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“Nice shirt.” I smirk, bringing my gaze back up to his.
His eyes widen, his body deflating and leaning against the back of the booth as he stares at me like I have three heads. “Really? You like it?”
I frown, tilting my head to the side. “Yeah, it’s funny.”
“Huh.” He stares at me for another beat before he shakes his head. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” I look up at the time on the clock on the wall and push the rest of my pie away, grabbing my bag. “I have to get back, I have work in a couple of hours.”
Standing up, I hesitate, not knowing what to do or say. He reaches for the pie, pointing at it with his fork.
“You can have my pie.” My eyes widen so much I’m sure they’re going to pop out of my head as my cheeks heat. “I meant… I… I… ugh!” I throw my hands up in the air, the bag hitting me in the shoulder.
He laughs so loud that everyone turns to stare at us, making a blush spread over my chest. I take two steps away from him before he says, “See you on Friday, Lexi.”
I throw my hand up over my shoulder, practically running out of the door and down the street, heading home.
I squeeze my eyes shut as the shower curtain is pulled back, knowing instinctively that she’s finally come for me.
I’ve only been here for eight weeks, but from the moment Dee Dee set her eyes on me, I knew that she had a problem with me: that nothing good would come from the way she stared at me.
It’s a big change coming from juvie to being in a women’s prison. Simple things like trying to figure out the hierarchy here become complicated and at times, dangerous. You just have to keep your head down and not give anybody the chance to come at you or single you out.
My first mistake was looking Dee Dee in the eyes, my second was sitting in a chair that she deemed off-limits from the time my ass touched the plastic seat.
“Time’s up,” she whispers.
I open my eyes, trying my hardest not to look into her dark-brown, evil eyes as the water cascades down my body. I see the sneer that lifts up the corner of her lips and then my eyes avert to behind her where Sheila and Taz are standing.
I don’t know who I’m scared of most; all I know is that my exit is blocked and there’s no way that I’m going to get away without being hurt.
“I—”
“Ah ah ah,” Dee Dee says, stepping forward and pressing her finger to my mouth as she trails her other hand over my chest and squeezes, making me wince in pain.
My breath stutters in my chest as the other two step forward, shutting the curtain behind them and effectively blocking us from any prying eyes. Not that anyone would say anything; after all, they don’t want to be on the other end of their rage.
I feel something cold touch my face and I recoil from it, but it doesn’t stop, and when I look down, I see that it’s a homemade shank, a small razor blade melted onto the end of a toothbrush.
Taz trails it down the side of my neck, over my shoulder and down my side; all the while Dee Dee squeezes my breasts and holds me in place.
I shoot up in bed, my head snapping side to side as the memory fizzles out of my brain, my whole body covered in sweat and my hand holding onto my side.
I lift my tank top up, running my finger over the five-centimeter vertical, silver scar that runs down my side, joining to a horizontal scar. T… for Taz.
She marked me, made me effectively hers.
Ever since that day, I’ve kept my head down but also been a punching bag for her. I thought it was Dee Dee that was the head of their little gang; how wrong I was. It was actually Taz; she’d sit on the sidelines, able to see things from a different perspective and work out who was loyal to her and who wasn’t. The only people who knew she was actually the head were me, Dee Dee, and Sheila.
My breaths start to slow as I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the memories. I’m not there now, I’m out of that place, trying to build a new life. They can’t get me here now: none of them can.
I say it like a chant in my head until the buzzing sound in my ears stops and my breathing is back to normal.
All I want is to have one night of sleep where I don’t wake up having relived one of the memories that happened in that place. I need to find my own identity, to become something—someone.
The job at the community center is something that I enjoy, I like having someone trust me to be there on my own, but it’s not what I want to do for the rest of my life. I want to be able to help people. In what way I don’t know yet, but I’m sure my path will show itself sooner or later. I hope.
I pull back the covers, planting my feet on the floor and pushing up, stretching my arms over my head and releasing all of the tension that is flowing through me.
