Wednesday seemed to come around quicker since her little performance, and Malik's endless gossip train was driving me insane. So I slipped out when he wasn’t looking. It was early for my laundry shift, but I couldn’t continue listening to him concoct wild stories about other inmates. I just wanted to be on my own, replaying how Misfit just stood there.
I rounded the corner only to be jolted backwards as Misfit hurled into me, her breath hitched on impact as I reached forward, grabbing her shoulders to steady her from falling to the floor. A redness sat heavy in her eyes, ragged breaths leavingher when I released my grip. I wanted to know why she was crying, or if anyone had hurt her, but I didn't at the same time. I swallowed down the urge gnawing at me as my jaw worked in my restraint. I couldn’t just forget what she had done; she had retaliated against the one person who was watching her back. Leaving us stood in a strange standoff. But pathetically, I craved her presence at the same time.
My shoulders slumped as I let out a breath, remaining firm on my position in this situation. Looking aside, I ran a hand through my hair, hoping she was experiencing the same clawing sensation to break the quiet.
Unspoken words hit like a punch to the gut. So, I brushed past her, disconnecting myself from the space as it became too heavy to stand. And I hated myself for it.
I'd fallen deep within my own thoughts as I was hauling a basket to the back corner, near the busted dryer, when I heard the raised voices. Soon followed by a scuffle. Then a crash. My own curiosity pulling me toward it before I could think better. The other Inmates had scattered, the ones with sense anyway. But up near the mop sink, I saw two guys pinning someone against the wall as some fucking weasel stood behind them looking all too happy with himself. Shock hit me when I saw Misfit pinned.
I didn’t stop to think, just dropped the basket and ran. By the time I got to her, one of the guys had her by the collar, the other was laughing, reaching for her pocket as if he knew she had something stashed.
She struggled under his weight, the fat fucker pushing everything he had into keeping her in place. Her teeth clenched as if she’d rather die than ask for help. I shoved the bigger guy hard. He staggered, slamming into the shelves.
“Back off!” I snapped; the second guy swung at me.
I ducked it, caught him in the gut, and drove him against the cart. Misfit elbowed the one still holding her and slipped free. Guards stormed in seconds later. Standard chaos, shouting orders while our arms were pulled behind our backs. We all hit the floor, face down and breathless.
My eyes shifted over to Misfit as I struggled against the guards pinning me down, a touch of a smile on her face before they dragged me away.
Later, after they sorted out who started what, which they never got right, they let us off with a warning. Not enough witnesses. Not enough incentive to write the report. That night, I sat on my bunk, Malik chatting my ear off about his upcoming case review. He’d been here for a while before me and had a chance of getting out early due to good behaviour. The lights flickered off, plunging us into darkness. I heard a knock on the door, two soft taps. I propped myself up, looked towards the door, and just listened. Then I heard it: the scrape of something sliding under the door. I waited until I knew whoever it was was gone, slid off the bed to find it was one of the cigarettes Misfit had taken.
Wrapped in paper, four words written in pencil. “For what it’s worth,” I smirked, just held it in my hand and stared at the words. It didn’t fix everything, didn’t mean trust was back on the table. But it was something.
Brenner always made it sound like a choice:You don’t have to talk, but it might help.
As if opening up is some healing ritual, like bleeding in front of strangers makes you clean.
I sat in the metal chair, arms folded, foot tapping out a restless rhythm against the floor. The office walls decorated with endless framed certificates. Fucking show off.
The guy in front of me always wore a questionable sweater vest, pen permanently tucked behind his ear. The frame of his glasses were thick, and made his eyes look too big for his face. A name tag pinned to his chest read Dr Brenner, or as the guards called him,The Shrink.
I’d met men like him before, in social offices or during my countless trips to the hospital. Men who thought a clipboard could explain a kid like me, if you ticked the right boxes, that is.
I felt sorry for him, ending up in a place like this, trying to tease troubled thoughts out of the heads of broken kids.
“You seem closed off today, Tyler.” I leaned back further into the chair, rolling my eyes.
He paused for a moment, tilting his head to try and meet my gaze before trying again, “You’ve been here five months now, and I'm seeing a slight change in how our sessions used to go. Why is that?”
I shrugged, glancing towards his thoughtful expression. “And your sentence was extended due to fighting. Has something changed since our last session?”
My lips pressed together as I shook my head.
“And the girl?” he asked gently.
My eyes snapped to his, “What about her?” Deciding to play ignorant of his feeble attempt to get me to talk.
Pushing his glasses higher onto the bridge of his nose, he looked down at his scribbled handwriting. “Has something happened between you two that you wish to talk about?”
My eyes drift away from his as I let out a heavy breath.
“You stepped in when she was in trouble, didn’t you? Took the heat for it.”
I shrugged once again, muttering to myself, “Yeah, look where that got me.”
“You made the decision to intervene. Would you say she's important to you?”
My brows creased as I stared at a chip in the wall. He was beginning to push too deep, irritation building within me.
