"How do you feel, Reddy?" Janette asked. "The warmth is refreshing, isn't it?"
Theresa, pulled from her thoughts, glanced over at her cellmate. Janette was barely visible through the steam rising from the warm water. Her eyes were closed, lips slightly curved, head resting peacefully on the edge of the tub.
"Is that why you don't plan on leaving this place?" Theresa asked instead.
Janette chuckled. "This? This is just the beginning, Reddy. Who stays because of a warm bath?"
"Someone who's spent enough time in a freezing cell." She glanced down at the water, scattered with flower petals. "You still haven't told me how you got here."
There was a pause—long enough that Theresa thought she wouldn't answer. But finally, Janette's voice broke the silence.
"I remember saying I would... if your story was sad enough."
Theresa sighed at her cellmate's words and leaned back into the warmth of the bath. She didn't want to press Janette for more than she was willing to share.
"I was married off the moment I reached the so-called marrying age," Janette said after a while.
Theresa turned to her. Her eyes were still closed.
"My parents died in a plague, and I was left in my uncle's care. At some point, I guess they got tired of raising me. So when I was old enough, they sent me off to marry a man far away and then cut all ties."
She let out a bitter breath. "In this world, especially for women like me—the poor, the voiceless—your worth begins and ends with your womb. If you can't give them children, you're seen as broken. A burden. Something to discard."
"After years without a child, his family finally made their decision. They sent me here. My relatives didn't know... or maybe they did, and just didn't care."
The air sat heavy between them.
"I never expected anyone to come for me. But I still waited. Just for a month." She gave a soft, hollow laugh. "Then I stopped. Gave up and did what I had to do to survive."
She opened her eyes, meeting Theresa's. "Sad, isn't it?"
"You've been through a lot," was all Theresa could bring herself to say.
A small smile tugged at Janette's lips as her gaze drifted across the steam curling in the air. "I have," she replied softly.
"But... you never know. Your family could show up for you one day," Theresa offered, her voice tentative.
Janette's eyes opened slowly, narrowing as she turned toward her. "They better not," she said flatly. "I'm doing perfectly fine without them."
Theresa frowned. That, she couldn't understand. Fine? Here? How could anyone describe this life that way? She wanted to let it go, but the words kept burning at the edge of her mind. There were people out there—herself included—who would give anything to escape this degrading existence. Yet Janette spoke like it was something to accept. Even prefer.
"By perfectly fine," Theresa began, lifting her chin slightly, "you mean warm baths, decent food, and a cell that doesn't freeze you to death?"
The steam from the bath thickened between them. Somewhere in the distance, a faint drip echoed off the tiled walls.
"You make it sound bad, Reddy—" Janette started, but her voice held a flicker of warning now.
"Because it is bad!" Theresa snapped, not letting Janette finish. Whatever she was about to say would only make her angrier. She felt like screaming—shouting every word into Janette's ears until it finally got through. What goes on in this woman's head?
Janette, on the other hand, looked at her cellmate's horrified expression and nearly laughed. How could someone get so worked up over another person's life?
"And why are you getting angry?" she asked, her lips already twitching.
When she finally broke into laughter, the steam around them shifted with her movements. Theresa only glared, sharp and unblinking.
"Calm down, honey," Janette said between laughs.
But Theresa wasn't amused. Her voice stayed firm. "What makes you so confident, Janette?" she asked. "You wouldn't be this relaxed if you were treated like any other slave."
"Experience," Janette replied, still catching her breath. "You're still new. You won't understand—"
"What won't I understand exactly?" Theresa cut in again, her tone sharper now. "I already have a hint. I just hope I'm wrong."
Janette breathed a quiet laugh. "You're not," she said. "Whatever you're thinking—I'm sure you're not dumb."
Theresa stared at her, the air thick between them.
"I'm right?" she echoed. "What kind of answer do you think I've come up with?"
Janette glanced at the redhead beside her—her cellmate. She didn't blame her. Anyone in her position would think the same. It might sound outrageous now, Janette thought, but in time, she'd understand.
Theresa was still clinging to the idea of freedom—an idea Janette had long buried. She wanted her own words to sink in too. Because here, thoughts like that didn't just disappear. They got you killed.
Without uttering another word to her cellmate—who already had an idea of what happened here—Janette looked away.
"Why...?" Theresa's voice wavered between a whisper and something more, her eyes locked on Janette in disbelief. "You're selling yourself."
"It's called surviving, Theresa." For once, Janette used her cellmate's name. "You seem to forget where you are. No... who you are. A slave. Nothing more."
She shut her eyes and ran her fingers through the damp brown strands of her hair. "You're lucky, you know. Thompson isn't obsessed with power. He does things the right way. If you were with someone else, you'd stop thinking about escape and start thinking about survival."
Her voice dropped, quieter now. "Slaves who put escaping above everything else... their bodies are thrown into ditches. Sold off as treats for animals. Used for things you can't even imagine. We're nothing in the eyes of society. Not even recognized as people. Every slave dreams of freedom—but first, one has to stay alive. You can't enjoy freedom from your grave. That's something Helen never understood."
Theresa noticed the shift in her tone at that last sentence. Janette hadn't cried, but her voice carried the weight of something deeply personal— the loss of someone important. "Escaping and surviving go hand in hand," she murmured.
"Before anything else, survival comes first. You have to prioritize that."
"And what's the point of surviving," the redhead countered, "when your fate never changes?"
"There's still hope," Janette replied, her eyes finally meeting Theresa's. "No matter what, being alive is always the better choice."
The room fell quiet after that. Though neither of them spoke, their eyes carried the weight of words unspoken.
"Is that why you warm men's beds?" Theresa's voice sliced through the silence.
Janette turned away, her eyes falling shut. "You know nothing," she said.
"I know that much for a fact."
Janette's lips twitched, then curled into a faint smile as her gaze drifted back to meet Theresa's. "At least it's my choice," she said quietly. "The one decision I get to make for myself."
She stood up, the air thick with tension. Without another word, she stepped out of the tub, wrapping a towel tightly around her chest as she walked away, turning her back on the conversation and the eyes she no longer wanted to meet.