Episode1
1262 Words
Rue’s P.O.V
“Rue!! Over here!”
Zia’s voice cuts through the noise of the street like something warm in a place that suddenly feels too cold. She is standing across the road, waving with both hands, her face lit up in a grin so wide it almost hurts to look at.
I don’t move immediately.
My feet stay rooted where I am, just a few steps away from the prison gates. High concrete walls stretch behind me, topped with coils of barbed wire. Guards patrol like shadows that never really sleep. I stare at it for a moment longer than I should.
Ten years.
Ten years of waking up to those walls, of counting time in footsteps, in locked doors, in shouted orders. Ten years of learning how to exist in a place that never wanted me to feel human.
And now… I’m supposed to be free.
But freedom doesn’t feel like anything I recognize. It doesn’t feel like relief. It feels like standing in an empty room and forgetting why you walked in.
I turn away and cross the road.
Zia meets me halfway.
The moment she reaches me, she pulls me into a hug so tight I almost lose my balance. She smells the same—soap, soft perfume, something familiar I can’t place properly but immediately miss.
“I missed you sooo much,” she says, her voice shaking slightly.
I hesitate before returning the hug, my arms wrapping around her slowly, like I’m remembering how.
“Me too,” I manage.
She pulls back and studies my face like she’s trying to make sure I’m real. “Jason wanted to come, but he had to pick up the kids. They’ve been so excited to meet you.”
The kids.
For a second, I just blink at her.
Zia and Jacob have kids now. Four years old and two. I missed the wedding. I missed birthdays. I missed everything that happened while my life was frozen.
“I’m excited to meet them too,” I say, forcing a small smile.
We get into the car. Zia drives.
The ride is quiet, but not uncomfortable. More like a silence that is careful, like neither of us knows which version of me to speak to yet.
Outside the window, The city moves fast—honking horns, street vendors, people laughing too loudly, life continuing without hesitation. I watch it all like I’m seeing it for the first time.
When we stop, I don’t realize immediately.
I just sit there, staring at the house.
My parents’ house.
The paint looks newer, the gate slightly different, but it is still the same place. The same place I left as someone else entirely.
“You know you can stay with us, right?” Zia says gently.
I realize I’ve been holding the key in my hand without moving.
“I know,” I say quietly. “But I need to figure things out on my own.”
She doesn’t argue. Just nods like she understands more than she says.
“Okay. Get settled. We’ll have dinner tomorrow.”
“Thanks for the ride.”
She smiles, then drives off.
And suddenly, I am alone.
The house is too quiet.
That’s the first thing I notice.
Not peaceful. Not calm. Just… empty in a way that makes my skin feel too tight.
At 5:14 a.m., I’m still awake.
The mattress is soft—too soft. The sheets smell like fabric conditioner. Everything is clean. Everything is safe.
And yet my body refuses to believe it.
There are no footsteps in the corridor. No shouted counts. No metal doors slamming shut like final words. No barking dogs cutting through the night.
Just silence.
I’ve already drunk five glasses of water. I’ve already gone to the bathroom three times. I’ve traced patterns on the ceiling until they stopped making sense.
My mind keeps waiting for something to happen.
Nothing does.
Freedom, I’m learning, is not something you instantly know how to live inside.
“Rue?”
I look up from the chopping board.
Zia is beside me in the kitchen. It’s evening now. Jason and the kids are in the living room, their laughter spilling in every now and then like something fragile and bright.
“Hmm?”
She hesitates before speaking, like she’s stepping around something sharp. “Do you have any plans?”
I keep my eyes on the vegetables. “For now, I’ll try to get a job. Take it slow.”
She nods quickly, almost relieved. “I can help. I know people. I can make calls—”
“No,” I say, a little too fast. Then I soften my voice. “It’s fine. I don’t want anything from my past attaching itself to you.”
Zia frowns. “Rue… you are not a bad reputation.”
I finally look at her.
Her eyes are glossy, like she’s holding back too many things at once.
“Can we just not talk about it?” I ask quietly.
A pause.
Then she nods. “Okay.”
Dinner happens with noise that feels far away from me. The kids talk endlessly, Jason tries to include me gently, Zia keeps glancing at me like she’s afraid I’ll disappear if she looks away too long. I answer when I can. Smile when it’s necessary.
But mostly, I just sit there.
Two weeks pass.
I send out applications every day. I refresh my email like it owes me something. I get nothing back.
Until today.
My first interview.
I didn't sleep.
Again.
At 7:12 a.m., I am already dressed, standing in front of the mirror. I rehearsed answers I found online, whispered them into the quiet of my room like they might change my past.
My hands shake slightly as I pick up my resume.
It’s thin. Almost embarrassing.
8:00 a.m.
I arrive early.
The office is too bright, too polished. Everything smells like money and confidence.
The woman interviewing me barely looks up when I sit down.
“Miss Rue Bennett,” she says flatly, scanning my file. “You haven’t worked for ten years?”
My mouth goes dry.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Why?”
I swallow. “I wasn’t able to work.”
A pause.
“Why weren’t you able to work?”
The truth sits heavy in my chest. I could lie. I could make it softer. Easier.
But it comes out before I can stop it.
“I was confined.”
Her eyes sharpen slightly. “Confined? In a hospital?”
“No, ma’am.”
A beat.
“In prison.”
The word lands differently in the room. Heavier. Final.
She leans back slowly, taking off her glasses like she needs to see me more clearly now.
“Miss Bennett,” she says, her tone colder. “Do you understand what kind of company this is?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And you still came here?”
I try to speak, but my voice doesn’t come out properly. “I just needed a job. I didn’t think—”
She laughs once. Not amused. Not kind.
“You didn’t think? You think we hire criminals because they ‘need a job’?”
My stomach twists painfully.
“You could steal from us. Or sell information. Or worse.”
I can’t defend myself. Every word I had prepared disappears.
“Cat got your tongue?” she snaps. Then, louder: “Next!"
An assistant rushes in, already calling another name.
And just like that, I am erased from the room.
- Writer
