I'm working on a new story and am studying for an upcoming exam, hence why this update is sooo late. Also, this chapter was a little difficult to write because I don't know how life is like in prison, but I hope you enjoy!
***
I raise my eyebrows as I look through the other side of the screen. "I did not expect to see you here."
Nicholas Grey looks at me for a long time but does not say a word.
I glance at the other visitation booths to my right, and then to my left. Nearly a third of them are occupied by orange-jumpsuit clad women sitting on the uncomfortable metal stools. Their family and friends are on the other side, Nick's side, expressing more emotion than my parents and older sister have.
They visited me once. They said they won't let me ruin our family name.
Of course. It's not the best idea for a rich, elite family to have a daughter behind bars for being a crackhead.
I look back at Nick and hold his steady gaze. "If only my boyfriend was sitting here instead. My colleagues gush over their partners and don't believe me when I say mine is such a hunk."
Nick says, "So you know he...is out." He glances at a security guard standing two feet away from him.
I haven't heard that voice in a while. I can't say I miss it, though.
"You get to know a lot about the outside world once you are friends with a guard," I say.
"Why did you do it?"
I play dumb. "What?"
"You snitched on us."
"More like I saved Kayla's ass with the nine-one-one call. You were pretty useless after you knocked Blake out." I smile before I say, "You were pretty scared for her, huh?"
"Answer my question."
"Woah, buddy, aren't I supposed to get a 'thank you' for saving the day?" He does not seem amused. "I made the call for Blake, not her. You stabbed him, remember?" I drop my smile. "I remember the moment you drove that knife into him without hesitation. Every. Single. Day. And the incompetent law force let you go."
"I claimed it was for self defense." A corner of his mouth raises in a smirk.
"Self defense, my ass."
He mocks me with a grin. "If only Boss had not ratted you out. Or should I say Jay."
"So he has a name after all. Huh."
"He has freedom, too."
Once the words register in my head, I slightly widen my eyes in shock, but only for a split second. I should not be surprised that Boss - Jay - is capable of evading a medium security prison Although how he did it, who knows. "Did you help him?"
Nick shakes his head. "I helped Blake." He drops his voice as he practically whispers into the phone, "And I will help you, too. Just wait two more days."
I glance at the guards positioned around the room. "How will you get past through them?"
"Don't worry about it."
"Does Blake still have nightmares? About Brian?"
Nick finally averts his eyes from mine. "Of course."
My heart sinks a bit. He is still suffering from his brother's loss. "Has he seen his family yet?"
Nick shakes his head. "He's ashamed after they visited him in prison."
"Such a softie, that guy."
"How about you?" Nick asks. "Is your family going to pay for some notable attorney to get you out?"
I laugh mirthlessly. "They practically disowned me. They said something about tainting the family name or some crap." Nicholas frowns in response, the most amount of sympathy he'll ever express for me. "How is Kayla doing?"
He tenses a bit. "Better."
"I wouldn't think so as Jay is most likely stalking her as we speak."
"So you know about him getting out too."
"Of course."
Silence ensues.
"If you have something else you want to say, you better hurry up because I have a few minutes left with you," I remind Nick.
"Do you ever think about betraying Jay?" His face remains emotionless.
My lips curve up in a smile. "Constantly."
He sighs, probably in relief. "Good. See you in two days." He returns the phone back to its holder. He rises, gives me one last look, probably amused at the sight of me in this horrid jumpsuit, and saunters away.
***
Ninety-seven tally marks. Each representing a day I've been rotting in this cell.
It's surprising I have lasted this long, considering that the days go by awfully slowly. I feel like there should be more than ninety-seven tally marks on the wall.
The wall across from mine has at least ten times as many tally marks as I do. My cellmate, Bexley, has been here for nearly three years of her life . She's twenty-one, so she started serving her sentence when she was my age.
Bexley is not someone who I expect to be in prison. She's very kind and reserved.
So I was surprised when she finally told me, about a month after I've arrived to this facility, that she attempted to murder her boyfriend.
"I could no longer endure the abuse," she had said. "We were arguing in the kitchen, and I..." she had lifted up her right hand, which was shaking slightly, "I just took a knife and stabbed him. I saw him trying to reach for a rolling pin. He was going to beat me with it."
"Do you regret it?" I had asked.
Bexley shrugged. "I don't know. I thought I loved him but it was just too much. He never showed that aggressive side of himself until a few weeks before... before I almost killed him."
I reflected on her answer quite a bit. Blake and I have gotten into fights, like every couple does, but neither him nor I had the urge to beat the other. I couldn't fathom Blake hurting me. I told Bexley two words that I never thought I would say: "I'm sorry."
She just looked at me before she gave me a tight smile.
I now look at Bexley who is seated across from me. Although we couldn't possibly get a table to ourselves, I made sure we were situated away from some inmates who seem to be already preoccupied with their conversation. Thank god the lunchroom is loud. It's the best place to have a private conversation, as there is no chance of someone eavesdropping, especially the guards.
"Bex." She raises her eyes from the mashed potatoes on her plate.
"What?"
I don't even bother lowering my voice as I say, "How many more years do you have on your sentence?"
"I already told you. Five left." She looks at me with a curious expression.
"How about cutting that down to two days?"
She raises her eyebrows. As realization dawns upon her face, she shakes her head. "You're crazy, Steph."
I smile. "I know. Someone is going to come by in a couple of days to get me out. It won't be too bad if you accompany me."
"No."
"No?" I repeat.
Bexley sets her spoon down on her tray. She glances around the lunchroom, at the guards and at the other women who are paying zero attention to us. She also peers up at a camera angled towards our table. "No. It's not like how it is in the movies. We'll get caught and they'll give us an even longer sentence, possibly without parole."
"You seem to know your stuff."
"I would be going to law school in a year if my life weren't so screwed up." She leans forward, looking at me softly. "I know you're still young-"
"We're only three years apart."
"-but you don't quite realize that what you want to do is stupid. Look," she grabs my hand and holds it gently, "it's not so bad here. And it's better than playing hide and seek with experienced law force. You're going to regret even considering this."
"I've been here for only three months and I know that this place is far from where I want to be. What's stupid is that you're here for an act of self-defense while I'm here for something my parents could have easily covered up but refused to. I don't feel guilty for what I've done, but I know you do. The abusive bastard is the one who is supposed to be in your place right now."
"But he's not," she says firmly. "No matter what you plan to do, please," she begs, "don't fool yourself into thinking that you won't get caught. I worry for you, Stephanie."
I yank my hand out of her grasp. "Fine. I offered you escape but you refuse, so go ahead and waste the next five years of your life here. And if you want to be a snitch, I give you my blessing. It's not like they will believe a murderer over a drug dealer, would they?"
Although Bexley truly isn't a murderer, and even if she unintentionally could have been one, hurt still flashes across her eyes. Despite the twinge of sympathy and guilty I feel deep inside my gut, I smile smugly in response.