Ryder
“Fresh pussy alert,” Lopez hisses under his breath as we stand with our hands behind our backs, heads bowed, facing the whitewashed wall. It’s the same drill every morning before school. I keep my eyes trained on the wall, ignoring the douche’s bait. Wright and Kelly don’t have the same smarts though. Idiots jerk their head around, instantly garnering the attention of Watson, the correctional officer on duty today. He’s my least favorite of the bunch. Dude hates me with a passion unrivaled, and he never misses an opportunity to tell me.
And it’s not because he knows about my past. As far as he’s concerned, I’m Ryder Stone, and I’m guilty of the crimes recorded on the fake file that accompanied me when I arrived at the Orange County Juvenile Hall. If he knew my real identity, he’d probably kill me with his bare hands.
My records are officially sealed for a reason.
To protect me from retaliation.
And to close a door on one of the most shocking crimes the world has ever known.
Lots of people have a vested interest in forgetting what happened in the abandoned airfield that day.
I wish I could so easily wash my hands of it, but it stays with me constantly, lingering on my skin like a nasty rash that refuses to go away, worming its way into my consciousness like a terminal infection I’ll never shake.
Not until it’s claimed me.
Devoured me from the inside, destroying all evidence of the person I used to think I was.
Some days, I silently beg to forget. Pleading with a deity I no longer believe in, begging an imaginary God to take the pain away. Other days, I wish for a lobotomy or for someone to scrub my brain out with bleach so I don’t remember.
But most days, I hope Ineverforget.
Because I deserve to live with this pain.
I allowed it to happen, and it’s only right I should be punished every day for the rest of my life.
My stomach sours, and I squeeze my eyes shut as the memories, predictably, return to haunt me. His face flashes behind my retinas, and a painful lump wedges in my throat.
Watson barks at my fellow inmates, and it helps to drag me from the torturous slideshow playing in my mind. I forcibly toss those thoughts aside, tuning Watson out as he rips Wright and Kelly a new one for daring to look at the new girl being escorted inside.
While they have separate boys and girls units in the facility, female offenders convicted of more serious, violent crimes are housed with us in what is deemed to be a coed unit. Crazy stupid idea if you ask me. Although we don’t sleep in the same pod as the four other girls presently locked up with us, we interact with them as normal during the day. They attend school with us, eat meals with us, and share the coed common areas with us.
Recipe for disaster.
Lopez is already banging Valeria, a hard-ass Latino girl, in here for gang-related crimes, so he has no business eyeing up the new girl, but that won’t stop him. He thinks his shit doesn’t stink and that he can do anything and get away with it. But he’s a fucking asshole with a superiority complex and a brain the size of a peanut. He’ll get what’s coming to him. I’ve been locked up long enough to know there isn’t much you can do without someone around here eventually finding out.
Watson, expectedly, pulls Wright and Kelly out of the line when his colleague Price appears, and we shuffle forward in single file behind the other officer while the guys are taken back inside to receive their punishment. That’s probably earned them a couple hours in solitary. Not that those idiots will mind. Most of the guys in here put zero to no effort into their schoolwork. They don’t give a fuck about getting their GED or educating themselves, but I do.
Having some kind of purpose and an expected daily routine is the only way I keep sane. The only way I avoid the drugs, sex, and fights that are far too commonplace in here.
Squinting up at the scorching hot sun as we walk toward the school wing, I relish the warmth beating down on my skin. Apart from the hour a day we are permitted outside for physical activity, traveling to and from the school building is the only other chance I get to feel the air on my face. For me, having spent a significant portion of my earlier life freely wandering around outside, that’s one of the hardest things about being incarcerated. But I try not to complain.
At least I’m still alive.
I shut my train of thought down before it derails me again. It’s bad enough that my nights are plagued with vicious memories and flashbacks. During the day, I try to focus on getting through my routine without thinking about that day. Without thinking abouthim.
Morning classes fly by, and I’m ravenous as we’re led in single file to the cafeteria for lunch. “Fucking tuna cakes again,” Young grumbles as we line up to be served.
“You say this every fucking week,” I reply, shaking my head. “You know the routine by now.” I hate the shitty food as much as he does, but there’s a certain comfort in familiarity.
“Would it fucking kill them to mix it up a little? I’ll be having nightmares about tuna cakes for years after I get out of this hellhole.”
“If that’s all you’re having nightmares about, you’re good, trust me.” I give the server a tight smile as she slaps two tuna cakes, a dollop of gray mashed potatoes, spoonful of carrots, and a serving of limp salad and dressing on a plate and hands it to me. I nod my thanks as I grab an apple and carton of milk from the next station before heading over to our table.
Lopez is already mouthing off about the new girl as I sit down. His voice seriously hurts my brain, but I put up with his shit because it’s always better to keep the nutjobs close. Let him think I respect him if it keeps me on the right side. I’ve kept my nose relatively clean in here, and now that I’m on the home stretch, I intend to keep it that way.
Young is still complaining as he flops into the seat beside me, and my lips twitch, fighting a smile.
