A Different Way to Be: Chapter 7
Title: A Different Way to Be
Author: Zippy88
Fandom: Lost
Pairing: Kate/Juliet
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Don't own anything
Spoilers: A little from season 3
Chapter 7: Liar
You’ve been hanging around the entrance to the Hydra station for a while now, gently pacing up and down the concreted step outside the thick metal doors. As much as you’re relieved that your shift as guard on the work site has ended, you feel helplessly stuck in an empty limbo with nothing else to focus your energies on. You’re still pretending, yet this time it’s for no one’s benefit but yours. You’re silently tricking yourself into believing you’re there waiting for Ben, waiting for your next instructions as to what you’re supposed to be doing, but the underlying truth stings in the back of your mind that you’re really waiting for her.
You glance down at the wad of clothing that is bundled up inside the small bag you’re holding in your right hand. This is just easiness having them with you, just in case she’s brought back to her cage at the same time Ben reappears from the station, that way you don’t have to come back unnecessarily. You scoff at yourself, knowing the idiotic logic would never sit well with Ben if he realised you’re there.
There’s a scuffling sound echoing from just beyond the trees and the familiar harsh rants filter into the air of the yard. You watch from the corner of the step where you know no one will be able to notice your presence. She’s herded into the metal skeleton of the cage, the cling of handcuffs being announced as they’re ripped off her wrists. She’s spitting out vile insults, clearly making her opinions known about the unfairness of her treatment, but Danny isn’t listening, he’s simply mocking her between the bars, encouraging her to display more of her anger because he knows there’s nothing she can do about her situation.
You give an arduous sigh at his untamed attitude concluding that you’ve never liked him for as long as you’ve known him. His shoulders sway with a defiant confidence, as he stomps off into the direction of the work site. You scatter your eyes across the yard carefully, listening to the dying sounds of footsteps, and you wait until you’re absolutely sure that the small yard is deserted, before you make your move towards her cage. The cameras don’t bother you, because Ben’s nowhere near the surveillance room. You’re quietly thankful for the minor issue that’s directed his interest elsewhere, allowing you a small thread of freedom to pull at.
She sees you instantly, the crumbling noise emitting from underneath your shoes fails to keep your presence hidden. There’s a quickening flash of surprise that lights up across her face, but it suddenly fades into the darkening glare she sets into her eyes, and an awkward disappointment tugs at your eyelashes. She’s even turned her back now; her message is so silent but so eminently clear, she doesn’t want to speak to you. You know you’re not supposed to feel the cruel knife of disappointment slice through you, but the cool droplets of blood fill up inside you, making you consciously aware that the knife is still stuck there.
“How’re your wrists?” you ask delving into a deeply profound déjà vu. You’ve been here before. But somehow this time the metal bars seem to be taunting you with their darkened orange rusted glow, not her. You’re intimidated by their hardy strength, and for a moment you’re almost convinced that you’re the one locked behind their imposing arms. She looks over her shoulder briefly, and she must see the baffled frown written on your brow, because her eyes linger on your face for a second more than you think she wants to.
“I can get you some painkillers for the pain,” you offer, glancing at the scarlet patches that have appeared against the whiteness of the bandages. Her eyes narrow sharply before flicking her head back around away from you. It’s like you’ve reverted back to being the enemies you were right at the beginning. You’re still being painted as the bad person, the person who’s too tired to care, the person who doesn’t want to understand. It weighs heavily down on your patience, knowing you’re only like that because of Ben. It’s not who you want to be.
“Are you hungry?” you ask another question, determined not to give up until you ignite a reaction from her whether it’s a good reaction or not, “I’ll cook you something nice again.” You start to wonder to yourself where she learnt how to be so resilient against her captors with nothing but her powerfully perfected silence act. “Not that I can cook much,” you mutter under your breath before adding in a louder voice, “do you like pasta?” She doesn’t flinch either way, but it doesn’t deter you away from wanting a reaction from her. “Cause I can cook pasta,” you announce rather proudly.
There’s a tiny curtain of a movement in the curls of her hair, as she tilts her head slightly to the side, the subtlety of her listening doesn’t go unnoticed with you. You smile slowly, pleased at the tiny response from her, and it pushes you on to try to extract a word or two from her curiously inviting mouth. “I’ll cook you some pasta then,” you say aloud, making the decision for her.
You’re at a loss as to know how to make her speak. You’ve tried everything, everything apart from one thing. But if you try that you fall into the trap of opening yourself up to her. You run the risk of leaving yourself wide open for nothing but trouble. Yet as your eyes devour the shapely figure in front of you, you can’t help but wonder whether it’s a risk worth taking. You glance backwards over your shoulder. You’re still alone. You have the time to try this one last attempt, and blow out the air trapped in your lungs through your nose from pure confused frustration.
“None of this is my doing,” you force out a little too harshly than you expect, “just so you know.” Finally there’s a waver in her concrete stance. Her head slips further around on its thin axis, and her jaw is visibly loosening from its tightened claws. She drops her arms from around her waist, and there’s a hushed whisper which you think you’ve missed until you hear it again repeating on her soft tongue, “I know.”
You’re regaining your balance before the astounded revelation has time to knock you down to your knees. Is this just part of her mindless game in her plans for escape? Your mind casts back to the thickness of her file, to the scores of people she’s tricked, fooled and used to gain her freedom. Are you just another name to add to the list? You drop your eyes from her, as you watch her turn around to you eventually. You’re afraid to see the truth in the darkened orbs.
“That’s why you let him speak to you like that,” she utters slowly, “he’s the one who’s in charge.” Your brow thickens in an irritated aggravation, she’s right, of course she’s right. Who wouldn’t have seen that coming? But you don’t want her to enjoy this moment, you still have some dignity that you’re proud to stand by, she won’t see your resolute expression foiled into weakened shambles. “That’s not how it works here,” you feel yourself snapping. She smiles lightly, already knowing this is all an act for her benefit. “If you say so,” she quips back at you, “so what did you do wrong?” You flick your head sideways briefly, delighting in your ability to feign confusion so easily. She doesn’t buy it though, and although you don’t let it show, you’re unnerved by her talents to spot denial. “Earlier,” she speaks slowly but confidently, “Ben didn’t look to pleased with you, so I’m assuming you did something wrong, I’d like to know what you -“ you cut her off abruptly, deciding to finally answer her since you’re intrigued to know why she’s so bothered about you, “because I helped you.”
Her assertive poise quickly looses its vividness, sharply disappearing into the background of her startled remorsefulness. She draws in a long lung full of air, folding her arms neatly back into place across her chest. You watch her as she shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other, her head twists around as if to check if anyone else is watching you both. “So,” you sigh, “pasta then.” She flickers her eyes back to you with an uncertain surprise lingering untidily in the cores of them. You don’t expect her to confirm if she wants any food at all, but you can’t help but feel disappointed when she doesn’t show any appreciation to your confession, the things you’ve risked for her.
You scoff at yourself inwardly at your foolish notions. She’s a prisoner, she’s supposed to hate the captor and at the moment that’s you. How could you even possibly expect anything more? Turning away from the cage, you have to drag your feet to a halt at the memory of the weight hanging from your hand. You glance down quickly before pushing the bag in between two of the metal bars. You’re not going to say anything, because there’s nothing worth saying anymore that will help your defence. You simple walk away leaving her to explore the contents of the bag and allowing her to make up her own mind about which side you’re on.
Time is escaping from you, which is highly ironic the more you ponder over its meaning since time doesn’t have a reason on this island. It’s just an element that’s there to tie your feet firmly to sanity, failing to let you slip away into the floating clouds of your imagination where you could be somewhere else, far away from here. Of course you only get so far up before the cord tightens and drags you back down with the heavy weight of realisation.
You make the finishing touches to the freshly made pasta, smiling lightly at the neatness you’ve managed to acquire. You were never a good cook, and you never pretend to know your way around a kitchen, but somehow you’ve come to enjoy the little distractions that preparing food brings you. Compared to all the horrific things you’ve had to do in Ben’s bidding, cooking is the one thing that returns you back to some sort of normality.
Making for the tough metal door, you start to struggle with the tray in your hands, and you can just foresee the bottle of water tumbling from the metal surface. The untamed squeak of the door startles you, and just as you predicted the bottle of water flies from the tray, bouncing untidily onto the tiled floor. You manage to keep the bowl of pasta sitting in the middle, as your eyes glance up to see Ben straightening his back, holding out the bottle of water. “More food?” he asks raising his faint eyebrows in mild suspicion. You remain calm, but you’re prepared to take the bait this time, “in case you forgot she went a long time without food.”
He looks taken back for second, genuinely surprised that you’ve dared to cross him this time, but then his eyes glaze over with an impressed fire, urging you to challenge him again. Everything’s a game to him. He feeds off the power he exerts in winning a challenge, but not this time. “She does seem to respond better to you,” he notes absentmindedly, “it’s good; it means she can be useful after all.” You narrow your eyes slightly, not enjoying the way his voice curls cruelly around his own words. “For Shepherd you mean,” you mutter more as a statement than a question. He smirks at you and gives a quick nod of his head, “I’m impressed Juliet, I didn’t think you had it in you.”
You feel a sudden sickly itch rise up from your stomach at his appraisal. No neither did you think you had it in you. You certainly didn’t before you arrived here. It wasn’t a question of capability; it was a case of survival. Your voice turns colder and your words seem fiercely faked, but he’s waiting patiently to hear them and he won’t leave until he has. “Thank you Ben,” the sickly feeling has almost edged its way into your mouth now, and you have to swallow down on its bitter flavour.
You make your move to pass him and through the open door, but his hand curls around your arm quickly, pulling you to a rapid halt just at the side of him. “But don’t make the mistake of trying to be friends with her,” he warns you in a low voice, “she’s not one of us and she never will be.” You frown at him cautiously, tugging your arm free from his tightened grasp. “I’m just trying to get her to trust me,” you mumble quickly without thinking. “You?” he lifts his eyebrows, “don’t you mean us?” You swallow at your less than helpful mistake; he’s more than suspicious now. You’ve left yourself wide open for his attack now. “Just remember who’s side you’re on,” he advices forcefully.
Nodding your head, you hastily stride out into the open air, quickening your pace along the gravelled path. You look over your shoulder and scoff at yourself for being so anxious about Ben of all people. It doesn’t matter what he does to you anymore, doesn’t matter what he forces you to do, because you’ve been through the worst already. Yet you feel compelled to stay within his instructions. He might have done the worst to you, but he knows everything about your sister, he has the power to put her through the same condemned hell, torturing her with phantom threats that would instil too much fear for your sister to cope with. You have to stay within the lines of his rules for her.
You’re in front of the cage before your mind finally clears from the turning chaos that Ben’s causing. You’re surprised to see her standing so close to the locked door, usually she’s curled up in one of the far corners out of reach. She’s studying you closely, much too closely, and it’s unnerving you slightly but you can’t show it, you pull down the steel shutters and let them frost over your face.
You place the tray down on the floor, fumbling visibly with the keys in the lock before it clicks, and you can hear the familiar squeal of the door falling open. Dropping your eyes away from her focused stare, you quickly slide the tray into the space beside the door, before returning the metal lock back to its confined place. You draw in a hollow breath, knowing that Ben is probably on his way back to the surveillance room, eager to watch everything from the safety of his chair.
“What so you’re not talking to me now?” she mocks from behind the bars, not even making an attempt for the food you’ve left for her. You glance backwards over your shoulder to the corner where you know the entrance to the station is, Ben’s words beating heavily against your ear drums. Drawing all the energy you have, you refrain yourself from answering her. You have to show him whose side you’re on, and at the minute all you have is your silence to provide the proof.
You turn to walk away. You’ve done what you needed to do. You look up to the small, slightly hidden camera, hoping that he’s watching from behind its dirty screen. “Anyone would think you’re the prisoner here.” The words stab you in your back, so much so that you’re already turning around to glare at her before you realise that your steel mask has been shattered into fragments of broken shame.
Her eyes are glazed over with a ghostly smile. Now it’s her that’s looking for a reaction from you. You spin around hotly and stride away as quickly as you can. That’s the different between you and her, you still have the little bit of freedom left to be able to walk away. You round the corner and pause your feet, clear out of sight from the brunette, from anyone. You suck in a shaky breath, desperately trying to steady the rapid rising of your chest.
There’s a scraping screech of the door and Ben appears, removing his perfectly round glasses. “You look tired Juliet,” he comments dryly, “is this taking its toll on you?” You shift your eyes away from him, hating the patronising glare he’s showing you. “No matter,” he brushes over the lack of response quickly, “we’ll be going back home shortly.” Your attention is snapped into view at his words of home, but then your enthusiasm fades slightly, reminding yourself that he means the barracks, your temporary home. Your mind casts over to Kate, knowing that she’s not allowed to come with you, and you can’t stop yourself from asking, “and Austen, what’s to happen to her?”
His tongue flickers out rapidly, scraping across his bottom lip sharply while his eyes glance to the side in a moment of pause. “I haven’t quite decided,” he announces dramatically. You swallow down on the rich sourness that has invaded your mouth; it’s the taste of fear. “Why are we going back?” you ask suddenly. His shoulders straighten out, as if he’s about to deliver an important speech. “The runway is almost complete,” he states with an empty numbness lingering in his voice, “and well hopefully I’ll be recovering soon.”
Your jaw slackens slowly in contemplation of the new information. “So Shepherd’s agreed to do the surgery?” the question falls out of your mouth without another second’s hesitation. “He will do,” he nods his head defiantly. You mock him inwardly at his foolishness to believe that Shepherd would ever cave in to do something as major as this for Ben. “So Juliet,” he stresses your name with a long disgusting drawl, “I need you to stop befriending her, so that she has a reason to beg Shepherd to do the surgery.”
You frown at him sharply at his incredibly patronising tone. “Can I count on you to behave?” he raises his eyes a little more, pushing you closer over the edge into a darkened pit of rage. “And what if I don’t?” you ask sarcastically, already knowing what the answer would be. He smiles a little, pleased that you’re challenging him again, “then I guess you don’t get a pay rise.”
His sadistic sarcasm leaves you rattled with a fresh new anger, urging you to defy him. He turns away from you, walking back inside the surveillance room. A fragmented smile splits your lips apart slightly, as you quickly shift your feet into the direction of the cages again. If he doesn’t want you to befriend Kate, then that’s exactly what you’re going to do.
You stop just short of her cage door, staring at her as she’s tucking into the hot pasta, shielding her mouth with her hand in a delicate manner. “What?” she snaps at you, the warmth immediately leaving her eyes. “If you could have anything right now,” you ask slowly, “what would it be?” The edges of your mouth curl up a little, and you find yourself eagerly awaiting her answer with a strange curiosity building up inside you. You have to remind yourself that this is just part of your plan to wind up Ben, to annoy him.
She’s looking at you like you’ve gone mad. Maybe you have. Her eyes are darting from side to side to check for someone else around. She thinks you’re joking. Maybe you are. It’s to irritate Ben, but why do you feel that this isn’t just a joke? You’re waiting for her to answer, but she’s stalling cleverly, wondering when the handcuffs are going to be produced probably. “What do you want the most right now?” you ask again, this time you bounce your head lightly to try to convince her that you want a truthful answer from her.
She’s still mute, but it doesn’t matter really, you know what she wants, what she will ask for. She’ll ask for freedom. She’ll want to be let go, free to go back to her camp. You just want to hear her ask for it. You want Ben to hear her pleading words, to let him know that you’re not the only one who wants to desperately escape. You’re waiting for her to say the words that you’ve been saying since the day you arrived. You’re waiting for her to share your desire.
“A shower would be good,” she announces loudly with a laugh of irony about it. You frown deeply, not expecting that as an answer. You’re shaking your head, clarifying to her that she can have anything, emphasising the anything part for her so that she will grasp onto the idea you want her to speak. “Anything?” she repeats and you nod encouragingly, “first I’d like a shower with hot water and some fluffy towels, secondly I’d like a lovely meal with some kind of expensive wine, red wine. Thirdly, I’d like a bed with soft pillows and proper sheets.”
Your jaw tightens in frustration. Ben’s probably laughing at the screens by now. This wasn’t supposed to be her answer. Where’s her determination? “That’s really what you want right now?” you probe, raising your eyes with a glint of disbelief written in them. “Yeah,” she nods with a straight face, “that’s what I want.” Her voice is threatening bitter, spitting the words out at you with an irritated gleam. “Fine,” you sigh harshly, before adding, “I’ll get them for you.”
That would certainly be enough to annoy Ben to the point where you’d win at least some satisfaction. Yes, you’ll arrange it all so that she’ll have what she wants. You don’t care if she is just saying such details to ridicule you. She’ll get what she asked for, every single detail. You grin inwardly at how well it’s played out despite not being what you’ve been expecting. You’re bound to earn some trust from her when you organise everything for her. There’s an image of her face when she sees that you’ve kept to your word, curiously toying with your mind, taunting you with her precious smile. You so desperately want to see that smile.
“Do you think I believe you,” she scowls loudly, as you turn away from her to walk away, “you won’t give me anything!” You allow yourself to smirk now that you’re shielded away from her burning stare. She’ll think differently soon enough. “You’re a liar,” she scolds viciously. You glance up at the camera, hoping that he’s watching this, listening to her shouting words of rage. The brunette’s insult is for him. It’s not for you even though she’s directing its vile meaning at you, it’s for him. She’s finally saying another set of words that you’ve been saying for so long; finally he’s hearing those words from another desperate mouth. “You’re a liar,” she screams again, and you feel yourself silently mouthing the very same words along with her.
Author: Zippy88
Fandom: Lost
Pairing: Kate/Juliet
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Don't own anything
Spoilers: A little from season 3
Chapter 7: Liar
You’ve been hanging around the entrance to the Hydra station for a while now, gently pacing up and down the concreted step outside the thick metal doors. As much as you’re relieved that your shift as guard on the work site has ended, you feel helplessly stuck in an empty limbo with nothing else to focus your energies on. You’re still pretending, yet this time it’s for no one’s benefit but yours. You’re silently tricking yourself into believing you’re there waiting for Ben, waiting for your next instructions as to what you’re supposed to be doing, but the underlying truth stings in the back of your mind that you’re really waiting for her.
You glance down at the wad of clothing that is bundled up inside the small bag you’re holding in your right hand. This is just easiness having them with you, just in case she’s brought back to her cage at the same time Ben reappears from the station, that way you don’t have to come back unnecessarily. You scoff at yourself, knowing the idiotic logic would never sit well with Ben if he realised you’re there.
There’s a scuffling sound echoing from just beyond the trees and the familiar harsh rants filter into the air of the yard. You watch from the corner of the step where you know no one will be able to notice your presence. She’s herded into the metal skeleton of the cage, the cling of handcuffs being announced as they’re ripped off her wrists. She’s spitting out vile insults, clearly making her opinions known about the unfairness of her treatment, but Danny isn’t listening, he’s simply mocking her between the bars, encouraging her to display more of her anger because he knows there’s nothing she can do about her situation.
You give an arduous sigh at his untamed attitude concluding that you’ve never liked him for as long as you’ve known him. His shoulders sway with a defiant confidence, as he stomps off into the direction of the work site. You scatter your eyes across the yard carefully, listening to the dying sounds of footsteps, and you wait until you’re absolutely sure that the small yard is deserted, before you make your move towards her cage. The cameras don’t bother you, because Ben’s nowhere near the surveillance room. You’re quietly thankful for the minor issue that’s directed his interest elsewhere, allowing you a small thread of freedom to pull at.
She sees you instantly, the crumbling noise emitting from underneath your shoes fails to keep your presence hidden. There’s a quickening flash of surprise that lights up across her face, but it suddenly fades into the darkening glare she sets into her eyes, and an awkward disappointment tugs at your eyelashes. She’s even turned her back now; her message is so silent but so eminently clear, she doesn’t want to speak to you. You know you’re not supposed to feel the cruel knife of disappointment slice through you, but the cool droplets of blood fill up inside you, making you consciously aware that the knife is still stuck there.
“How’re your wrists?” you ask delving into a deeply profound déjà vu. You’ve been here before. But somehow this time the metal bars seem to be taunting you with their darkened orange rusted glow, not her. You’re intimidated by their hardy strength, and for a moment you’re almost convinced that you’re the one locked behind their imposing arms. She looks over her shoulder briefly, and she must see the baffled frown written on your brow, because her eyes linger on your face for a second more than you think she wants to.
“I can get you some painkillers for the pain,” you offer, glancing at the scarlet patches that have appeared against the whiteness of the bandages. Her eyes narrow sharply before flicking her head back around away from you. It’s like you’ve reverted back to being the enemies you were right at the beginning. You’re still being painted as the bad person, the person who’s too tired to care, the person who doesn’t want to understand. It weighs heavily down on your patience, knowing you’re only like that because of Ben. It’s not who you want to be.
“Are you hungry?” you ask another question, determined not to give up until you ignite a reaction from her whether it’s a good reaction or not, “I’ll cook you something nice again.” You start to wonder to yourself where she learnt how to be so resilient against her captors with nothing but her powerfully perfected silence act. “Not that I can cook much,” you mutter under your breath before adding in a louder voice, “do you like pasta?” She doesn’t flinch either way, but it doesn’t deter you away from wanting a reaction from her. “Cause I can cook pasta,” you announce rather proudly.
There’s a tiny curtain of a movement in the curls of her hair, as she tilts her head slightly to the side, the subtlety of her listening doesn’t go unnoticed with you. You smile slowly, pleased at the tiny response from her, and it pushes you on to try to extract a word or two from her curiously inviting mouth. “I’ll cook you some pasta then,” you say aloud, making the decision for her.
You’re at a loss as to know how to make her speak. You’ve tried everything, everything apart from one thing. But if you try that you fall into the trap of opening yourself up to her. You run the risk of leaving yourself wide open for nothing but trouble. Yet as your eyes devour the shapely figure in front of you, you can’t help but wonder whether it’s a risk worth taking. You glance backwards over your shoulder. You’re still alone. You have the time to try this one last attempt, and blow out the air trapped in your lungs through your nose from pure confused frustration.
“None of this is my doing,” you force out a little too harshly than you expect, “just so you know.” Finally there’s a waver in her concrete stance. Her head slips further around on its thin axis, and her jaw is visibly loosening from its tightened claws. She drops her arms from around her waist, and there’s a hushed whisper which you think you’ve missed until you hear it again repeating on her soft tongue, “I know.”
You’re regaining your balance before the astounded revelation has time to knock you down to your knees. Is this just part of her mindless game in her plans for escape? Your mind casts back to the thickness of her file, to the scores of people she’s tricked, fooled and used to gain her freedom. Are you just another name to add to the list? You drop your eyes from her, as you watch her turn around to you eventually. You’re afraid to see the truth in the darkened orbs.
“That’s why you let him speak to you like that,” she utters slowly, “he’s the one who’s in charge.” Your brow thickens in an irritated aggravation, she’s right, of course she’s right. Who wouldn’t have seen that coming? But you don’t want her to enjoy this moment, you still have some dignity that you’re proud to stand by, she won’t see your resolute expression foiled into weakened shambles. “That’s not how it works here,” you feel yourself snapping. She smiles lightly, already knowing this is all an act for her benefit. “If you say so,” she quips back at you, “so what did you do wrong?” You flick your head sideways briefly, delighting in your ability to feign confusion so easily. She doesn’t buy it though, and although you don’t let it show, you’re unnerved by her talents to spot denial. “Earlier,” she speaks slowly but confidently, “Ben didn’t look to pleased with you, so I’m assuming you did something wrong, I’d like to know what you -“ you cut her off abruptly, deciding to finally answer her since you’re intrigued to know why she’s so bothered about you, “because I helped you.”
Her assertive poise quickly looses its vividness, sharply disappearing into the background of her startled remorsefulness. She draws in a long lung full of air, folding her arms neatly back into place across her chest. You watch her as she shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other, her head twists around as if to check if anyone else is watching you both. “So,” you sigh, “pasta then.” She flickers her eyes back to you with an uncertain surprise lingering untidily in the cores of them. You don’t expect her to confirm if she wants any food at all, but you can’t help but feel disappointed when she doesn’t show any appreciation to your confession, the things you’ve risked for her.
You scoff at yourself inwardly at your foolish notions. She’s a prisoner, she’s supposed to hate the captor and at the moment that’s you. How could you even possibly expect anything more? Turning away from the cage, you have to drag your feet to a halt at the memory of the weight hanging from your hand. You glance down quickly before pushing the bag in between two of the metal bars. You’re not going to say anything, because there’s nothing worth saying anymore that will help your defence. You simple walk away leaving her to explore the contents of the bag and allowing her to make up her own mind about which side you’re on.
Time is escaping from you, which is highly ironic the more you ponder over its meaning since time doesn’t have a reason on this island. It’s just an element that’s there to tie your feet firmly to sanity, failing to let you slip away into the floating clouds of your imagination where you could be somewhere else, far away from here. Of course you only get so far up before the cord tightens and drags you back down with the heavy weight of realisation.
You make the finishing touches to the freshly made pasta, smiling lightly at the neatness you’ve managed to acquire. You were never a good cook, and you never pretend to know your way around a kitchen, but somehow you’ve come to enjoy the little distractions that preparing food brings you. Compared to all the horrific things you’ve had to do in Ben’s bidding, cooking is the one thing that returns you back to some sort of normality.
Making for the tough metal door, you start to struggle with the tray in your hands, and you can just foresee the bottle of water tumbling from the metal surface. The untamed squeak of the door startles you, and just as you predicted the bottle of water flies from the tray, bouncing untidily onto the tiled floor. You manage to keep the bowl of pasta sitting in the middle, as your eyes glance up to see Ben straightening his back, holding out the bottle of water. “More food?” he asks raising his faint eyebrows in mild suspicion. You remain calm, but you’re prepared to take the bait this time, “in case you forgot she went a long time without food.”
He looks taken back for second, genuinely surprised that you’ve dared to cross him this time, but then his eyes glaze over with an impressed fire, urging you to challenge him again. Everything’s a game to him. He feeds off the power he exerts in winning a challenge, but not this time. “She does seem to respond better to you,” he notes absentmindedly, “it’s good; it means she can be useful after all.” You narrow your eyes slightly, not enjoying the way his voice curls cruelly around his own words. “For Shepherd you mean,” you mutter more as a statement than a question. He smirks at you and gives a quick nod of his head, “I’m impressed Juliet, I didn’t think you had it in you.”
You feel a sudden sickly itch rise up from your stomach at his appraisal. No neither did you think you had it in you. You certainly didn’t before you arrived here. It wasn’t a question of capability; it was a case of survival. Your voice turns colder and your words seem fiercely faked, but he’s waiting patiently to hear them and he won’t leave until he has. “Thank you Ben,” the sickly feeling has almost edged its way into your mouth now, and you have to swallow down on its bitter flavour.
You make your move to pass him and through the open door, but his hand curls around your arm quickly, pulling you to a rapid halt just at the side of him. “But don’t make the mistake of trying to be friends with her,” he warns you in a low voice, “she’s not one of us and she never will be.” You frown at him cautiously, tugging your arm free from his tightened grasp. “I’m just trying to get her to trust me,” you mumble quickly without thinking. “You?” he lifts his eyebrows, “don’t you mean us?” You swallow at your less than helpful mistake; he’s more than suspicious now. You’ve left yourself wide open for his attack now. “Just remember who’s side you’re on,” he advices forcefully.
Nodding your head, you hastily stride out into the open air, quickening your pace along the gravelled path. You look over your shoulder and scoff at yourself for being so anxious about Ben of all people. It doesn’t matter what he does to you anymore, doesn’t matter what he forces you to do, because you’ve been through the worst already. Yet you feel compelled to stay within his instructions. He might have done the worst to you, but he knows everything about your sister, he has the power to put her through the same condemned hell, torturing her with phantom threats that would instil too much fear for your sister to cope with. You have to stay within the lines of his rules for her.
You’re in front of the cage before your mind finally clears from the turning chaos that Ben’s causing. You’re surprised to see her standing so close to the locked door, usually she’s curled up in one of the far corners out of reach. She’s studying you closely, much too closely, and it’s unnerving you slightly but you can’t show it, you pull down the steel shutters and let them frost over your face.
You place the tray down on the floor, fumbling visibly with the keys in the lock before it clicks, and you can hear the familiar squeal of the door falling open. Dropping your eyes away from her focused stare, you quickly slide the tray into the space beside the door, before returning the metal lock back to its confined place. You draw in a hollow breath, knowing that Ben is probably on his way back to the surveillance room, eager to watch everything from the safety of his chair.
“What so you’re not talking to me now?” she mocks from behind the bars, not even making an attempt for the food you’ve left for her. You glance backwards over your shoulder to the corner where you know the entrance to the station is, Ben’s words beating heavily against your ear drums. Drawing all the energy you have, you refrain yourself from answering her. You have to show him whose side you’re on, and at the minute all you have is your silence to provide the proof.
You turn to walk away. You’ve done what you needed to do. You look up to the small, slightly hidden camera, hoping that he’s watching from behind its dirty screen. “Anyone would think you’re the prisoner here.” The words stab you in your back, so much so that you’re already turning around to glare at her before you realise that your steel mask has been shattered into fragments of broken shame.
Her eyes are glazed over with a ghostly smile. Now it’s her that’s looking for a reaction from you. You spin around hotly and stride away as quickly as you can. That’s the different between you and her, you still have the little bit of freedom left to be able to walk away. You round the corner and pause your feet, clear out of sight from the brunette, from anyone. You suck in a shaky breath, desperately trying to steady the rapid rising of your chest.
There’s a scraping screech of the door and Ben appears, removing his perfectly round glasses. “You look tired Juliet,” he comments dryly, “is this taking its toll on you?” You shift your eyes away from him, hating the patronising glare he’s showing you. “No matter,” he brushes over the lack of response quickly, “we’ll be going back home shortly.” Your attention is snapped into view at his words of home, but then your enthusiasm fades slightly, reminding yourself that he means the barracks, your temporary home. Your mind casts over to Kate, knowing that she’s not allowed to come with you, and you can’t stop yourself from asking, “and Austen, what’s to happen to her?”
His tongue flickers out rapidly, scraping across his bottom lip sharply while his eyes glance to the side in a moment of pause. “I haven’t quite decided,” he announces dramatically. You swallow down on the rich sourness that has invaded your mouth; it’s the taste of fear. “Why are we going back?” you ask suddenly. His shoulders straighten out, as if he’s about to deliver an important speech. “The runway is almost complete,” he states with an empty numbness lingering in his voice, “and well hopefully I’ll be recovering soon.”
Your jaw slackens slowly in contemplation of the new information. “So Shepherd’s agreed to do the surgery?” the question falls out of your mouth without another second’s hesitation. “He will do,” he nods his head defiantly. You mock him inwardly at his foolishness to believe that Shepherd would ever cave in to do something as major as this for Ben. “So Juliet,” he stresses your name with a long disgusting drawl, “I need you to stop befriending her, so that she has a reason to beg Shepherd to do the surgery.”
You frown at him sharply at his incredibly patronising tone. “Can I count on you to behave?” he raises his eyes a little more, pushing you closer over the edge into a darkened pit of rage. “And what if I don’t?” you ask sarcastically, already knowing what the answer would be. He smiles a little, pleased that you’re challenging him again, “then I guess you don’t get a pay rise.”
His sadistic sarcasm leaves you rattled with a fresh new anger, urging you to defy him. He turns away from you, walking back inside the surveillance room. A fragmented smile splits your lips apart slightly, as you quickly shift your feet into the direction of the cages again. If he doesn’t want you to befriend Kate, then that’s exactly what you’re going to do.
You stop just short of her cage door, staring at her as she’s tucking into the hot pasta, shielding her mouth with her hand in a delicate manner. “What?” she snaps at you, the warmth immediately leaving her eyes. “If you could have anything right now,” you ask slowly, “what would it be?” The edges of your mouth curl up a little, and you find yourself eagerly awaiting her answer with a strange curiosity building up inside you. You have to remind yourself that this is just part of your plan to wind up Ben, to annoy him.
She’s looking at you like you’ve gone mad. Maybe you have. Her eyes are darting from side to side to check for someone else around. She thinks you’re joking. Maybe you are. It’s to irritate Ben, but why do you feel that this isn’t just a joke? You’re waiting for her to answer, but she’s stalling cleverly, wondering when the handcuffs are going to be produced probably. “What do you want the most right now?” you ask again, this time you bounce your head lightly to try to convince her that you want a truthful answer from her.
She’s still mute, but it doesn’t matter really, you know what she wants, what she will ask for. She’ll ask for freedom. She’ll want to be let go, free to go back to her camp. You just want to hear her ask for it. You want Ben to hear her pleading words, to let him know that you’re not the only one who wants to desperately escape. You’re waiting for her to say the words that you’ve been saying since the day you arrived. You’re waiting for her to share your desire.
“A shower would be good,” she announces loudly with a laugh of irony about it. You frown deeply, not expecting that as an answer. You’re shaking your head, clarifying to her that she can have anything, emphasising the anything part for her so that she will grasp onto the idea you want her to speak. “Anything?” she repeats and you nod encouragingly, “first I’d like a shower with hot water and some fluffy towels, secondly I’d like a lovely meal with some kind of expensive wine, red wine. Thirdly, I’d like a bed with soft pillows and proper sheets.”
Your jaw tightens in frustration. Ben’s probably laughing at the screens by now. This wasn’t supposed to be her answer. Where’s her determination? “That’s really what you want right now?” you probe, raising your eyes with a glint of disbelief written in them. “Yeah,” she nods with a straight face, “that’s what I want.” Her voice is threatening bitter, spitting the words out at you with an irritated gleam. “Fine,” you sigh harshly, before adding, “I’ll get them for you.”
That would certainly be enough to annoy Ben to the point where you’d win at least some satisfaction. Yes, you’ll arrange it all so that she’ll have what she wants. You don’t care if she is just saying such details to ridicule you. She’ll get what she asked for, every single detail. You grin inwardly at how well it’s played out despite not being what you’ve been expecting. You’re bound to earn some trust from her when you organise everything for her. There’s an image of her face when she sees that you’ve kept to your word, curiously toying with your mind, taunting you with her precious smile. You so desperately want to see that smile.
“Do you think I believe you,” she scowls loudly, as you turn away from her to walk away, “you won’t give me anything!” You allow yourself to smirk now that you’re shielded away from her burning stare. She’ll think differently soon enough. “You’re a liar,” she scolds viciously. You glance up at the camera, hoping that he’s watching this, listening to her shouting words of rage. The brunette’s insult is for him. It’s not for you even though she’s directing its vile meaning at you, it’s for him. She’s finally saying another set of words that you’ve been saying for so long; finally he’s hearing those words from another desperate mouth. “You’re a liar,” she screams again, and you feel yourself silently mouthing the very same words along with her.