Kamrynn's POV
Time doesn't exist in this place. It's hard to tell the days apart when every moment feels like an endless loop of misery. But if I had to guess, I'd say it's been at least two weeks since I was thrown into this cell, though it feels like so much longer. Two weeks since I was "rescued" from the auction, if I can even call it that. Two weeks of surviving in this pit of despair, where my only company is hopelessness and a gnawing fear that I'll never get out.
The warriors bring me meals twice a day-gruel in the morning and some hard, crusty bread at night. It isn't good food by any means, but it's enough to keep me and my child alive. I'm grateful for that, at least. If nothing else, I don't have to starve.
No one has told me what will happen to me. I've heard no word about my fate, no hint of a decision being made. I don't know if I should consider that good news or not. Every day that passes feels like a death sentence drawn out slowly. And while the uncertainty is maddening, it's not my biggest problem.
The biggest problem isn't even my cellmate, Bertha. She's an older woman with wild, tangled hair and eyes that never quite seem to focus. She mutters to herself, trapped in some other world. She's harmless, really. The real trouble is with the other inmates, especially Alix.
I'm getting bullied.
It started the day I arrived. The other inmates took one look at me and decided I didn't belong. They see me as nothing more than a disgusting rogue, a phrase I've heard so many times it's begun to lose meaning. Alix made sure of that. She's the leader of the inmates here, the top dog. With her broad shoulders, shaved head, and the scar running down her cheek, she looks every bit the part.
"Move it, disgusting rogue," she sneers whenever I cross her path. "Or do you think you're special because you've got a baby in you?"
The first few times, I tried to reason with her, to explain that I wasn't what she thought. But no one listened. It didn't matter that I wasn't actually a rogue. The warriors said I was, and that's all they needed to hear.
Every few days, the warriors let us out to work the fields. We're forced to cultivate the land-pull weeds, till the soil, harvest crops. They say it's because criminals like us don't deserve to eat food provided by the Pack's hard-working members. If we want to be fed, we have to grow it ourselves. The warriors keep a close eye on us while we work, but they're more interested in making sure we don't escape than protecting us from each other. If anything, they seem to enjoy watching the inmates fight among themselves.
Shortly after being thrown into this miserable place, they confirmed I was pregnant. It's probably the only reason I'm still alive. They still make me work, of course, but I'm given the less strenuous tasks, like picking fruits, planting seeds, weeding, while the others haul heavy loads or dig trenches. This supposed "favoritism" only makes the other prisoners hate me more, as if I had asked for special treatment.
Alix took it upon herself to make my life here even more unbearable than it already was. She's the worst of them all, always looking for an excuse to make my existence miserable. Most of the time, the bullying is petty-things I can brush off, even if they're humiliating. Like when she tripped me with her foot while I was carrying a basket of fruit, sending the apples tumbling to the dirt, or when she spat in my food and dared me to eat it. Little things, small torments that piled up day by day.
But then, there were the times she went too far.
One day, she shoved me into a narrow pit while we were weeding. I landed on my ankle wrong, and the pain that shot through me was sharp and immediate. I spent the rest of the day limping and wincing with every step. Another time, she and one of her lackeys framed me for hitting an inmate. The girl even sported a fake bruise to make it look convincing. The warriors believed their story, of course, and I was thrown into solitary confinement for an entire day with no food.
But the worst was when I found a dead rat in my gruel. Its small, stiff body lay in the bowl, its eyes open and unseeing, fur matted with decay. The sight was enough to make me heave on the spot. I spent what felt like hours retching in the corner of my cell, my stomach clenching painfully even when there was nothing left to bring up. The other inmates only laughed, their taunts echoing through the hall.
"Look at the little princess," Alix had jeered. "Can't even handle a bit of extra protein."
I'm miserable. More than that-I'm losing hope. I thought leaving Calvin's hell behind would mean something better, but I can't tell if this is an improvement. At least when I was with him, I had a bed to sleep in and food that didn't have rats in it. But here… there's nothing but the constant reminder that I'm unwanted. Unloved.
I try to stay strong for the sake of my child. It's the only thing that keeps me going, the only reason I haven't given up completely. But every day wears me down a little more, and I don't know how much longer I can hold on.
Today is another day of labor, and I can already tell Alix is in a foul mood. She's barking orders at the other prisoners and shoving anyone who gets in her way. I make a point to avoid her, keeping my head down and focusing on my task. I'm picking fruits today, and I try to let the repetitive motion calm my nerves.
"Well, well, look who's here," Alix taunts, her voice oozing with malice. "The pregnant whore." I stiffen but keep picking, hoping she'll get bored and leave me alone.
She doesn't.
"What's the matter, rogue?" she sneers. "Too good to talk to the rest of us? Or maybe you're just too busy thinking about all the fun you had with those male rogues. I bet you spread your legs real nice for them, didn't you? Took their cum like a good little bitch."
My hands clench around the fruit I'm holding, and I try to force myself to stay calm. It's just words. I can take it.
But then she crosses the line.
"I wonder if your little bastard will be as useless as you," Alix says with a cruel laugh. "A rogue child. What a pathetic start to life."
The words hit me like a slap, and before I can stop myself, my hand flies out, connecting hard with her cheek. The crack echoes, and for a second, the whole world seems to freeze.
Alix's head snaps to the side, and when she turns back to face me, her expression is murderous. "You bitch," she hisses, and then she lunges.
The next thing I know, her fist slams into the side of my head, and I stumble backward, struggling to stay upright. The other inmates close in around us, their shouts and cheers ringing in my ears. Before I can regain my balance, Alix pounces on me, driving her fists into my ribs and stomach.
Pain explodes through my body as I fall to the ground, trying to curl up to protect my belly. But Alix doesn't stop. She's kicking me now, and I hear someone else's voice, then another. Hands grab me, pull me, hit me. The blows are coming from every direction, and all I can do is stay in a crouched position, wrapping my arms around my stomach to shield my unborn child.
The pain is unbearable, radiating through my entire body. It feels like I'm being torn apart, piece by piece, and there's nothing I can do to stop it. My vision blurs with tears, and I can hear Alix's voice somewhere above me, taunting me, calling me a worthless whore.
Darkness creeps in at the edges of my vision, and I realize I'm about to lose consciousness. I'm ready to welcome it, to let the darkness take me away from the agony.
Maybe it would be better if I didn't wake up.