop to the memories, but I’m okay with that for the time being. Too many thoughts and feelings are at war inside of me and I need a moment to quiet my mind before it all becomes too much for me to handle. I feel like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, teetering between wanting to know everything and suddenly scared to death it’ll destroy what’s left of my soul when I finally remember it all. I hate being afraid. I refuse to be afraid, and after everything I’ve learned about my life so far, I know that nothing can break me. I let my knowledge about the prison and random facts roll easily off my tongue, giving me time to push aside my fear.
“It used to be sectioned off with six-by-eight foot cells made out of chain-link fence that stretched from floor to ceiling, but due to a busted pipe a few years ago, most of the cages were removed so the workers could move around easier to fix what was broken,” I tell him in a monotone voice, stopping in front of one of those cells. “Now it’s just one wide open, empty space with the original stone floor and crumbling stone walls, with just this one cage left for the tours.”
“I feel like all we talk about is my life. You know everything about me now, including my favorite color, what I eat every day, and a bunch of other useless facts. Why don’t we ever talk about you?”
“Believe me, your life is much more interesting than mine. If I told you about my life, you’d probably have nightmares. If you don’t want to talk about yourself anymore, let’s talk about this creepy prison. I know a few things, but I’m sure you have a bunch of good stories I haven’t heard.”
I pause in the middle of my explanation to Nolan when another memory I couldn’t stop hits me. I can see myself sitting on the pink comforter in that awful pink room but once again, I don’t know who I’m talking to, and I can’t remember which part of that conversation was mine and which was someone else’s.