"If you don't accept our company, you will be eaten alive."

✘✘✘

"W-What is happening?" I asked the cop as he practically dragged me out of the car.

He mumbled something into the small, shoulder radio and grabbed me under my armpit.

As we started walking towards the building, I could feel fear pressuring my nerves, slowly, but intensively.

"It's currently their free time, so we will have to wait outside until everything is put under control," he said and I felt my palms sweating.

Everybody will be looking at me.

"Are killers living in there?" I whispered although nobody else could hear me.

What if actual murderers live here and they do something to me? If I was able to, I would have done my research on this place and what's actually going on here.

I hate being left in the dark.

"There are approximately two hundred kids in this building," he said, looking at the watch he had on his right wrist while holding me with the other hand. "From what I know, not many have killed," he added, looking straight in front of himself again.

"I didn't do it on purpose!" I defended myself and he shot me a glare, recommending me to shut up or I'll have to face the consequences.

I let out a frustrating sigh and looked in front of myself.

Why doesn't nobody believe me? Is it because I'm black?

"You can enter with the juvenile," a deep voice called from his radio and the gates slowly opened, allowing us to approach inside.

We started walking towards the entrance of the building and with each step I took, my paranoia grew stronger.

And with that, my irrational behavior. I came up with a plan in a matter of seconds.

I waited until he least expected it when I escaped his grip and started sprinting to the gates, hoping I would make it in time before they close them.

I heard yelling behind me and loud thumps, getting closer with each moment that passed by.

I have five seconds before the gates close and about fifteen meters. I could get into his car and drive off to Mexico. I squinted and pushed my boundaries, running even faster. Sweat dripped down my body as the sun shined on me, making my blood boil.

"C'mon," I squeezed out, but before I knew it, two huge men knocked me down.

My face hit the burning asphalt, opening up the cuts I already had on it from Stacey and Tania. I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding in.

The throbbing pain pressured my head and it was then when I realized that I was bleeding.

"If you do anything like this one more time, I will not hesitate to use a gun," an unfamiliar voice panted into my ear, making me shiver.

Just by his tone, I could tell he had high authority and was someone very important. They pulled me up, gripping my arms so strong, I could feel bruises forming. "Did you get it?" the man asked me and I nodded, unwillingly.

He was definitely older than the cop, maybe around sixty years, with short, black hair, square, shaved face, and green eyes, which had wrinkles around them and dark eyebrows that made them narrow and threatening.

He looked like some Commander from the Military.

When he had finally finished analyzing me, or the other way around, we headed back to the building, in front of which were now dozens of teenagers, amusingly looking at me.

If I wasn't scared earlier, I sure am now. 

People in white uniforms started pushing them all inside to make space for me, the heartless murderer.

"Name?" a boy in white asked me, holding a yellow folder. He was young, he looked around my age, which made me curious. He had blond platinum hair and black eyes, which were focused on the paper. He was more than two heads taller than me, which isn't that surprising because I am short for my age.

"Brandy Walters," I said, keeping my voice stable. The injuries I had were so bad I couldn't help, but feel the tears bottling up in my eyes.

The boy finally looked up, holding his eyes on me for a short time, before he looked at the two men behind me.

"Follow me," he said and opened the large, metal doors. We quickly walked through large rooms with cheap furniture, which didn't look welcoming at all.

They were grey and looked unsanitary, just like the outside of the place looked. After walking through five halls with doors on both sides, right next to each other, we stopped in front of bigger ones.

"In there are showers, which you can use from nine to ten in the evening. Because you are new, we will let you shower now. Inside is a towel and some of the essentials," the boy said, after which he left, nodding to the men as he passed them.

I turned around to them, raising my eyebrows. "Can I shower alone?" I asked sarcastically.

It was around five in the afternoon and all I wanted to do is be left alone and possibly sleep.

The authoritative man violently turned me around, unlocking my handcuffs. "Take off your shoes," he ordered and I did so. They didn't have to take anything else from me because the police already did that job.

I sighed in relief and rubbed my wrists, which were swollen from the pressure they put on them. "We will be waiting for you here," he warned me with a strict face, I guess just in case I try to do something.

I slightly nodded and turned around, opening the large doors.

I walked into a big bathroom with three sets of five showers and a high ceiling, where the windows were placed. On the sink to my right were shoes, socks, a white jumper, underwear, and a towel waiting just for me.

I walked towards the small mirror above the sink, staring into my reflection.

Dried blood stained my forehead and left cheek and, as I undressed, I realized how bruised up I am. My eyes were empty and tired, lips bloody and dry and my hair was falling down my shoulders in messy, tangled curls.

I, overall, definitely looked like a prisoner. Or a lunatic.

I got under the nearest shower and opened the water, letting it fall down my body. 

This is my first time being alone in a room for the past three days. After a whole two minutes, I finally broke down, falling to the floor.

The salty tears mixed with pure, cold water, which somewhat made me more comfortable. I am going to be stuck here for two years with people that hate me.

The murder scene replayed in my head like a broken tape, focusing on Stacey's dead body.

Loud and violent knocking on the door snapped me from my thoughts and I turned off the shower. I didn't even realize I completely spaced out, for God knows how long. "Hurry up, juvenile! I don't have the whole evening!" a familiar, male voice called out.

I sighed and quickly dried myself, pulling on the clothes they left for me. My hair, on the other hand, will not be dry for another two hours.

I got out of the shower room, carrying my old clothes.

"Dump it here," the cop said, showing me a black, garbage bag. I threw the clothes in and they automatically grabbed my arms, leading me, I suppose, towards my room.

After three halls, they stopped at the very end of it, opening metal doors to reveal a small room with a toilet, bed, desk, and window, which had bars on it.

"Welcome, juvenile. Because of the stunt, you pulled off earlier, you won't get any dinner. Breakfast is at seven, so sleep tight," was all the man said before they disappeared behind the door.

 I walked over to my bed and laid in it, closing my eyes. Sudden tiredness overwhelmed my body, which isn't the most usual thing for me and I felt myself drifting into a deep sleep, the man's words still echoing through my head.

✘✘✘

I was woken up by loud banging on the door, followed by "Breakfast is in the cafeteria in ten minutes!" I felt my stomach grumbling and craving food, but all I could think of was - I have to get decent and find the cafeteria in ten minutes.

So, I got up straight away, brushing through frizzy hair with my fingers because I didn't have anything else to do it with.

The sun was barely out, coloring the sky with bright shades, and I felt a cold breeze pushing through weak, cheap windows.

I caught my reflection in the glass - I looked a bit better than yesterday.

Well, not better. Just less tired.

I walked out of my cell and, to my surprise, people were still walking and chatting, so I'm not the only one who's late.

I blended into the crowd, following the path they were walking.

Just when I reached the glass door with the sign 'CAFETERIA' above it and walked in, I was greeted by one thing I got used to over the years - hate.

The people in school were rude because, in this era, I was one of the only black girls.

But, this time, it was different.

Kids here were violent, pushing me around and kicking, my already fragile, body.

"Murderer!"

"Fucking slut!"

"Freak!"

"Heartless bitch!"

I covered my face with my hands as people who I don't even know started to spit at me.

Dozens of them.

"Hey, what the fuck is your problem?!" a tall guy meddled in and stood in front of me like he wanted to protect me. "Do you want to fight? Fine, fight me."

The crowd instantly calmed down and everybody walked away, not saying another word.

My eyes were wide opened as the guy finally turned around to face me. And, oh boy, he was gorgeous. He had short, brown hair and bright, blue eyes paired with plump and pink lips.

I was so zoned out, I didn't even listen to what was he saying.

"I'm sorry, what?" I asked, still shocked by his actions.

He offered me his hand and a bright, blinding smile. What could he possibly do to end up here? "I'm Jesus," he said, which caused me to laugh.

"I'm sorry, you're what?" I laughed, still holding his hand. Did he say he was Jesus? Like Jesus Christ?

"Yeah, that's my name. You can make fun of it all you want," he said, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

"I'm Brandy," I finally said, letting go of his hand. I don't know why, but suddenly, it felt weird holding it.

His touch, it wasn't good.

He frowned, following me to the food section. "Are you okay?" he asked, concern filling his voice. Why is he worried about me? We just met and I am a murderer.

I'm positive he heard all about it.

"Yeah, completely fine," I lied, trying to cover any of the insecurities I felt with a mask. A mask that showed an 'I-don't-care' expression.

I took a single apple because I suddenly felt a loss of appetite. In the past, there were times I didn't eat for days because of something that bothered me.

Apparently, that habit didn't go away.

I could feel Jesus staring and analyzing my every move, but I still couldn't figure out why.

"What are you doing?" I finally asked him with annoyance, looking up to meet his blue gaze.

"I'm just making sure you're okay," he shrugged like it was the most common thing ever.

"Well, stop it! I'm a murderer!" I yelled and suddenly, everything became quiet, hundreds of eyes on me. "You don't want to hang out with me," I whispered, calming myself down.

"You are just pretending to be a bad person, so you don't feel guilty about the things you did," he simply said, looking at me with sympathy. "But we've all done bad shit to end up here."

Why is he so nice?!

"I am a bad person," I said and walked past him. "That is a fact. I didn't do anything to help her and I could've." I felt his presence near me, but then, I bumped into someone.

A boy, masculine and tall. "If you don't accept our company, you will be eaten alive," his deep, husky voice warned me, sounding like he didn't have the time to explain how things are.

I looked up to his eyes, which were the first thing I noticed - one of them was black and one was green.

He had heterochromia, a condition where your eyes are two different colors.

I know that information because my mum had it.

Besides that, he looked like an actual model - with blond hair slicked back, a few wavy strands falling on his sharp face, dark eyebrows, and plump lips.

But, there was one thing about him though - he looked emotionless inside.

"You don't want my company nor need me as a burden," I was determined, but as I was about to turn around and walk away, he grabbed my arm, the same way those men yesterday did.

I yanked his hand away from me, glaring into his eyes. "If you don't see the value of having us by your side, I won't convince you," he mumbled in monotone, tilting his head to his right, where were three more boys sitting at a table.

They looked like they would rather die than be here. "But if you really want to know something, you are the only girl in here who has killed."

And with that, he joined his friends at the table.

Although I knew what he wanted to do, persuade me to join their 'gang', I stood there, still looking at him. His words imprinted into my mind as I slowly realized I won't survive.

I will probably be dead by the end of the month.

Jesus suddenly appeared in front of me, focusing his eyes on mine. "That is Atlas, he's not the nicest, but definitely the most intelligent," he apologized in his name and then continued with the introduction. "The one next to him is Gage," he pointed out. "Everyone besides Atlas is friendly, just not in the morning, so you'll have to deal with their crankiness."

Gage looked like an exotic model - with bronze skin and dark brown hair falling down his shoulders. His face was sculpted like a Greek god statue. "Kingston," he continued, stopping his gaze at a ginger boy who resembled a harmless hamster. "And then, we have Emrys." Emrys had a shaven head and dark, blue, almost black, eyes.

He looked like someone's younger brother, although I was pretty sure they are all older than me.

Everybody except Atlas and Gage looked innocent and somehow friendly.

What could've they possibly done to end up in here?

I looked into Jesus' eyes and sighed. "You need me, don't you?" I joked, for the first time in months. I will even say, years. He laughed and playfully grabbed my neck, messing up my hair.

Now it definitely looks like I have been electroshocked.

He stopped when we bumped into the table as I felt another bruise forming on my leg. Great.

He coughed and stepped away from me while I tried to fix my hair. They looked at me with an amused smile and I couldn't help, but feel insecure and scared.

I have never hung out with boys before in my entire life.

"Guys, I want you to meet Brandy," Jesus said, tapping my shoulder. "She is new."

✘✘✘