Owen’s mattress seemed to grow damper every day. The humidity was so thick he was convinced it was visible. And the fact that Owen kept holding his breath until his vision swam, finally releasing it to suck great gulps of air that already seemed oxygen-deprived in its own right, just made the pressure worse. But it felt good: lying there and struggling to breathe, feeling the weight of the world crush through his chest and pool inside his belly; the simple act of surviving taking over the need for thought.
Three hours he’d listen to Craig ramble. Three hours he’d nodded along and pretended to listen. Pretended to care. Knowing he had no choice. Because you never have a choice.
Knowing he would be denied the right to speak against any of it.
Because you never have the right.
Knowing tha
