Stripped From You

by Marissa Carmel

  He whistles at me like a dog. Like he’s calling me to come. I ignore him, shuffling into the mess hall. I grab a tray, get in line, and feel him right behind me.

  “I like pretty boys.” He hassles me, but I pay no attention to him, keeping my eyes trained straight ahead.

  “I like all the new, hot little pieces of ass who parade around in front of me,” he says huskily behind me. “I like breaking them in and calling them bitch.”

  My stomach turns. Keep dreamin’ douchebag. I push forward, watching intensely as a pathetic looking sandwich is dropped on my tray.

  “Can’t ignore me forever pretty boy. I know where you live,” he taunts. His rotten, damp breath scratching against my skin. Gag. Every muscle in my body stands at attention as I keep moving forward.

  “You know what else I like?” he rasps in my ear, then reaches around and grabs my crotch. “Pure white dick.”

  Have you ever had a moment of total darkness? One where all your senses fall into an abyss? I don’t remember turning around. I don’t remember hitting him. Then hitting him again. And again. And again. I don’t remember the guards pulling me off him or the roar of the other inmates as they dragged me away. I don’t remember getting thrown into a four by four cell until my knuckles started to sting and my eyes started to focus.

  My hands are swollen, and my shirt is soaked in blood.

  Blood?

  Not my blood.

  I just beat another human being within an inch of his life. I’m shaking and numb, and I don’t regret it. Not one bit. He had it coming.

  What I do regret is every decision I’ve made over the last four weeks. I don’t know if I’m going to survive this. When they closed those steel cage doors the first night a little piece of me died. The piece that was put there by a beautiful blonde who for one second loved me. Believed in me. Gave me something to believe in.

  I can’t control the violent emotions that are storming inside. The loss, the anger, the resentment. The weight of my entire existence bears down, and I crack. An explosion of tears soak my face as I sob silently on my knees.

  Alone.

  Isolated.

  Forlorn.

  I don’t know how long I cry, but when there’s nothing left I collapse, exhausted. I curl up into a ball on the cold concrete ground and let my thoughts drift as the sobs subside. I dream about a pair of warm, cognac eyes and delude myself into believing she’s here; talking to me, consoling me, forgiving me. I hear her soft voice, feel her smooth skin, and smell the clean scent of her hair.

  Thoughts of her are my only comfort. I fix them to me like an anchor. Let them drown me, allow them to save me, and then let them destroy me all over again.

  Seven days of solitary confinement.

  I’m finally allowed out into general population, and my pulse is racing. I don’t know what to expect. I don’t know who I fucked with, and I don’t know if there’s going to be retaliation.

  I walk through the drab halls and out into the exercise yard an uptight mess. But no one even glances in my direction. I walk along the outskirts of the yard skimming my hand along the steel fence, soaking up the Vitamin D. The sun hurts my eyes, but I crave the light. It’s early September and still warm. I’ve always enjoyed the outdoors. Surfing in the summer, hiking in the fall. I’ve never been cooped up, and living in a tiny box for twenty-three hours a day nearly drove me insane.

  Once back inside I wander aimlessly around the common area, just observing my surroundings. Inmates playing cards or watching TV. Some are writing letters or just chatting. It doesn’t feel tense right now. But you never know when that can change. I find myself in the library before I know it. I’ve never been one for reading, but I scan the shelves looking for something interesting. That’s when I come across a table with pamphlets and fliers. I pick one up that’s orange and gold and reads ‘Project Inside’. I flip it open and inspect the contents. It offers classes through Union County College for inmates. I scan the list of courses until I come across graphic design.

  Hmmm. I hear Alana’s voice. I may not be an artist, but I know talent when I see it.

  Even when she’s not in my life, she’s still influencing it. I don’t think that will ever change. She’s a part of me.

  The voice in my head.

  My North Star.

  I wake up to Alana staring down at me.

  3 ½ years.

  1254 days.

  30,096 hours.

  That’s how long I’ve been in this shithole. And the only thing that got me through was a tiny streak of light in a world full of pitch black. I run my finger over her face. The face I recreated from memory. A moment in time that was so perfect I immortalized it. Us, sitting on the beach, watching the sunset. I would give my left arm, eye, and leg to go back to that moment. To have her back. But I know that’s impossible. I destroyed any chance we had when I walked away. When I took her virginity and then tossed her aside like she didn’t matter. But she did matter. Even if she’ll never know it. I sacrificed myself for her. I wanted to protect her from all the fucked-up shit in my life. My family, my flaws, my failures. And I feel the loss every single second of every single day. And as time ticks by I don’t think that will ever change.

  “Inmate one-one-three-seven-four, pack your things. You’re free to go,” a deep voice echoes though the hall. Inmate 11374, that’s me. A corrections officer has come to pluck me out of incarceration and fling me back into society.

  I pull the picture of Alana and me down from where I taped it to the bunk above me. Then I get up and proceed to pull down all the other pictures from the wall that I made while taking classes. Basic art like colorful bowls of fruit to elaborate coal sketched pictures of cityscapes. Three years’ worth of mindless artwork. Three years’ worth of irreplaceable time.

  “Leave them,” my cellmate Fat Elvis croaks. He doesn’t talk much. We’ve barely spoken two words since he arrived a few weeks ago, but it doesn’t take a genius to know he’s nobody to fuck with.

  “You want them?”

  “I said leave them, didn’t I?”

  So I do.

  I’m escorted out of my cell through the hallways and electric doors. I’m so close to freedom I can taste it. I change out of the baggy scrubs I have lived in for the last three and a half years and put on the clothes I was arrested in. I don’t remember them being this snug. I empty the plastic bag that holds my wallet and phone, then I follow the guard to the last steel door I will ever set foot through. I’m jumping out of my skin. I step onto the gravel and make my way to the open gates. I nearly weep. It’s January, and it cold. But I don’t mind the weather. It smells like snow. I pick up the pace as I walk towards the familiar face grinning at me. Mac.

  We hug hard, and he slaps me on the back. It’s the first comforting physical contact I’ve had in years.

  “You look fucking good man. And solid.” He squeezes my bicep. “Been working out?”

  “You spend three years trying to keep your asshole a virgin, you put on some muscle.”

  Mac turns white. Prison rape is a distressing thought for any male.

  “You are still a virgin, right?”

  I laugh. I know I shouldn’t, but I do. “Yes.”

  He grins. “Get the fuck in the car.” He pounds my shoulder and slips into the driver’s seat.

  “Did you get a new car?” I ask investigating the impressive Mustang.

  “No, it’s a friend’s. I don’t have a car anymore since I moved to the city.”

  “A friend’s?” I make air quotes as the engine purrs to life. I know all about Mac and his ‘friends’.

  “Yup.” He confirms my suspicions.

  Nothing’s changed.

  Mac pulls out onto the road, and I melt into the leather interior. It’s like all at once my muscles uncurl. Fucking freedom.

  “So…?” Mac asks, “Where to first? Find Alana?”

  I snap my head in his direction. “Why the fuck would you bring her up?”

&n
bsp; Mac shrugs. “I don’t know, you’re out now. Thought you’d want to find her.”

  I bubble with uncontrolled laughter. “Oh yeah, I can just imagine how that would go. Me, showing up on her doorstep after three and a half years. Hey baby, remember me? I’m out of prison now and ready to pick up where we left off. The nicest thing she could do is slam the door in my face. And if I know Alana, she’d probably kick me in the balls first.”

  Not that I’d blame her.

  “Come on, man. Yeah, she’ll be pissed, but don’t you think you owe it to her to at least explain what happened?”

  I turn in my seat irately and face Mac. “Why are you so pro Alana? I broke her fucking heart man. I did the lousiest thing you could do to a person. She’ll never forgive me, and I don’t expect her to. It’s over. In the past. And that’s where I want to leave it,” I snap.

  Those words hurt so bad it feels like someone is deboning my chest.

  Mac sighs. “Fine. It’s your stupid decision.”

  “You’re right, it is. So fuck off about it.”

  “Testy. You need to get laid.”

  “I need…” I put my face in my hands. “I don’t know what I need.”

  Yes, I do. I need Alana.

  “Just take me home.”

  “You know you can stay with me for a while. Might do you some good to be on your own.”

  I measure Mac. He isn’t completely wrong. Sean and my mother would visit me while I was inside. On holidays and my birthday. Sean would surprise me on random days. But always by himself. Ever since I was convicted my relationship with my mother has been strained. Like bordering on snapping. I resent her for so many things. I don’t know how long it’s going to take me to get over the past. And I don’t only mean taking the rap for Sean. For the neglect and the abuse and the drinking. At least she held true to her promise and kept Sean in one piece. She gets a gold star for that.

  Mac pulls into my rundown, ghetto looking apartment complex. It’s exactly the same as how I left it. Shabby buildings and trash on the road. Abandoned cars and kids hanging out on the corners. I scan the small crowds looking for Sean.

  We pull up to my apartment and my stomach flip flops.

  “What do you want to do man?”

  Moment of truth. Do I go with Mac or get sucked back into the black?

  “Let me go grab some stuff.”

  Mac nods. He thinks I’m making the right decision. And I do too. They’ve lived without me for the last three years and survived. It’s time I step out on my own. Sort of.

  The front door is unlocked. I walk inside the apartment I grew up in and it is eerily familiar. It still smells like smoke and alcohol. I walk through the living room and into the kitchen.

  I. See. Red.

  Empty vodka bottles. Tons of them cluttering the counter, accompanied by smashed out cigarette butts and half smoked roaches in the ashtray. Not one goddamn thing has changed. I walk furiously into my bedroom and find Sean sprawled out on my bed. I slap his foot, startling him awake. He looks up at me with bloodshot eyes. “Ryan?”

  “Yeah.”

  Sean gets to his feet and moves to hug me, but I step back. I’m simmering with anger.

  “What the fuck is all that out there?”

  “Where?”

  “In the kitchen!” I bark.

  Sean pulls at his baggy jeans. “Mom. She started stressing knowing you were coming home.”

  “So she cracked open a liquor store?!”

  “Cut her some slack, she’s been trying really hard.”

  “She’s a fucking alcoholic! She fell off the goddamn wagon,” I shout, as the last three years of bitterness and anger stew beneath my skin. “Not a fucking thing has changed!” I roar. “I gave up everything for you. For both of you. My girl, my freedom, my future. And I come home to the same fucking shit.”

  “I didn’t ask you to give up anything for me.” Sean gets in my face.

  “Well I didn’t see you step in and make it right. You put your fucking head in the sand and let me take the fall.”

  All my emotions are stirring into a violent shitstorm.

  “What’s going on?” I turn to see my mother standing in the doorway.

  “Nothing.” I spin around and cold cock my brother right in the jaw. Letting every ounce of rage, fury, and wrath explode through my fist.

  “What the fuck!” Sean spits out blood, and I think a tooth.

  “Ryan!” My mother’s reaction is a mix of shock and reprimand as she tears into the tiny room to inspect Sean’s mouth.

  “I hate you! Both of you!” I look my mother dead in the eyes and see the stab of pain on her face. But I don’t care.

  “If you ever fucking use my name, my social security number, or even my fucking phone number, I will come back and do much, much worse.” I poke Sean in the chest, threatening him with the most vicious voice I can muster. I am being serious. I will kill him.

  I storm out of the room with my head about to pop off my shoulders.

  Fuck my shit.

  I rip open the front door, and right before I leave I hear Sean yell, “Prison changed you man.”

  I punch my fist through the wall.

  Fuck this fucking place.

  Mac drives through the Lincoln Tunnel.

  My hand is throbbing and so is my head.

  I need a drink. A big, fat, put me on my ass alcoholic beverage.

  “Don’t worry buddy. We’ll get you some ice for that hand and a straw for the Tanqueray.”

  My thoughts exactly.

  “Maybe I‘ll even pay for you to get laid.”

  I glare at him. “Let’s start with the straw and the alcohol first. Then see where the night goes.” I don’t think I could get it up for anyone right now if I tried. My body and soul are still committed to a lost brown-eyed, blonde-haired goddess.

  Mac parks the Mustang in a garage, and we walk out onto the sidewalk in Midtown. There’s scaffolding above us and pedestrian traffic all around us. Mac leads me into a bodega a block down.

  He proceeds to walk around the place like he owns it. Grabbing snacks off the shelves and drinks out of the refrigerators, all while carrying two bottles of booze in his arms. He plops his lot on counter and pulls out his wallet. I just stare.

  “What?” He looks between me and his haul. “Should I get a bigger bottle of gin?” he asks deadpan. “You’re right,” he answers himself. “It’s been a while. I’ll get the liter.” I glance at the girl behind the counter. She’s a cute little thing. Short dark hair and big green eyes. She smiles, and I shrug.

  Mac drops the liter of gin on the counter.

  Does he plan to bathe me in the shit?

  “Where’s Ashley?” he asks as he looks around, pulling his credit card out of his wallet. The girl giggles. “Right here.” She takes the plastic from him. He finally takes a good look at her and pauses.

  Oh no, I know that look.

  “You changed.” If that isn’t the smoothest line I’ve ever heard I don’t know what is.

  “I cut my hair and got rid of my glasses.” Mac’s mouth is dangling open. He’s staring hardcore.

  “It’s a good look for you.”

  I want to wipe the drool from his mouth.

  “I’m Ryan,” I interject.

  “Nice to meet you.” Ashley puts her hand out. I smile brightly at her, and she smiles back.

  “You have pretty eyes,” I say, and she blushes while we shake.

  “So do you.”

  Mac gives me a death glare. Mmm hmm, just as I thought. He’s into her, big time. I don’t blame him, she’s a cutie.

  “Ryan just got released from prison.” Mac tosses that little tidbit into the conversation, and I scowl at him. He just had to go there.

  “Oh.” Ashley pulls her hand back awkwardly. Nice going jerkoff.

  “Nothing violent. Just stupid,” he adds.

  Can’t disagree with him there.

  “Well it’s nice to meet a friend of Mac’s.�
� She bags up our stuff. I can’t tell if I make her uncomfortable or not.

  “Same here.” I try to be nice. I haven’t been out of prison one day and I’m already reminded -by my best friend of all people- that my life is fucked.

  We walk one block to Mac’s apartment, and my new home for the time being. It’s basically a glorified closet with a tiny bedroom and one bathroom. But it does have hardwood floors and a decent size kitchen.

  Mac proceeds to crack open the bottle of Tanqueray and make me a drink. Gin and orange juice, you can’t get more street than that. Perfect for where I just came from.

  He makes his own Ketel and OJ, and we settle on the small couch in the ‘living room’. He does have a sweet flat screen, I’ll give him that.

  “To getting you laid.” He clinks my glass.

  I roll my eyes. “To showering alone.”

  “That’s a good one too. Unless it’s with a smoking hot chick. Then I advise you not to pass.”

  I chuckle. But I don’t think I’ll be sharing a shower with anyone anytime soon.

  “Do you want ice for your hand?”

  “No.” I place my glass over my knuckles. “Got it covered.”

  “Prison made you jacked and resourceful.”

  “I guess.”

  “Well, I’m glad you’re out and here with me. Time to look forward and not back. Unless Alana is behind you.”

  He takes a big swig, and my insides pulsate with pain.

  I am going to get so fucking wasted tonight.

  I haven’t stopped drinking since my first night out of prison.

  It’s been one month. I am alone, I am depressed, I am shitfaced at four o’ clock in the afternoon, and I just don’t fucking care.

  I have no idea what to do with myself.

  The couch has become my new best friend. I’m sitting in the ‘living room’ with the TV off, wrapped in a blanket¸ snapping bottle caps across the room. Like literally taking them between my thumb and middle finger and snapping, so they fly against the wall.

  I hear the lock click. Mac is home early from his day job. Some stockbroker thing he’s got going with his uncle. I hear him huff, but I don’t turn to look at him. I’m just going to sink deeper into my hole. My black lair of depression. I hear him shuffle around the apartment, take a shower, and get dressed. There isn’t much you can’t hear in here. Then there are heavy footsteps until he’s standing right in front of me.