Novels by Anika

The door to solitary closed with a clang which echoed through the cell. Forty-five days.. "Why don't you eat my ass for forty-five days. Bitch" I mumbled. My mind moved back to Gabriel's furious face... His expression when I didn't flinch as my hands were roughly cuffed. Not one single sign of pain. The familiar cell stood bare. Concrete. Steel. A thin cot bolted to the wall. A toilet in the corner with no privacy. Or dignity. The light flickered. As usual. But it never went off. Day one passed. Day two I counted the cracks in the wall. Day three, I was scraping the wall. Time passed. But I couldn't differentiate. There were no other people here. No breakfast. No lunch. No dinner. No distractions. Just silence. By day six, my knuckles were split open from punching the wall.... Not out of anger. Just to help feel alive. By day 11 everything felt blur. I lay on the cot staring at the ceiling, watching the flickering light. I couldn't sleep. Didn't want to let th

—Present Day— I was back in my cell. My cellmate, Bruce, watched me with eerie stillness. “What is it?” I asked without even sparing him a glance. “Is it true?” he asked. “Speak properly, Bruce.” He looked around, then moved closer to my side. “They say you defied Aaron’s order.” I finally looked up from my sketchbook. “I did.” I went back to sketching. “Do you know what that means?” he asked, the amusement fading from his voice. “I do.” “He’s got this whole place under his feet. Meals. Water. Free time. People. Everything. He could revoke your patrol time too.” His voice flickered with worry. “Don’t worry, Bruce. Nothing’s going to happen to you.” “I’m worried about you,” he said. “Fear is a weakness,” I replied, setting my sketchbook aside. “When you show fear, they feel delight. Fear means they can control you.” “Isn’t that how it’s supposed to work?” he asked, confusion written all over his face. “No idea, man. But one thing I know is, if you want to survive here… th

I rested against the cold cot, bones pressing into steel. My body was weak. I hadn’t eaten in days. Maybe a week. Or two. I stared at the dim light above me. It barely let me see anything, just enough to remind me I wasn’t blind. Time didn’t move here. It just… stretched. BANG. Metal against metal. The sound tore through the cell, sharp enough to make my ears sting. The hatch screeched open. A thin square of corridor light sliced across the floor. A bottle of water flew in. The hatch slammed shut immediately. The bottle rolled across the concrete and settled beside the others. I turned my head slowly. Counted. One. Two. … Fifteen. All fifteen bottles lay scattered along the wall. That’s how long I’d been here. Fifteen days. No clock. No food. No window. No release. Just water. And messages. Silent ones. From Aaron. A reminder. You will break. Sooner or later. My stomach had stopped growling. It didn’t have the strength anymore. My limbs felt heavy. Slower.

We laughed over the half-meal, talking about old times, our first dinner. The rude waitress who seemed to be into me. The one time I bought an overpriced wine and lied It was cheap because I was scared she would scold me. She laughed whole heartedly, stealing quiet glances "You remember that one time when we went snowboarding and I almost got lost in the snow ?" I laughed hard. That particular memory was really a blast. She almost cried looking for me everywhere in the snow, while I on the other hand was a fudging snowball at the mouth of a cage. "I do" she smiled. Her vibe felt somewhat off. Shaky. But I brushed it off. "You've always taken care of me." She said quietly. I shrugged stuffing a piece of chicken into my mouth, "that's what you do when you love someone." She smiled but, I noticed a crack. Her hand tightened slightly around her wine glass. "Are you okay ?" I asked. "Sure." She said, she sounded tense. "Jess..." I tried to touch her hand but she pulled back, "Je

In this prison, inmates are nothing but breathing property. And me? I’m the most defiant piece of filth in this private cage. Aaron is the man who holds the key—a warden rumored to have no soul and even fewer weaknesses. He was always a statue in black. Uniform pressed to perfection. Buttons fastened to the throat. Boots polished like mirrors. He watched us from his raised platform with eyes like winter—cold, distant, untouchable. Until that midnight. When an “infraction” earned me a personal summon to his private quarters. No cameras. No witnesses. Just the sterile hum of fluorescent lights and the weight of locked doors. He removed his cap first. Then the belt. The heavy leather slid free with a slow hiss. When the metal buckle struck the floor, the crack echoed off concrete walls like a warning shot. “You thought a riot would get my attention?” Before I could answer—before I could even inhale—his fist tangled in my hair. My head jerked back. A sharp stin