The Silence
The hole wasn't just a room. It was a coffin with air.
No windows. No sound except the hum of the lightbulb overhead. Just concrete walls and the weight of his own thoughts pressing in.
At first, Jayden told himself he could handle it. He'd been through worse — juvie nights, group home isolation, the silence after Layla was taken.
But hours stretched into days, and silence twisted into something else.
Every drip of the faucet echoed like a drum. Every shuffle of the guards' boots outside sounded like thunder. His mind started replaying every fight, every scream, every time someone told him he wasn't enough.
The hole wasn't just quiet. It was loud in all the wrong ways.
---
The Fire Without Air
On the second night, Jayden felt the fire inside clawing at his ribs, desperate to burn, but there was nowhere to put it. No sketchbook. No paper. Not even a pencil stub.
He paced the cell until his legs gave out. He shouted until his throat went raw. Nobody answered.
Finally, he dropped to the floor and pressed his forehead against the cold concrete, whispering Layla's name like a prayer.
For a split second, he thought he heard her voice, faint and far away: "Don't let them take me."
The echo bounced around the walls until he couldn't tell if it was memory or madness.
---
The Breaking Point
By the third day, he was shaking. His reflection in the metal mirror looked like a stranger — hollow eyes, lips cracked, fists bruised.
He pressed his palms against the wall, harder and harder, until his skin tore. Blood smeared the concrete. He whispered to himself: "I'm not caged. I'm not caged. I'm not caged."
But the walls didn't listen.
That's when he realized what the hole was really for. Not to punish the body — but to break the mind.
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The Voice Through the Wall
On the fourth night, when his chest felt like it was caving in, a faint sound reached him. A whisper, almost too soft to catch.
"Jay."
His head snapped up. He pressed his ear against the wall. Dre's voice came low, muffled through concrete.
"You alive?"
Jayden's throat burned. "Barely."
"Good enough," Dre whispered. "Remember the rules. This place doesn't get to define you. Survive it. Then use it."
Jayden closed his eyes, tears stinging. Just hearing Dre's voice kept him tethered, reminded him he wasn't completely alone in this box.
---
The Release
On the fifth morning, the door finally clanged open. The light outside was almost blinding after days in the dim cell.
"Back to the block," a guard barked.
Jayden stepped out, legs unsteady but his jaw set. He felt like he'd left part of himself behind in that room — but another part of him had hardened.
The fire inside was still burning, but it had changed. It wasn't just rage now. It was a weapon waiting to be used.
---
The Echo That Remains
That night, back in his cell beside Dre, Jayden whispered through the wall: "The hole doesn't leave you, does it?"
Dre was quiet for a long time before answering. "No. It follows you. But it also reminds you what you'll never let them do again."
Jayden lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, the silence of the hole still echoing in his head.
He whispered to himself: "Never again."
And for the first time, it didn't sound like a plea. It sounded like a vow.