“Yeah...” I answer, my voice uncertain as I grimace, expecting another round of abuse. “Just woke up,” I sigh. “Finally slept through the nightmares.”
“Same here...” Sandra mutters, her voice trailing off. “I was thinking...” she pauses, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry for those awful things I said.”
I shift, sitting with my back against the cell wall. “It’s fine, Sandra. I deserved it,” I say with a weak laugh.
“No, you didn’t.” Sandra shakes her head with eyes focused on her fidgeting hands. “I was just so angry and upset... Still am. But what I said wasn’t fair.” Her blue eyes glisten with unshed tears as she meets my gaze. “It’s not your fault they’re gone, Alexandra. I’m sorry I blamed you... and called you a shite.”
We both smile at each other in the low purple light across the cold cell. I feel a surprising relief at her words. The truth is, I regret how I’ve treated Sandra, how I’ve undermined her. It wasn’t fair, and if anyone should hate me, it’s her.
“I’d almost forgotten you called me that, you rude bitch.” I say with a light-hearted chuckle. “Listen, Sandra.... I’m sorry too, for what I said in the shower. I was just saying whatever I could to hurt you. I didn’t mean it... I just wanted time alone with Dracoth.” I scoff at his name, my hair-brain scheme now seeming ridiculous in retrospect.
“Oh, I know why you did it,” Sandra says with a surprising laugh. “The thing with Conor is—”
“You don’t have to justify anything to me,” I cut her off, holding up a hand. A wave of sadness ripples through me at the thought that she feels the need to explain. This is my fault for planting that doubt in her.
Sandra nods, but I suspect that doubt still gnaws at her as she chews on her nails. A long silence stretches between us, and my mind spirals with thoughts of how to handle Dracoth, how to get out of this cell, and what to do beyond that. All I can do lockedup in here is think—endless thinking that could drive you mad—probably has.
“It’s weird without the others,” I find myself saying, breaking the rhythmic hum and creaking metal of the ship. “Kazumi should be huddled in the corner, practicing her English.” I glance around the empty expanse of our cell. “And Carmen...” I chuckle, shaking my head. “She’d be pacing back and forth, muttering about how we’re alllocaand how she’s going to kill the bigpendejo.” I mimic her accent, trying to capture her fire.
“I know, right?” Sandra laughs softly, but it fades into another silence. “Did Carmen get away on a ship, then?”
“Yeah,” I nod.
Sandra snorts. “Shewasthe crazy one!” She shakes her head. “Bloody hell. Only Carmen would be mad enough to be out there piloting an alien spaceship.”
“Too bad Kazumi got dragged into it,” I say, my tone harsher than I intended. I can’t shake the memory of Carmen pressuring the shy Kazumi to help with her half-baked escape plans. “I should’ve said something... Maybe I could’ve talked Kazumi out of it.”
“That’s rubbish, Alexandra!” Sandra snaps, her voice firm. “Sure, you and Carmen never stopped arguing. All Kazumi and I could do was roll our eyes, watching the pair of you go at it. Not like we didn’t all hear you say escape was impossible a hundred times over.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, though her words do little to soothe me. I know how forceful Carmen could be. Would Kazumi have gone along if she wasn’t afraid of her—or if I stepped in to protect her? That question may haunt me forever.
“By the way, my friends call me Lexie.”Well, before they all betrayed me... the bunch of bitches.
I am the toilet.Yeah, I have been a bitch myself, to be fair.
Sandra frowns, and for a moment, I fear she may reject my offer of friendship. But then her face softens.
“Lexie,” she repeats with a smile. “I don’t really have a nickname, except the boys used to tease me by calling me Greg, because of my surname—Gregor.”
“Good to know, Greg,” I mock with a grin, watching Sandra grimace. “At least your nickname is better than mine. I got called Bigfoot or Heifer, depending on the day.” I sigh, rolling my eyes.
Sandra bursts into laughter, quickly clapping a hand over her mouth to stifle it. “Oh, no, that’s awful!” she exclaims, trying to mask her crime.
“Uh huh,” I say, narrowing my eyes at her with exaggerated suspicion. “I saw that...Greg!” I mock with a dramatic flair.
“No, no,” she giggles, hands raised in mock surrender. “It was just the way you said it, I swear!”
“Good thing I didn’t actually moo like a cow, then,” I retort with a smirk. We share another laugh, but it fades into a lingering silence.
“Do you think she’ll make it? Carmen, I mean,” Sandra asks suddenly, cutting through the dim, heavy air of the ship.
Could she? In truth, I never thought she’d make it past this ship, but I guess Dracoth held fire. Still, there’s the lack of supplies, direction, not to mention whatever horrible shit that could be lurking out there in space. But alien ships... who knows what they’re capable of? Especially if she can figure out the controls, she might have a chance.
“I don’t know,” I admit, then a memory flashes in my mind. “But the last thing she said to me was...” I smile, thinking about it.
“What?” Sandra presses, leaning in, eager.
“I’ll come back for you,chica!” I say, doing my best to mimic Carmen’s accent. “Then she laughed, right before jumping onthat ship.” I shake my head in disbelief. “If anyone can make it out there, it’d be that crazy bitch.”
