Lifting my chin high, I puffed out my chest. Fuck Giani. Fuck Rich. Fuck everyone who was ever against me and Booda. It would always and forever be us against the world.
But Tink—he had done nothing to me. Hurting him was something I knew I’d regret forever.
***
The holdover smelled like bleach, pussy, sweat, mildew, and stale cigarettes, each scent fighting for dominance inside the room.
Women covered nearly every bench inside the tank. Some slept sitting up against the walls while others argued, cried, paced the floor, or stared off into space as if they’d mentally checked out. At least fifty of us were packed in here shoulder to shoulder beneath freezing air vents and flickering fluorescent lights.
Nobody paid me much attention. Everybody in there looked exhausted in the same defeated way.
I sat near the back with my arms wrapped around myself, trying to stop my teeth from chattering. The concrete beneath my bare feet felt like ice, and my toes were getting numb.
Somebody nearby snored loudly. Another woman paced in circles while talking to herself. Two chicks were bruised and bloody, glaring at one another from across the room. I assumed they’d fought.
Every few seconds, noise erupted from somewhere on the men’s side. They were so loud their voices carried through the walls and bars separating the tanks.
My eyes kept drifting toward the gate. Toward the men’s holdover.
Still no Booda.
Maybe they had him in another tank. Was he in interrogation? Maybe he’d gotten away before they made it inside.
That last thought was the only thing keeping me halfway together.
Hours had probably passed by now, but time felt strange in there. Every minute dragged across my skin like wet clothes.
I pushed myself up from the bench, my body aching from the raid as I made my way toward the phones mounted along the wall. The receiver felt sticky against my ear when I picked it up.
For a second, I just stared at the numbers. Who the fuck was I supposed to call? My mother was dead. I had no family. No real friends either. I didn’t even know Ms. Mary’s number by heart. Not one digit.
I closed my eyes.
Damn.
That was when it truly hit me. If I didn’t have Booda, I would be completely alone in this world. There wasn’t a single person waiting for my phone call. Nobody was coming to bail me out, stand beside me in court, or tell anyone I was still worth saving.
It was just me.
The realization hollowed me out so fast it made my chest ache. All this time, I had been so focused on surviving that I never stopped to think about how small my world had become. People disappeared one by one until somehow everything in my life started and ended with Booda.
Standing in that freezing holdover with a dead phone pressed against my ear, there wasn’t a single person on this earth whose number I knew by memory besides his mother’s, and she was gone.
Around me, women were talking, laughing, crying, and arguing with officers. The noise never stopped, but I was still alone.
I slowly lowered the receiver back into place.
“Konika Holiday.”
I heard my name called, and my head snapped up.
An officer stood outside the tank, staring directly at me. “Come on,” she ordered, and conversations around me quieted as women looked up from their benches and corners to watch.
I swallowed hard and walked toward the gate. Another officer stepped forward with cuffs already dangling from one hand. The metal door buzzed loudly before swinging open, and I was ordered to turn around.
I did.
Cuffs snapped around my wrists again, then they led me out of the holdover and down a long gray hallway. Doors slammed somewhere in the distance. A man yelled from another tank while officers laughed nearby because none of this meant shit to them at all.
