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I follow all their orders, but I feel like I'm not even myself. They take each one of my fingerprints and collect all my belongings—including my phone and the second present I planned on giving Paige.
Fuck, Paige. Her birthday is completely ruined now. I can only imagine what she's feeling now. The look on her face as they threw me into the back of the squad car is burned into my mind, like it's meant to torment me for every wrong decision I ever made in my life.
"Okay, Mr. London," the officer says, letting me know we're done. "I'm just going to put you in a cell while I type up your paperwork. Sit tight, okay?"
Like I have any other goddamn choice. "Yep."
The cell is cold, with only a metal bed that's bolted into the concrete floor and a mattress as thin as a blanket. There's a giant stain on the one side, so I try to flip it over, only to find an even bigger one. Fucking gross.
I opt to sit on the floor and cradle my head in my hands.
How did I get here? I know I've made some shitty choices in my life, but this? I don't belong here. And yet, here I am. I should be with Paige, giving her the best birthday she's ever had. But instead, I'm in jail being processed for murder.
Carter's words from earlier play through my mind.
"I told you I would bring him in tomorrow."
There's only one explanation. He knew. He knew that I was going to be arrested, and he couldn't find the decency to give me a heads-up. If I'd known, I would've turned myself in. At least then Paige wouldn't have had to deal with seeing me getting arrested. It could have been handled better.
But it wasn't.
And now I'm here.
I'M ALMOST ASLEEP ON the floor when the officer comes back and bangs on the metal cage of a door. I lift my head up and narrow my eyes on him, but he doesn't seem to care. Then again, I'm not sure I would either, if my job involved dealing with scumbags and shitheads all day.
"Let's go, son," he tells me. "The jail is ready for you."
I scoff as I stand and turn around so he can put cuffs back on me. "I'm not your son."
He grunts. "Thank fuck for that."
JAIL IS EVERY SINGLE horror I ever expected it to be. The feeling you get when they pull you off the bus and you see the barbed wire surrounding the entire place—it's suffocating. The whole thing is stark of any emotion, and every single person here looks as miserable as I feel.
I'm led into a room by a corrections officer. He tells me to strip down to nothing, and then proceeds to stuff my suit into a bag. When I go to grab the orange jumpsuit he put on the bench, he stops me.
"Not yet," he says. "Squat down and cough for me."
"Excuse me?" I ask, keeping my junk covered with my hands.
"You heard me, princess. I need to make sure you're not smuggling in any contraband."
My brows raise. "Do I look like I have something shoved up my ass?"
He smirks. "Either you squat, or I put on one of these rubber gloves and go searching myself."
As he holds up his hand to show me the size of it, I cringe and immediately shake my head. "Nope. Squatting is fine."
"That's what I thought."
The whole process is violating, but I guess the people who actually belong in this place don't deserve privacy. After I'm done changing into what is definitely not my color, I'm handed a sheet, pillow, and a blanket, and lead into "gen-pop" where the rest of the inmates are.
The entire time I'm walking down the hallway, men gather around to get a look at the fresh meat. No matter how much I try to block out their comments, I still hear them, and they're vile.
"Oh, good. The ass around here has been getting a little loose."
"Pretty boy alert!"
"I love the preppy ones. Their skin is so soft."
