When the door closed behind me, the sound of the automatic lock turning reminded me there was no escape. These four concrete walls would be my residence for the next seven days. The cell itself was nothing like I had been expecting from all the crime dramas I’d watched. My imagination conjured creaking metal bunks, dark and dirty floors, one tiny barred window, a surly cellmate, and rats lurking in the corners. This was nothing of the sort. The cell was clean and bright to the point of blinding—making me want to file a complaint about their energy overuse. On my right, a metal bed was attached to the wall: no mattress, no pillow, just one thin blanket to keep me warm. There was a sink in one corner with something that looked like a chamber pot placed below. I was extra grateful that I didn’t have a cellmate. No way could I use that thing with someone else in the room.

I wrapped my arms around myself and sat on the stone-hard bed, plonking down too hard and bumping my tailbone on the metal. I had given over my personal items—my phone! I hadn’t even read Kris’s texts yet—and changed into an all-black prison uniform, the color that represented the Underworld. The color of mourning, sadness, darkness.

Each new minute felt like an hour. After two hours—or twenty minutes, who really knew—of nothingness, I was bored of staring at the walls. Just as I was about to bang on the door, screaming came from another cell. The noise paralyzed me. I backed away from the door and knocked my right hand against the bed. Ouch. My palm was already red and swollen from giving Carlo a good head smack. But that hurt was nothing compared to the ache in my heart. All I wanted now was to talk to Kris and let her know why I had hit “Domenico.” I had to tell her that he was Carlo and he had tricked us both.

I should have known better than to allow myself to be vulnerable and give someone the chance to break me. It was like giving a murderer a gun and expecting not to be killed. Love was a myth. In the end, all that was left was agony, misery, and emptiness. I only had myself. And that thought was the loneliest one I’d ever had.