Kiara stayed in the bathroom for long, washing the guard’s touch off of her body as well as Zique’s. According to her, they both were the same; forced.

There was nothing that painted Zique any different from them, in fact, he was worst. They were guarding hundreds of cells, but Zique was only guarding hers. How c—

“Hey, Kiara! Are you alright in there? It’s been over an hour.”

Kiara looked at the door, knowing just who stood behind it. It was him; her prison guard, which was exactly why she kept her mouth shut despite the worrisome question he had asked. Why did he suddenly care now?

He hadn’t before, so why did he keep apologizing?

And why did he keep looking at her with such a sympathetic gaze?

She might be pitiful, but she didn’t want pity, not from him.

“Kiara...” the door knob twisted, but before he pushed it open, he gave her warning. “I’m coming in.”

And he did just that, his obsidian eyes glancing around until they found her laid in tub. “Didn’t you hear me calling you?”

Kiar