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“Just stick with the story,” I say, and flashing blue and red lights turn the corner onto my sister’s street. I squeeze Julie’s hands in my own, fighting back my own tears as I hold my sister against me. “Just stick to the story,” I murmur again. “Everything will be alright, Jules …”
Chapter One
Green.
That’s the color of the scrubs they’ve put me in. Puke green, not some pretty shade of green. All the women are wearing them.
Puke green scrubs for a puke green place.
The officer who has me by the arm is squeezing, hard, his vise-like grip humiliating and slightly comforting at the same time. On both sides of us, women stare. Most of them say nothing; they just watch us pass. Some of them, however, leer at me. Some lick their lips hungrily, and others flap their tongue.
Disgusting.
“I can’t do this,” I whisper, mostly to myself, but the officer who has my arm hears me.
“You have no choice, kid,” he says under his breath. We stop at an open cell. It’s cold and hard and barren. He pushes me in, and I stumble but catch myself. “You brought this on yourself.”
I raise my eyes to his, resisting the urge to rub the aching spot on my arm where he’d been gripping me.
“Fuck you.”
“If you wish,” the officer smirks. He’s handsome in an obvious sort of way, too much of a pretty boy for me, but I imagine he’s hot shit around here with the women. He takes a step back out of my cell and reaches for the door to close it, but not before meeting my eyes one last time. “Good luck,” he says. “And welcome to Ashgate Prison.”
I stand near the door and look around my cell as the officer departs, leaving me alone for the first time in days. The cell is old, cold, and dingy. The walls are concrete, and paint is peeling. Below my feet, the floor is hard tile, scuffed and worn and marked up due to years of use. It’s a small, box-like holding cell, just big enough for a single bed and a toilet. Near the door is a shelf, but it’s empty. I wonder if we get to have TVs in here or if that’s against the rules, too.
I drop my small bag of personal belongings onto the stiff, lonely bed, then turn back around and open the door, poking my head out into the living area, A Block, according to the officer who had checked me in earlier. This is where I live now, in a cell block with other women I don’t even know. Outside my door, I have a moment to scan my eyes over the living block I am to share with other women. No one is here right now, as it’s time to get some air in the yard, but I wanted to gather my bearings first.
Straight ahead of me is a tiny kitchenette. There’s a fridge, but when I open it there’s barely anything in there aside from a half container of cream and some milk for coffee and tea. There’s a sink built into one of the countertops, and two or three cupboards above the sink where I find sugar and other simple baking supplies. A few feet from the mini-kitchen is a lounge area, complete with a saggy green couch that has seen better days and a couple of armchairs that don’t even begin to look comfortable. There’s a TV there, too, but it’s nothing fancy and I can only assume it’s about fifty years old.
I turn and walk back to my cell, too tired to go to the yard to meet the women. I don’t want to meet anyone, really. I just want to do my time and get the fuck out of here as soon as humanely possible.
As I begin to close my cell door behind me, the sound of footsteps on the tile out in the block makes me freeze. I’m about to turn to see who the intruder is when my door is flung open, kicking me back against the cold wall.
A woman I don’t know enters my cell, and her fingers feel like fire as she pushes me back against the wall, nails digging into the soft skin of my throat. The back of my head meets the brick wall, and I flinch, biting my lip to keep from crying out in pain. My toes barely scratch the surface of the floor as she holds me up, cutting off air.
“What are you doing?” My words come out in a weak gasp, but I know she hears me. The black-haired woman smiles a menacing grin, gripping me even tighter.
“I just wanted to make sure that you don’t have any plans to challenge me,” she says, her lips near my ear.
My eyes begin to water. I want to cough, but I can’t even take a breath. One of the fingernails that dig into my neck break the skin, but I don’t know if I’m bleeding yet. I try to shake my head, reassure her, but it’s impossible, so I don’t say anything. All I can think of to do is plead with my eyes and hope she lets go before I run out of air.
After what seems like a lifetime, the woman releases me, and I crumple to the floor, gasping, clawing at my throat to try and force the air back into my lungs. She stands over me, still menacing, but I can tell in her expression that she believes me … for now.
“Stay out of my way and we won’t have a problem,” she says. “I rule this prison. You come to me for everything. Is that understood?”
I nod because I can’t seem to speak. Seemingly satisfied with my agreement, she smirks, shaking her head as she walks out of the stall, leaving me on the cold floor, clutching my throat as tears press against my eyelids and threaten to spill over into a dark hole of terrifying surrender.
Chapter Two
It’s hot today.Too hot. After being assaulted, I can’t risk being on my own anymore, so I go to the yard to see if I can blend in, keep my head down.
Most of the women look up at me as I find my way outdoors, but I don’t hold their gazes long enough to find out if they want to bash me or not. I keep my head down, hands shoved deep into the pockets of my puke-green, zip-up sweatshirt. There’s a guard I don’t recognize standing on one side of the yard. A woman. I wonder how she stomachs working in a prison like this. On the other side of the yard, closer to me, is a second guard. When he looks at me, he doesn’t smile, but there’s something kind in his eyes, encouraging. I swallow and take a seat on an empty bench near the door, preparing to escape back inside if I have to.
A small group of women are playing basketball on worn-out concrete. It’s aggressive, and the women cuss at each other and make offensive hand gestures if they miss a shot. I’d be too afraid to play. They would slay me.
Separated by a small fence is a workout area. There’s a punching bag and some weights. It’s nothing fancy, but the women seem to enjoy it, because there’s a person at every open slot. I wouldn’t mind working on my boxing, but I won’t dare ask to use the bag. I can wait until no one is around, if that actually ever happens.
Through the fence and in the distance, there is nothing but trees around us. We’re not in the city, or even a town. We’re on an island, and I hate it. The only way off and on is by boat or helicopter, and it’s a horrible, suffocating feeling. Even if you could escape these gates, you couldn’t escape the island.
