If it were not for the fact she's locked up in her room, she'd hear the whispering about their leader getting hurt by his daughter.

But she is, sadly, locked up. Jorge seems incapable of coming up with different punishments, even while this one clearly doesn't make her behave any better.

The door opens. She knows who it is.

"The knife was originally meant for me, wasn't it?"

She remains silent. Continues drawing.

Hands on her shoulders. Soft squeezes that soon turn so hard that she has to hold back a wince.

"Wasn't it?" He repeats, tone this time urgently. Angry.

"Even if it was, you can't throw a tantrum. Everyone will know," is all she manages to bring out.

He crouches down until his head is close to hers. She feels his breaths against her neck, hot and unnerving. "Right. But if I take it out on someone else, and they won't tell anyone, it's not like they'll find out."

Her chest heaves. "If... if it were you," she stammers, "I wouldn't have been able to hit you, because you're str-strong."

A low chuckle escapes from him. "You can't manipulate me into anything, Ren."

With a shaky breath, she tries to casually continue drawing, but he rips her away from the chair. She falls against the wall, into the corner, and stays there, wide-eyed. Frightened. Shaking.

He throws the chair at her. It misses, but she still jumps at the loud crash. Amery roughly sends all her pencils and pens to the ground, and then stamps on them. Each crack of her precious belongings send a tear down her cheek.

He rips drawings apart, in a million pieces. He does it right in front of her face. Then he takes the case off her pillow. Rips it apart with just his hands. Takes her blanket. Does the no same. Uses markers to destroy the white. Takes the glass of water off her bed. Throws it on her mattress along with the plate of unfinished food. More markers, ruining everything she had left.

When he's done, he's breathing heavily. "Well," he puffs out, "that's a relief. I'd like a last pleasure, though. And if you tell anyone, or dare to attempt to hurt me again, I will hurt you ten times worse."

She gets pulled off the ground—

꥟

Jorge finds her sobbing below her sheets, which are covered in colorful stripes and blood and stains of food. And they're wet. It stinks in her room. Everything is a mess.

His heavy sigh tells her enough. He's disappointed in her. He wants to ask why she would ruin her room but she knows he won't because he knows she will burst out.

He sits down on her bed. She can feel his weight on it. Yet he still doesn't say anything.

"Leave me alone," she cries out. "I hate you," she says, once again.

He does not reply. She hasn't heard him speak or seen him, but she knows it's Jorge. And Jorge needs to leave.

"Leave. You leave me to rot in my room, you don't even bring me food or water, you don't let me out to go to the toilet— leave me alone."

His nose scrunches. That explains the smell.

It also scrunches because he's confused. "Siren, I told not only Amery, but also Barkley and another guard they need to bring you food, water, and allow you out to go to the bathroom."

"Well, they didn't," she cries. "Because they're all angry I hurt you. But I didn't mean to hurt you."

The silence lasts a while. "But you aimed."

Her sobs become louder. "I didn't mean to hurt you," she repeats into her pillow, hiccuping.

Without another word, he rests his hand on her back. She doesn't push it off this time. "I forgive you," he says.

She stills.

"You do?"

"Yes, Siren. I do."

Surprised, she removes the sheets off her body. Her eyes are wide as she stares at him. "Why?"

He shrugs. "Because you did not mean to hurt me."

She blinks a few times.

"I'm sorry that they didn't check up on you. I'll make sure they pay for it," Jorge then promises. "Should I help you clean this mess up?"

Her eyebrows furrow. He'll see the ugly drawings.

Whatever, her mind tells her. Just because he's nice for once doesn't mean he will remain like that.

"Okay..." she agrees slowly.

"But your pencils," he murmurs, eyes on them. "I'm not sure if they can be fixed. And I can't get my hands on new ones anytime soon. They're hard to get."

She swallows the pain of those words away. "I can use what's left of it."

He nods. "That'll do for a while."

Jorge begins picking up the pieces of her drawings. "We can tape them back together if you want."

"It's useless."

After a while of staring at her, he tucks them in his pocket. "If you say so. Let's go wash your sheets now." Jorge's eyes trail over to them. "Is that blood mine?"

She stares at the ground. "I guess."

"Well, whatever— let's just wash them."