Chapter 1
Riot St. James
“Grab her feet. Somebody grab her fuckin feet!” this big bitch ordered out to the four women that were inside my jail cell.
One already had my hands, holding them together, keeping them over my head. I was kicking my legs, using all the strength that I had in my body, so that I could get away from these bitches, but it was damn near impossible. There was a dirty sock that was plunged into my mouth, stopping me from screaming at these bitches, telling them to let me go.
I was small, but it took two women that were both twice my size to come over, and each of them grabbed at my ankles, keeping me still, so that I couldn’t move. I was still trying to fight myself out of the hold that they had me in, but all I was doing was taking away energy from my body that I barely even had. Two bitches sat at the foot of the bed, with my legs tied down, while another one sat at the head, keeping my hands tied together.
There was another one that was standing, with a phone in her hands, recording this, and one more standing at the cellbars, just being patrol, making sure that one of the guards didn’t come in.
The only woman that was left standing over me was the head bitch. She had this menacing look in her eyes, as if she was ready to kill me right here on the spot.
She swung her fist, punching me so hard that I immediately tasted the blood in my mouth. The punch hurt like a motha fucka, but I would be damned if I laid back and cried out like a bitch in front of these women.
“That’s your problem now! You think you so fuckin hard!” she spat.
You could tell that she was angry that I didn’t give her the reaction that she wanted. She wanted me to break down in tears, and since I didn’t, it sent her into a rage, having her come closer to the bed. This girl had to have been almost three hundred pounds. She picked up her knee, and she pressed it right into my ribs, digging it inside, feeling as if she was rearranging my insides. All that tough shit went out the window as she continued to press, and then she began to use my face as her personal punching bag. I’m talking she was delivering two pieces to my face every second.
“Get off me! Move! Get off me! Get off meeeee!” I was screaming, and my voice started cracking, reliving some of the shit that I had to go through while I was locked up.
“Riot! Riot! Wake the fuck up, girl! What you got going on?” the sound of Dolo’s voice snapped me out of the fucked-up nightmare that I was having.
Even though his voice held a lot of aggression to it, I felt at peace hearing it. It calmed me down, reminding me that it was just a fucked up nightmare that I was having again, and that I wasn’t reliving jail all over again.
A tear fell from my eye, but I quickly picked my hand up, so that I could wipe it away. The fact that that nightmare had theability to make me shed a tear, proved to me that it had taken me to a dark place. That dark place felt so real. Even in my sleep, I could feel the pain from the punches. I could feel the ache in my ribs from her digging her knee in it.
I was shaken up terribly, so I slowly sat up in bed, pulled the blanket from around my body, and I scooted back, so that my back could rest against the headboard. I crossed my legs Indian style, folded my hands and for a few seconds, I just sat here rocking.
I could feel myself getting angry. I was one of those people that would hard down shed tears when I got angry. I could feel the water forming in my eyes and never being the type to want to shed tears in front of people, I dropped my head, as if I was ashamed.
“I dozed off in the living room, and I heard you screaming. I thought somebody had broke into this bitch and got to you. What’s up? What you got going on? What kind of nightmare were you having?” he asked, taking a seat down on the side of me.
You could see the worry in his eyes behind the glasses. He put his tatted up left hand on my leg, as he waited for some kind of answer from me.
“I’m okay. I have fucked up nightmares about jail sometimes,” I kept it short, not really wanting to go into detail with him about it.
“Fucked up nightmares like what? I heard you screaming for somebody to get off you. Tell me. That shit got you crying angry tears Riot, and you shaking. What happened?” you could hear it in his voice that he genuinely wanted to know, but I didn’t want to talk about it. I endured a lot of shit behind those walls that I would probably never tell anyone about.
I was aware of the change that happened with me after I came home from jail. I heard it from my mom, my aunties,my cousins, and my best friend. They all told me that I came home and was a totally different person. I’m trying to run away from shit that happened behind those walls, but I was failing miserably because that shit comes back, and it haunts me just about every other night. Reasons like this, knowing I was going to have a fucked up nightmare when I fell asleep is the sole reason why I would often stay up, and try not to rest.
Most people were able to get rid of their problems temporarily whenever they closed their eyes for rest, but not me. I have to face my problems head on whenever I close my eyes.
“It’s nothing. Just nightmares about being locked up. I don’t really want to talk about it,” I responded, moving his hand off my leg, so that I could attempt to stand up, but he scooted closer to me, blocking my path, not going to let me get up.
See, my family knew not to push with me because when you pushed me, you would literally run me away. This same thing just happened with my mom awhile back, when I fell asleep on her couch, and I had a fucked up nightmare . She tried to get me to open up to her about it, but I wouldn’t. She dropped it, even though I knew it’s not what she wanted to do. Dolo wasn’t going to drop it. I could see it in his eyes that he was going to push.
“But I want to talk about it though. I booked a massage for you. The lady supposed to come to the room in less than an hour. I’ll drag this shit out, and make you sit here, and tell me what your nightmare was about until she gets here. Make this shit easier for yourself, Riot. It’ll take five minutes for you to sit here, and tell me,” he probed, eyes glued on me with a seriousness that rested there, making it clear that he wasn’t going to drop it.
I lifted my hand, so that I could scratch my head, and I released a sigh. The sigh was heavy and deep.
“I had a nightmare that I was back in my cell with four bitches. Three of them had me tied down, while one of them was beating on me,” I said it quick, but I made sure that I wasloud enough for him to hear me because I didn’t want to have to repeat myself.
It took a lot for me to be vulnerable and share things like this with people. I walked around, and I always felt the need to let everyone around me know that I was tough, so I feared that people would laugh at me whenever I showed just an inch of softness, and that’s why I rarely did it. Dolo didn’t laugh at me though. If anything, the hardcore look that he had been sporting dropped a little bit. He looked concerned, as he reached his hand up, and he put it back on my thigh.
“That’s just nightmares or were you really dealing with that shit while you were on the inside?” he wanted to know.
“I was dealing with it. The same way the nightmares come, that’s the same shit that I was dealing with on the inside. That’s why it shakes me up the way that it does because it feels as if it’s happening all over again. In those nightmares, I still feel those hits,” I let him know, and he nodded his head.
