The only thing you heard apart from the incessant buzz of neon lights in the prison was the sound of metal footsteps in the corridors.
As you lay in your bed, you tried not to notice the wetness in the cells and just followed the lines of the worn-out book.
Across the room, Jolyne was lying on her bed with her arms behind her head, looking at the ceiling. Her hair, that acid green shade, almost seemed to glow in the dim light.
You remembered how hard things had been for both of you at first. She was not an easy woman; rather, she was quite stubborn, always ready for a retort, and could start a fight out of nothing. You bickered for weeks, complaining about everything —from space, to cleaning duties— until you found that you were alike somehow during some heated argument.
“Hey”.
She broke the silence.
Her voice was soft, but it carried the same raspiness she employed whenever she was trying to work through something in her head.
She suddenly bolted upright, causing the mattress to squeak. Then, she stared into your eyes, so earnestly that you set your book down and listened to her.
“Break out with me.”
You froze, sure that you had heard incorrectly. You studied her expression, looking for any hint that she was just kidding… anything from her signature smirk to some biting comment. Yet, her face wore an expression of absolute earnestness.
“What? Jolyne, what the hell are you talking about? If they catch us, they’ll throw us in solitary for a century.”
She stood up and walked toward your bunk with soft, deliberate steps. She leaned down toward you, invading your personal space the way she always did when she wanted to impose her will.
You detected the smell of harsh disinfectants and the fragrance of her perfume, which had a hint of insurrection to it.
“I’m not planning to rot in here”.
she stated.
“I won’t ask twice. So either you come with me, or you stay here.”
She stretched her hand out.
“What do you say then? Do you trust me?”.
she insisted, with that half-challenging smile that always made your heartbeat skip.