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Chris walked into the room, set the food down on the night table and then sat down in the chair. Her father followed. He closed the door and brought the desk chair closer to where she was sitting.
She's tired but not sure she can sleep, her mind is wide awake. She tried to sleep in the cell but was too anxious. She wanted to cry but breaking down in front of Jasin was enough, she wasn't going to start crying her cell. Instead Chris spent most of her time pacing around the cell or staring off into space, thinking.
Seeing Saunders, making him pay for what he did was something she had thought about often since her father was murdered.
Murdered.
When she imagined meeting Saunders, it was always a memory of her father or being with her family that brought it to mind.
When she actually met Saunders, she hadn't really thought of them. At least not in the way that she had expected. She had still been shaken from her conversation with Jasin. The reality of Jack's death had hit her and she was saddened.
And horrified by her own reaction.
She hadn't cried about it until then and until then she had tried not to think about what feelings she might have for Jack. She wanted to write it off to loneliness or lust or temporary insanity. But it was more.
When she saw Saunders it was her betrayal fresh on her mind. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that she should feel guilty about her relationship with Jack. It wasn't fair that Jack had to pull the trigger. It's not fair that my dad is dead. Saunders killed him for nothing. It wasn't because of the bank accounts, it was because he could. He got off on it and he didn't care. He still didn't care. It's a fucking joke to him!
Her father sat down on the chair and she looked over at him. He was unwrapping the pack of cigarettes and she was reminded of the last Christmas she spent with him. He came to New York and they were in a restaraunt. He sat across from her, unwrapping a pack of cigarettes like he was now. She made a face but didn't say anything. They talked. He told her he was thinking about taking a trip next year. Maybe to Russia again, he wasn't sure.
He never went.
It's not fair. He had told her he was used to Milliways. He wasn't unhappy here but that doesn't mean he's happy either. How could he be? He can't see his family again, he can't tell them anything. He can't travel. He can't go to a museum. He's stuck here till God know's when, relying on the whims of the universe.
He deserves more than this.
She looks out the window again, memories of what had happened in this room flooding her mind. The knife in her stomach twisted a little more.
She's tired but not sure she can sleep, her mind is wide awake. She tried to sleep in the cell but was too anxious. She wanted to cry but breaking down in front of Jasin was enough, she wasn't going to start crying her cell. Instead Chris spent most of her time pacing around the cell or staring off into space, thinking.
Seeing Saunders, making him pay for what he did was something she had thought about often since her father was murdered.
Murdered.
When she imagined meeting Saunders, it was always a memory of her father or being with her family that brought it to mind.
When she actually met Saunders, she hadn't really thought of them. At least not in the way that she had expected. She had still been shaken from her conversation with Jasin. The reality of Jack's death had hit her and she was saddened.
And horrified by her own reaction.
She hadn't cried about it until then and until then she had tried not to think about what feelings she might have for Jack. She wanted to write it off to loneliness or lust or temporary insanity. But it was more.
When she saw Saunders it was her betrayal fresh on her mind. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that she should feel guilty about her relationship with Jack. It wasn't fair that Jack had to pull the trigger. It's not fair that my dad is dead. Saunders killed him for nothing. It wasn't because of the bank accounts, it was because he could. He got off on it and he didn't care. He still didn't care. It's a fucking joke to him!
Her father sat down on the chair and she looked over at him. He was unwrapping the pack of cigarettes and she was reminded of the last Christmas she spent with him. He came to New York and they were in a restaraunt. He sat across from her, unwrapping a pack of cigarettes like he was now. She made a face but didn't say anything. They talked. He told her he was thinking about taking a trip next year. Maybe to Russia again, he wasn't sure.
He never went.
It's not fair. He had told her he was used to Milliways. He wasn't unhappy here but that doesn't mean he's happy either. How could he be? He can't see his family again, he can't tell them anything. He can't travel. He can't go to a museum. He's stuck here till God know's when, relying on the whims of the universe.
He deserves more than this.
She looks out the window again, memories of what had happened in this room flooding her mind. The knife in her stomach twisted a little more.
