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“Sorry, what?”
“A cup of tea, love.” Camilla smiles again. I wonder if she’s getting tired of pretending to smile for me. I wonder if the people who run the prison make her do that for all the sad new people, or if it’s just who she is.
I nod and follow Camilla, Lace, and Sabine out of my cell and to the tiny kitchenette. Sabine points toward the sodden couch and I timidly take a seat, praying nobody accuses me of stealing their spot. Lace sits down next to me as I fold my arms, trying to appear as small as possible. Although Lace and her comments make me uncomfortable, I notice that she smells good. Clean. Not like an inmate, but like a woman in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“I was just joshin’ back there,” she says, nudging my arm with her elbow. I don’t know what to say to this, so I stay silent. “You’re a woman of few words, aren’t ya?”
“Ah, lay off, Lace,” says Camilla, walking over with a steaming mug of tea. She hands it to me and then takes a seat across from the couch, in one of the dingy armchairs. “Don’t mind her,” she says, nodding at Lace. “She’s been off the gear for a few weeks now and it’s making her touchy.”
“Gear?”
“Drugs, love.”
Feeling even more like an idiot than I had before, I nod and take a sip of my tea, avoiding Lace’s scowls. I wonder if that’s the reason she’s here now: drugs. That would make sense, but it also doesn’t sound like a crime that would bring her here, unless she was cooking it up herself, or something. Lace doesn’t look like a drug addict. She looks like a teenage girl with an attitude problem, but that alone tells me all I need to know about assumptions. I won’t make that mistake again.
At dinner time, I follow the three women into the cafeteria, where Sabine walks with me to get served. Once we have our food (soggy toast, cold beans, sliced carrots, and a Hamburger Helper type dish), Camilla instructs me to sit down at the table with her, Sabine, and Lace, as well as Ronnie, who is already there.
“It’s nothing fancy,” Lace says as I sit across from her. “But at least in here, we can afford food.”
I know what she means, but I don’t say anything because I don’t want to give any of these people a reason to relate to me. The amount of times Jules and I had been so broke we couldn’t afford food was outrageous. I’m just not ready to admit it. Instead, I shrug, avoiding Lace’s gaze.
The tables around us are already filled with the women from different units. Many of them watch me in between bites, sizing me up. Some of them whisper to each other and laugh. Others simply stare, as though challenging me to a modern-day duel. I try to ignore the daggered stares and whispers, but it’s difficult not to. I sneak a glance at Ronnie who is shoveling beans into her mouth. She doesn’t look alarmed by all the extra attention. In fact, it seems as though she might actually like it. That smirk she wears is heavy, and her eyes scan the room like a queen looking down from her throne. I don’t trust Ronnie, but if Camilla does, then that’s enough for me. At least for now. I can’t afford to distrust anyone who could protect me here.
“Don’t mind them,” Lace says after a few moments, pulling me out of my mental dwelling. She leans forward, her tone dropping a bit. “No one will touch you as long as you stick with us.”
“And if I don’t?” I ask, drawing Ronnie’s sneer in my direction. She opens her mouth before Lace can answer.
“Then you’re fair game,” she says, and I resist the urge to ask her why she thinks she can protect me better than anyone else in this prison can.
“Fair game,” I repeat, mulling this over on my tongue. Sabine smiles at me sadly.
“It would shock you, the things women do to each other in here,” she says softly. “It’s unimaginable.”
“So, don’t bother fighting it,” Lace agrees, nodding along. “You’re better off with us.”
I’m not sure if this is true, but I don’t have the means to fight it. How can I feel so safe and protected by the very woman who had hours ago held me against the wall in my cell and threatened me?
After dinner, Camilla shows me where the phones are. They are not a free for all; we can only use them during the allotted time frame. And there’s a line, a long line of women who lean up against the wall and wait, sneering, threatening, careful not to let anyone impose on their spot.
“You okay here?” Camilla asks, and I nod. I have to be. Camilla and the others can’t follow me around day and night, even though I wish they could. I must learn to hold my own in here.
“I’ll be fine, thanks.”
Camilla looks hesitant, but finally she nods and walks away. As she leaves, a few of the women turn to look at me, their eyes hungry. I stare straight back, trembling on the inside but steel on the outside. A poker face.
“How you doin’, girl?” asks a fat, squat older woman. She could be a grandmother if it wasn’t for the bitch dyke haircut and rotting teeth, and those things just barely take away from the fact that she only has one eye. The other one is absent, and her face is scarred, as though someone had at some point stabbed her in the eyeball with a shiv.
“I’m swell, and yourself?”
She looks momentarily taken aback, as though she’d expected I’d flee in terror. I want to, but of course I don’t. I’ve faced worse than some creepy-looking freak.
“Name’s Siv,” the woman says after a moment. She holds out her hand, but I don’t take it, and her cracked, dry lips open slightly, like she’s about to growl. Instead, she drops her hand and stuffs it back into the pocket of her hoodie. “But my friends call me Deadeye.”
On the other side of Deadeye, a rather large woman with stringy black hair and threatening eyes looks over her shoulder at us, glaring at me.
“That’s Bull,” says Deadeye. This woman doesn’t even bother to offer her hand, but I don’t mind. I don’t trust either of them.
“So,” says Deadeye, stepping closer to me. “Are you a clit licker?” Her tongue flips out from between her lips and she flaps it at me. My stomach clenches but I fight to keep my composure, ignoring her.
