by Bella Jewel
I snort, and then laugh. “Throws it in?”
“Well, you know, slips it in.” She giggles.
I shake my head with a grin. “I have a criminal record and yet I’m a virgin. What are the odds?”
“We’ll fix it for you. Don’t you worry.”
“Knock, knock.”
We both turn to see Patrick walking into the room. Patrick is . . . well . . . so damned perfect. In the clean-cut, always-wearing-a-suit kind of way. He’s well-off, no doubt about it. He runs his own company. He’s the handsome billionaire that all the ladies want. Hell, they write books about them, right?
Patrick, yes, he’s good-looking. From his well-styled, ashy-blond hair, to his blue eyes and chiseled features, right to his tall but well-built body. He’s rich. He’s confident. He’s no doubt what a lot of women are looking for.
He also farts during sex. I bet they don’t write that in the romance novels.
I bite my lip at the thought. As I study him and his slick grey suit, all I can imagine is the moment when that happened.
I bite my lip harder. Dammit, why did she have to tell me that?
“Callie, it’s wonderful to see you.” Patrick smiles.
It’s forced. We both know he doesn’t like me.
Whatever.
“You, too. How have you been, Pat?”
He hates Pat. Jo gives me big eyes over her shoulder, but I ignore them. This douchebag has never been my favorite kind of man for my bestie. I hate that she feels like she’s stuck with him. Nobody should ever feel like they’re stuck. Nobody. No matter the circumstances, there is always a way out.
I’ve learned that.
I’ve learned a lot of things.
“Wonderful. I was just dropping in to check if you’d like to go to dinner tonight, darling?”
He’s talking to Jo now, obviously. I want to cringe. Yuck. He’s so . . . fake. So sugary sweet.
He’s a wolf in lamb’s clothing, no doubt about it. There is something—there has always been something about this man. His power, for sure, but something else. A deep underlying bully lies within Patrick. I think Jo knows that. I think Jo knows that better than anyone, and that’s part of the reason she won’t leave. Is she afraid? If so, she won’t speak up.
She doesn’t say much about the man she decided to make her husband.
“Sure,” Jo says, but I see the way her body slumps slightly. She doesn’t want to go. I wish she’d tell me what was really going on. “What time?”
“I’ll come and pick you up at six. Can we have a word outside?”
She nods.
“Good to see you, Patrick,” I call, watching them walk out.
Ten minutes later, Jo comes back inside. She looks . . . withdrawn. Tired, even. Like whatever he just said crushed a little piece of her soul.
“Are you okay?” I ask her.
She nods. “Yeah, just the same old fight, you know? He wants me home. He likes to remind me of the power he holds. Of what I won’t have if I really leave him and move out on my own. That all these perks I’m still living with will no longer be. Of course he finishes it with an ‘I just miss you, darling. I want you home with me.’”
What a load of crap. “Is it really so bad that you can’t leave?”
She looks away for a brief second. “I want to make my marriage work. It’ll be fine. Let’s talk about what you’re going to wear on the weekend.”
Swift avoidance of the conversation there. Well played, really. “I’ll wear whatever you have to lend me.”
She laughs, but there is sadness in her eyes.
I wish she’d talk to me.
I really, really do.
7
THEN – CALLIE
I’m scared.
So damned afraid.
All the people in here stared at me as the guards walked me in. All the people who have been locked away well before they became adults. All of them are rough-looking, and scary, and give me stares that tell me I’m not going to like being in here one little bit. I’m the rich white girl, the small, fragile one. I’m a target, whether I like it or not.
I’ve watched enough shows on television to know what will happen to a girl like me in a place like this.
I swallow, and try to hold my shoulders back straight, but they slump forward against my wishes, showing me that even though I want to try and be tough, inside, I’m not. I’m not tough at all. I’m a murderer—that’s who I am. At least, that’s how people are going to see me when they hear what I’ve done.
I’m a dead girl walking.
The sign-in process is long. My mother has to fill out a heap of forms. She’s still crying. I know deep down, she doesn’t care about me. She cares about herself, her reputation, everything that’s wrong in her world. How this is going to affect her. How this is going to ruin her life. What is she going to do when she walks down the street and everyone asks her about her criminal daughter?
She’ll never get over it.
I’m searched, given some clothes to wear—a green pair of long pants and a black tee. Then, I’m talked through the whole process of the center. Times to eat, when to shower, how long I have to stay in my cell each day, all the activities I must participate in, which include but are not limited to outside work, cleaning, and helping in the kitchen. It isn’t a free ride, or a vacation.
I’m then placed in my cell. Four D.
I’m with another girl. She’s fair-skinned, too. I’m thankful, because she doesn’t look so terrifying. She has long black hair and big grey eyes, and is skinny. Like she hasn’t eaten a great deal in the last few months. Do they not feed us properly here? I don’t know. I don’t know anything except I’m so afraid, I’m fighting all the reactions in my body. Crying, screaming, begging—you name it, I’m feeling it.
“This is Madeline. She’s your cellmate,” the guard tells me. “Any fights will have you locked away in solitary. We don’t deal with violence around here. Dinner is in two hours.”
He slams the door to the room shut. It isn’t a cell as such, meaning it doesn’t have bars, but instead a door. I’m thankful for that.
I turn with shaky hands and stare at Madeline. I’m not sure if she’s friendly, or going to try and kill me in my sleep. I guess I’m about to find out.
“Hey,” I say, my voice shaky. “I’m Callie.”
She nods, not in an aggressive way, thank God. “Better than the last girl they had in here with me.”
The urge to ask what happened to the last girl is strong, but I don’t. Probably because deep down, I actually don’t want to know.
“She got out,” Madeline says to me, clearly reading my expression. “I’m not going to hurt you, abuse you or be cruel. Don’t worry. Been in here a year now. I know how this place works; you’re safe in this cell.”
Oh. Thank God.
“Thanks,” I say softly, staring at the bed and assuming it is mine.
We have one each, and since Madeline is sitting on one, I can only assume my position on mine. The small, narrow bed squeaks when I sit on it. The rusty springs beneath the mattress clearly having been here a good, long time. It’s clean, though, and the bedding is seemingly well taken care of. The room is rather big, in all honesty. A bed lines either wall, and at the back in the corner is a small room which no doubt contains a toilet.
There is a desk between the two beds with an old lamp, but otherwise the room is fairly bland. No television. No sofa. Nothing but our beds and that desk. It’s not horrible, though. Certainly not what I had conjured up in my mind the whole way here. The walls are painted a pale green, and the floors are some sort of vinyl that is made to look like timber.
“What are you in here for?” Madeline asks, tipping her head to study me. “You hardly look like you’ve been on the wrong side of the tracks.”
She can tell that just from looking at me? I don’t know how.
“I . . .” I hesitate. Do I tell her? What if she hates me and then I have to spend the next fiv
e years in a cell with a girl who can’t stand me? I don’t know. “I was in a car accident . . .”
She narrows her eyes. “Look, I’m not here to judge anyone. I’m in for breaking and entering with a loaded weapon. I tried to rob a bank. I then took off with the money and stole a car.”
Jesus. Wow. That is something else.
“Oh, well, I took my Mother’s car and we were driving . . . some friends and I . . . and a girl . . . she stepped out onto the road in front of me and, ah, she passed away.”
Madeline’s eyes widen. “No shit. You’re that girl? I saw it all over the news.”
Shit. If she saw it, that means everyone else in here saw it.
“I’m not going to fit in well, am I?” I whisper.
She bites her lip, and then says, “Look, it’s never easy when you’re new meat. You’re going to just have to stick with me. I’ll get you through. Don’t tell anyone who you are; it’ll make things easier if they don’t know. Lot of people in here know your story. Lot of people in here would target you because of it, they all think you killed an innocent girl.”
“I didn’t intentionally hurt that girl,” I say, my voice slightly harder.
Madeline puts her hands up. “No judgement, remember? I can see you’re not the type who looks like you’d hit someone and be done with it. Either way, though, that don’t matter to them. So be careful. Stick with me. I’ll fill you in.”
My shoulders slump and I glace around the room—the room that’s going to be my home for the next five years.
I have no idea what lies ahead. That scares me more than anything I’ve ever endured.
I don’t even know if I’ll make it out of this alive.
All I know is that I’m stuck here, and there is no going back.
There is no turning this around.
“WELL, WOULD YOU LOOK at that. A little rich girl.”
I turn and clutch my towel to my chest, staring at the three larger girls coming towards me. I’ve just finished my shower and was about to get changed. The guard on duty just walked off to check another argument happening in the next row over, leaving me to get changed.
I’ve only been here three days, but Madeline warned me these girls are the ones to stay away from. The ones who make everyone’s life a living hell, especially the new people in the block. I’ve managed to avoid their angry glares during dinner and exercise time, but I knew eventually, they’d catch up to me.
“Heard about you,” the largest girl of the group—I think Madeline said her name is Trisha—says. She’s big in build, with broad shoulders. Very masculine. Her dark brown hair is tied up tightly on her head. Her brown eyes narrow as she steps closer, smiling to reveal really white teeth. “You’re the one who killed that innocent girl.”
How did they find out about that?
Oh God.
I swallow, and then say, “I’m not looking for trouble.”
Trisha laughs. “I wasn’t asking if you were.”
I step backwards and her two friends stand behind her as they all close in on me. My back hits a locker and I say, “Please, I’m not here to fight.”
I sound pathetic.
I know I sound pathetic.
Trisha lashes out, grabbing me by the throat. She’s at least two sizes bigger than me, and so she handles my body with ease. “I wonder how that family is feeling, knowing a little rich white girl stole their daughter’s life because she wanted to go out and have some fun with her friends and drive a car without a license. Do you see her face every time you close your eyes?” She squeezes tighter. “You fucking do now.”
I start gasping for air, flailing. Her other fist lashes out and slams into my stomach, making me wheeze and slump forward. She lets me go and I fall to the ground, unable to pull air into my burning lungs.
“You’re trash. I like to dispose of trash in here,” she growls, raising her leg to kick me.
“Trisha!”
The guard’s voice fills the room, and Trisha turns to her and says, “I was just helping this girl up. She must have slipped.”
The guard storms over, getting in Trisha’s face. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? You’re already on your last warning.”
Trisha puts her hands up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Ask her, if you like. I was just helping her when she slipped.”
The guard looks down at me, and I push up to my feet, still hunched over in pain. I’m trying to steady my breath, trying to stop the tears rolling down my cheeks in front of these girls, trying not to scream. They want this. They want me to be afraid of them. They want me to follow all their stupid rules.
“Is that correct?” the guard asks me.
“No, it isn’t correct,” I wheeze. “They came in here and they cornered me. They know what I did, and they want to make me pay for it.”
Trisha’s face, for a small minute, flashes with surprise. She didn’t expect that from me. I know there’ll be retaliation for this, but I also can’t survive in this place if I follow her rules, doing what she wants me to do and being afraid. This is my only option.
“Trisha, come with me and report to the officer in charge tonight. Callie, you’ll be escorted to the nurse’s office to have that looked at.”
Trisha is pulled away, her girls following her, but not before throwing death stares in my direction. A guard enters the room just before they leave to take me to the nurse’s station. I stare at the male guard, and am quite surprised by how incredibly good-looking he is. His dark hair is slicked back, and he has kind blue eyes. His skin, a deep shade of olive, stands out even more against his navy-blue uniform.
“Callie?” he says, walking towards me.
“Ah, yes,” I say, still hunched over, the pain in my ribs getting progressively worse.
“I’m Officer Corel. I’ll be taking you to the nurse’s station.”
“Thanks.”
I follow him out and down the halls, through a few doors, and then into an office where a young nurse is busy writing something down. She looks up when we enter, and her cheeks get pink. “Ethan, how are you tonight?”
Oh. She likes him.
“Good evening, Mary. I’m well, how are you?”
“Good, thank you. What’s the issue?”
“This is Callie. She had a run-in with Trisha.”
Mary screws her face up, looking like she feels a little sorry for me. “Oh, well, that’s no good. Come over here and sit on the bed. Tell me what happened?”
Ethan . . . Officer Corel . . . doesn’t move. Instead, he comes and stands beside me on the bed, not leaving. I guess that’s to be expected. I could attack poor Mary, and try anything. I’m sure it has happened many times before.
“I’d just finished my shower and Trisha cornered me in the locker room. She punched me in the stomach and was strangling me. It’s fine,” I say softly. “I’m okay.”
“I have to take a look anyway. I’ll just go and get cleaned up, and get what I need. If you wait here, I’ll be back in a moment,” Mary says, turning and disappearing out of the room.
I don’t make eye contact with Officer Corel. I don’t really want any more judgement.
“You’re not made for this place.”
His words surprise me, and I turn and glance at him shyly. “Why do you say that? I’m here, aren’t I? Someone thought I was deserving.”
“You’re the most innocent thing I’ve seen come through these doors in the last five years. Nobody speaks so kindly anymore. There isn’t a bad bone in your body. Can tell that on first glance. I can read people; you’re not bad people.”
“I’m sure half of the people in here aren’t bad people,” I say to him.
“You’d be wrong. Most of them have good reason to be in here.”
“With all due respect, sir, I have good reason to be here, too.”
“Involuntary manslaughter, I heard. Everyone heard. Biggest story to come around in years. Still don’t believe you meant it.”
; “Isn’t that what manslaughter is? Of course I didn’t mean it. But I did do it. So here I am.”
He studies me. “Saw your court day; I was one of the guards on duty. You said she stepped out in front of you.”
I look at him, and whisper, “It doesn’t matter what I said. The people that could change it didn’t believe me.”
His eyes get soft, and I already know I’m going to like Officer Corel. He’s kind, and people like that are few and far between in a place like this. “It must be a hard existence, being in here with not a single person in the world on your side.”
That hits me hard, right in the heart. It’s the worst feeling I could ever imagine.
“You have no idea,” I whisper softly, putting my head down.
“For what it’s worth,” he tells me, crossing his arms, “I believe you.”
I look up at him, shocked.
Mary comes back into the room before I can say anything more. She tells me to lie down on the bed, and I do.
She lifts my shirt and presses around on my stomach and surrounding areas. “I don’t think anything is broken, but you’ve already got a bruise appearing. You’re going to be sore for a few days. I’ll give you some painkillers now and have you returned in a few hours for more.”
I sit up, pulling my shirt down and saying, “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
She tips her head to the side, studying me, too. The same way Officer Corel did. “You’re a sweet kid,” she murmurs. “Be careful out there. Keep your head down. I don’t want to see anything bad happen to you, okay?”
I nod.
My eyes flitter over to Officer Corel, and he gives me a small smile.
Maybe, just maybe, I’ll make it through this after all.
Maybe.
8
NOW – CALLIE
“Wait, you’re friends with a guard from prison?” Jo asks as we walk towards the garage for the party on Saturday night.
“Yes, and he isn’t from prison, he’s from juvie. When I got moved, he wasn’t my guard, but he visited quite a bit as he was always at the prison working.”