My Prison

Rocco and I followed the overly large corridor and came to the foot of the stairs. We climbed the stairs quietly. He kept mute all through while I hung my head low, tired and withdrawn.

We made it through the double rows of stairs and came to a closed door. Rocco placed his thumb in a scanner placed beside the wall and the door clicked open. When he closed it behind me, he tried to flash a smile but decided against it. Maybe because It didn't seem like I was interested.

"The door is bulletproof," he told me. But I didn't respond.

We passed through a quiet, smaller, short corridor and came to another closed door. He punched a couple of numbers, and just like the other one, the door opened up again, and we stepped into the most lovely sitting room I've ever set my eyes on.

I don’t know what I thought the home of a man like Hollis would be like. But this was definitely the real definition of wealth. It was homey. I guess I thought a man like him would be all about that awful, in