Spider in the Corner of the Room (The Project Trilogy) by Nikki Owen Read Free Book Online Page A

snap.
    He smiles at me, nods, but otherwise does nothing.
    I tip back my head. Already, this is too much for me. My muscles ache and my shoulders feel heavy. Why is Kurt questioning what I have told him? Is it a therapist trick? Should I be on guard? Should I talk? I roll my head side to side. The session is tiring for me, the level of concentration,the social interactions—all exhausting. I flip my skull up and glance over to the window. The sun is sprinkled in a sugar-spin of clouds, and from the street below there is a shrill of laughter, the distant clink of glasses. People happy, living regular lives.
    ‘Maria?’
    I turn from the window. ‘What?’
    ‘This meeting with the Governor, the one Dr Andersson mentioned. You did not know, prior to then, that you were to meet him?’
    I pause. ‘No.’
    ‘Can you expand on that?’
    I think for a moment. ‘No.’
    He holds my gaze and I feel I want to squirm under the glare, unable to bear it. ‘What sort of things did he talk with you about, the Governor?’
    I keep my eyes lowered. ‘The Governor introduced himself,’ I say. I smooth down my trousers twice. ‘He talked to me about why I was there, about the daily prison routine, the earned privilege scheme.’
    ‘And what else, Maria?’
    I look up now. He is too inquisitive; I cannot tell him everything. Not yet. ‘Why do you want to know?’
    He sighs. ‘Maria, I am your therapist. I ask questions. It is what I do.’ His eyes flicker to the corner of the room. It is only for a split second, but I see it.
    ‘Is there something there?’ I say, twisting my torso to look.
    ‘No. It’s nothing.’
    I watch him. His legs are crossed, his back is straight. In control.
    ‘Maria?’
    ‘What?’
    ‘I would like you to tell me about it now.’
    ‘Tell you about what?’
    ‘About your meeting with the Governor.’
    He reaches for a glass of water and that is when I pinpoint it: he is always in control. So why does his control make me nervous?
    ‘Maria,’ Kurt says, suddenly leaning in towards me so close that I can feel the warmth of his breath on my face, like the soft bristle of a brush. ‘Time to talk.’
    I have a new cell.
    It is in the regular section of the prison and it smells of cabbage and faeces. The source of the smell is the metal-rimmed toilet in the corner. There is no door, no screen. I stare at the cistern and the washbasin standing beside it. Dirty, grimy, vomit-inducing. The stench of urine hangs heavy in the air, impregnating it, penetrating every molecule, every tiny atom.
    It is too much for me to process, the reality that I will have no privacy, ever, that it is all gone, my freedom vanished, like the pop of a bubble in the air. I close my eyes and try to think of Salamanca, think of the river, of eating long hot churros from the stand just off the main square, the scalding doughnut mixture melting in my mouth, the sugar dusting my lips, chin, cheeks. I remember how, on returning home with frosting around my mouth, my father would laugh—and my mother would march me to the sink and scrub me clean before she took me to church. To Father Reznik.
    I open my eyes, and a guard enters. She is long like a rake, hair like tiny thorns. She informs me of my imminent therapy appointment with Dr Andersson and instructs me to follow her straight away. Not tomorrow, not in a minute: now. She repeats the instructions again and so, wondering perhaps if she thinks I don’t understand, I tell her that I know what the word ‘now’ means. She tells me to, ‘Shut the fuck up,’ then orders me to move out. I have to be escorted there, to Dr Andersson’s office. In prison, the guard barks; no one can be trusted.
    The walk to Dr Andersson’s office affords me my first real look at Goldmouth Prison. The noise. The loud, loud noise. It is too much, on the cliff edge of unbearable. It is only the guard growling at me to, ‘Shift it,’ that prevents me from moaning over and over with hands on my ears,