November 17th, 2019, was the loneliest day of my entire life. While I'd definitely been lonely every other day, it usually didn't bother me. It didn't bother me at all, in fact. This Sunday, however, stung steadily right in my chest as if I was missing my heart entirely.
It was the third Sunday of the month.
Of course, I'd witnessed tons of visitation days with no visitors. Hell, I wouldn't visit me either. Even if someone would have wanted to visit me, I probably pushed them away like a total dick. Just like I had with Y/N.
I'd run off so quickly that I wasn't even sure I'd said goodbye. All I really remembered was that I'd definitely told them about visitation days.
Solitary was just as horrible as I'd remembered it: no cigs, no music therapy, no contact... Bam Bam said he'd try to talk the warden out of keeping me in solitary, and, a few weeks later, I was almost certain they'd both forgotten about me. I missed dancing with the gang and I began to wonder if they even cared enough to practice without me. It's not like any of them tried very hard when I was teaching the routines anyway... Were they even still doing music therapy out there?
What was worse than that was they took my cigarettes. Warden said I could have them back once I'd cleaned up my act, but, chances are, he's probably smoked them all himself by now. I'd been dealing with my nicotine withdrawals for a few weeks by then, and my headaches were only just starting to subside slightly. The jitters were still severe though, so I was constantly on edge and on the verge of tears regardless of whatever was going on at the time.
The solitary cell wreaked of BO and rusted metal; it was nothing like the rest of the prison, mainly because it actually felt like prison. This sector was so unkept that it almost felt like it should've existed in a completely different establishment altogether. It was the perfect backdrop for my realization that I was finally completely alone again.
I reached for the nonexistent pack of cigarettes on my sleeve before I remembered they were gone, so I just rested my palm on my shoulder as if I was comforting myself. Closing my eyes, I leaned my head against the wall behind me as I sat cross-legged on my lumpy mattress.
I focused on the distant bustle of what I assumed were visitors gathering to meet with everyone. Ole "Sparkles" McGee was probably already knee-deep in a conversation with his fourth lady in the past 20 minutes. Jimmy the Pickle was most likely flirting with the weird guard (like usual), and Bam Bam had probably talked the warden into letting his grandma behind the bars for a hug again. Just like most third Sundays. But this time, I wasn't able to be Sparkles' wingman or say hi to Bam Bam's grammy. I wanted to impress Y/N so badly that I sacrificed my friends and them.
Like an idiot.
Sighing, a headache sprung between my eyes again as I heard an ungodly, screeching metal sound. A door was opened somewhere.
"Yancy! Yancy, goddamn it, what cell're you in this time?" It was the Warden's voice.
I opened my eyes slowly and rubbed my forehead, lifting my head from the wall and stretching my legs off the bed.
"This one, Warden! Same cell youse put in the first time," I yelled out, hoping my voice would guide him through the empty cells.
Suddenly, his face, stern yet warm as always, appeared in front of the bars. He looked at me on my mattress and smiled smugly as if everything was as it had always been.
"Why the long face, son? It's Sunday!"
I glared at him from under my hand that was still resting on my sore forehead.
"Warden, when the hell youse gonna let me outta this dump and put me back with the others?" I asked sharply, not even pretending to play along with his positivity.
The warden checked his watch, raising his eyebrows. "You think you learned your lesson?"
I rolled my eyes and resting my hand back down on my lap. He knew my answer to that question and he knew it was a lie. I looked at my newest tattoo: "Y/N" across my right forearm. I cleared my throat and swallowed tears.
"You miss 'em, kid?" The warden spoke kindly, but it felt like lemon juice on a fresh paper cut. Sarcasm? I didn't look at him. "Because we have a new member in the family!" He smiled as I looked up, confused. "Well, not all that new, but it seemed that Y/N character heard about visitation days and forgot they were an escapee. Not quite bright of 'em, if you ask me."
My stomach dropped in the most confusing sense I'd ever experienced. I stood up briskly and took a step toward the bars.
"They's back?" My mouth was stuck agape as I waited for the wardens reply.
"I don't know about 'back,' son," he answered. "If they wanna skip out on Happy Trails, that's on their conscience. We heard it was more of that Mark guy's fault anyway..."
"So what, warden? Is they back or what?" Impatiently, I instinctively slammed myself against the bars and gripped them with white fists. He couldn't just dance around the answers like this, and if Y/N was really b-
"Let's just say you got yourself a visitor this Sunday."
