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“Strip, shower, and put these on,” the woman instructs, pointing at a pile of clothing on the counter waiting for me. It looks like a sports bra, light blue shirt, panties, and shorts. “You’ll find more clothing in the room you’re assigned to. There’s a list of rules in there as well. Though, you were with the nurse and Isaac for so long, I’m sure you’re a pro, and know everything you need.”
This girl needs a hug or an orgasm, I’m not sure which. While I don’t have much experience with the latter, I know how to give them to myself, and I always feel more relaxed after.
“Strip!” she insists, crossing her arms as she stares at me.
I’m going to have to change these bandages again somehow, because there’s no way I’ll be able to keep them dry. “Right now? In front of you?” I ask, because while I didn’t expect very much privacy, this seems extreme.
“Yes, Princess. Right now,” she says sarcastically.
The gossip rags always called me “Princess”, but I’m pretty sure this is a coincidence. Forcing myself to get it over with, I pull off my clothes. Someone dropped them off to me when I was in jail for my trial, but I don’t know who. I’m honestly not well-liked enough by many people.
“Good, you’re pretty, they’ll like that,” she muses. My eyes snap up to look at her, but she’s too busy checking me out to notice that I’m looking at her. The idea of sex work after everything that I’ve done to keep autonomy over my body, makes me incredibly uncomfortable. I know I scored well on the assessment, because even Isaac seemed impressed. Maybe I’ll get lucky and get into the hacking section of the camp. “Get in the shower, and make sure to shave everything. Remember what I said about cutting yourself.”
Everyone has an opinion here. Getting in the shower, I’m grateful there’s a curtain. The cold water helps me think clearer, and I wash everything and shave. Traveling in the car made me feel gritty and dirty, so I focus on what I can control.
I can control the temperature of the water. Once the chill does its job, I adjust it so I’m not chattering.
“Silla,” taunts the woman outside the stall, and I grit my teeth.
“I’m almost done,” I tell her, rinsing off my body.
Turning off the water, I gasp as the curtain is ripped open and a towel tossed at me.
“Come on, you’re slower than molasses,” she complains. “There’s lotion on the counter, a tooth brush, and your clothes. Patricia also insisted that I leave you bandages. I need to check on something, so I’ll be back in exactly five minutes.”
As soon as she stalks out of the room, I explode into motion. I dry off, moisturize my skin, get dressed, and try to squeeze the moisture out of my hair as I brush my teeth. As I spit and rinse, I dry my face to look at myself in the mirror.
The clothes I’m wearing are too tight, and I’m pretty sure my ass is hanging out of them. No amount of pulling the shorts down will help, though the bra is actually the correct size.
I don’t bother glaring at the woman who comes back in, ready to yell at me again until she realizes I’m dressed.
“Let’s go,” she growls, and I toss my towel into the hamper. “Here are your shoes, they didn’t have your size, so I had to go hunting. It appears you’re a last minute addition that no one was expecting.” She’s acting as if I’m putting her out, when this is her job. I haven’t done anything irritating, so I’m unsure where the attitude is coming from. To ensure my existence doesn’t continue to bother her, I quickly put on my socks and shoes before following her out.
“Hey, Larrissa, I see you’re taking the fresh meat back,” a guy says, winking at me. He’s dressed in similar clothing, but his pants and top actually fit, and they’re khaki colored. I wonder what the color designation means, but know no one will answer my questions. My nose wants to wrinkle in disgust, so I let my still-wet curls slide forward so I can indulge. “Fresh meat” is an awful term to describe me, no matter if this is some kind of training facility for sex workers.
I still don’t understand how that works, or why my step-sister would sign off on this.
“Back off, Lionel,” Larrissa mutters. “She’s definitely too good for you.”
Staying close to Larrissa, I follow her to what looks like several residence halls. Opening a door, she says, “This is your room. You’ve been assigned to B Unit. You have the next day or two to acclimate to your new life, figure out where everything is, or shed any tears you may have. This is your life now, inmate.”
Larrissa slams the door, and I wonder if her job is to be a huge bitch, and how much that pays. As far as crying, I haven’t done much of that in ages, and I don’t plan to start now.
Looking around the room, the walls are made of white concrete, and there are two beds, a small table, bed linens, and clothes piled on my mattress. Little else is in this windowless room, making me miss the large windows in the intake section that I was in earlier.
A sheaf of papers on the table by the bed catches my attention, and I sit on the edge of the mattress as I pick them up. The rules are at the top of the seven sheets of paper I’m holding.
Welcome to the Forbach Reform Camp. I would love to say that I hope you have a pleasant stay with us, but I know you won’t.
There are three different sections to this camp: computer programming and business management, intelligence services, and accountant training. You have been assigned to Section B.
My forehead wrinkles,because while Larrissa told me this a moment ago, it doesn’t mean shit to me.
You’ll find a clock above your bed, don’t alter it in any way. You’ll get three blasts of a Siren over the intercom into your room for meals, and thirty minutes to eat. I am a fair taskmaster, and I encourage your instructors to be as well.
However, I will not step in to moderate any behaviors that you may find inappropriate.
Here are rules that you must follow, or you’ll find yourself on the next transport to prison.
