Abel
I’d never been placed in cuffs before today. Something I was more than proud of, given the life I’d been living on the streets. Old friends of mine had done way worse for less than their survival. Meanwhile I kept my ass out of the worst kinds of trouble in search of a hot meal.
It wasn’t that I never did anything worthy of cuffs—certainly when I was fresh out of high school and selling to support myself. I never moved crazy amounts, only sticking to the barrios and crackheads I knew, remaining level-headed when checked by wannabe thugs.
And after I stopped, I was too street smart, too quick, too slick to get caught when it was time to steal dinner or snag a pair of shoes because the ones I owned looked like they could talk when I walked.
But all that shit went to hell when they cuffed me—chains and all, like I was some kind of fucking criminal—and placed me in the back of this van. After all, it wasn’t like anyone could vouch for me. Any kin of mine was either dead or didn’t give a fuck about me.
Imagine calling my dad and he yells that I’m not his kid and to lose his number. Fucking pendejo.
I’d guess the ride was about an hour from the last place to here, and when they finally open the van doors, my eyes squint at all the green. So many damn trees and nothing else for miles.
Smart.
Someone in a shit green shirt walks up, pens lined in his breast pocket, a look of eagerness in his eyes as he approaches. It gives me the heebie jeebies.
Fucking weirdo.
And they lock me up?
“For God’s sake, remove the cuffs.” He gestures and watches as my escorts unlock them and part of me wants to shake this sicko’s hand. “He isn’t a criminal.”
Not today, anyway.
He runs his own hand over his brown hair, like he’s nervous or something. That same hand claps over my shoulder, not hard, but enough for me to look at it and then back up at him.
“I’m Dr. Brown. Welcome to Silverwing.”
I don’t plan on speaking. I need to play my cards right if I want to get out of this place as soon as fucking possible. So I nod and let him lead me inside. The escorts follow us in, one in front of me, one behind me, blocking my view of any codes being entered and keeping me far enough away from Dr. Brown should I decide to fucking kill him, I guess. I want to tell everyone that I don’t plan on doing anything that’ll keep me locked up in here even longer but I doubt they’d give a shit.
This likely isn’t the type of place you let your guard down in.
We walk through the facility and he talks and talks before I’m handed clothes to change into. From one pair of shitty feeling clothes, to another. These are blue and rougher on my skin, though. Not surprising, seeing as this place seems to be a step down from where I was.
Fuck .
I pull my pants up over my tighty whities and the escorts are on me before the waistband is settled on my hips, patting me down before nodding and stepping out of the room.
And I guess the transaction is complete because now it’s just me and Dr. Brown.
This fucking guy is going on and on and I’m trying hard to not tell him to get the fuck away from me. I’ve had it with strangers touching me and leading me places, knowing I have no choice but to oblige. But I don’t because at least I don’t have cuffs on anymore.
Fó. His shirt is the color of baby shit, but I try not to hold that against him. It’d be easier if he just stopped talking and left me alone.
It’s cold here and the hallways smell like vomit. The look on the nurses’ faces tell me I’ve just walked into a real shit show. Mami would’ve called this place hell but I could always be in prison with a shank between my ribs and a dick in my mouth. Not that the last two things have happened but there’s always the fucking possibility.
I’ve heard horror stories from my boys about being stabbed and bleeding out while some dude rips into your asshole. I can’t think of a worse way to die.
I shudder at the thought and glance at the doctor to see if he noticed but he’s so invested in his welcome speech that he doesn’t miss a beat. Then again, he’s probably seen some really weird shit, considering his line of work.
He leads me into the rec room and I expect it to look like it does on TV. Like a bunch of old people and a lady with a baby doll that she swears up and down is real. But it isn’t like that.
It’s worse.
Almost everyone looks brain dead and there’s only one TV, the volume low and the image unclear. Other than a few ratty game boards, these people have no other way of entertaining themselves.
I look over every face, trying not to let the blank stares get to me as my eyes skate over every single ghost here.
Think of the shank and the dick and the cuffs, . Well, not dick . Don’t think of that, ever.
Unless it’s yours in a hot chick. That’s acceptable.
Everyone’s sitting except one person.
She’s walking around the perimeter of the room and though she’s just hit the opposite corner, I still feel her stare like a hot fucking poker.
She sticks out like she doesn’t belong here. Her hair is too blonde, her eyes too mischievous, her lips too pretty and pink. She’s fucking gorgeous.
And she’s more alive than anyone I’ve seen in a long time.
I’ve seen women that made me double take. Women I’d give my left nut to fuck. She’s beautiful but when she looks away, I notice the way her clothes hang off her body and the marks that track her arms. Her movements are jerky, and I bet she has no idea.
Like she’s had to protect herself for a really long time.
The thought makes me rub the back of my neck.
She probably has no idea that I’m watching her like I’m getting fucking paid to.
I think about a time when I allowed myself to believe that one day I’d get the hell away from my devout Christian mother, who drank more wine that Jesus could turn from fucking water. When she wasn’t in a stupor, she’d tell me how she prayed to God while she was pregnant with me that I would end up with a nice girl, and that the nice girl would be my soulmate and take me away from what little I was born into.
I think she thought my sorry excuse for a father was supposed to do that for her. Even though she was a poor girl from around the way and he was the pastor’s son at the largest iglesia in the city, and even though she was so hungry for love, she didn’t force him to marry her before letting him fuck her in the back of his car, she thought he was the one. But he wasn’t and I ended up becoming the one thing she blamed for him not sticking around.
Anger made her rancid and hard to live with. She died with a bottle in her hand and that glassy look of shit hope in her eyes.
Eyes unlike the ones I’m looking at, now that she’s staring at me again. So bright and invading; they cement my feet to the ground and I’m momentarily fucking paralyzed.
I look away first because Dr. Brown is saying my name and beckoning me over.
His eyes track where I was staring and gives me a quick nod.
“Be careful with that one,” he begins, holding his arm out as if to save me from tumbling into shitty ideas. “She’s one of our more violent patients.”
My eyes flicker to her once more at his words. She has her back to us and she’s still walking. I can just make out the soft curve of her jaw when she tucks her hair behind her ear. When I look back at Dr. Brown, his eyes are on her too. He isn’t looking at her the way I am, though. Not the way a man looks at a woman, thank fuck.
But I still don’t like the look in his eyes.
He looks at her like she’s a lost cause, with a shake of his head and a quick dismissal.
No one should be looked at like that.
I’ve been on the receiving end of one of those looks and it leaves you feeling worthless and unable to do anything about it. It gives your hope the kiss of death.
“So, our first session will be tomorrow, around eleven. I’ve got a meeting to get to, but the staff will take very good care of you.”
I fucking bet.
He’s walking away before I can say anything, and I grab one of the plastic chairs at the nearest table and sink into it. The woman a few chairs away doesn’t acknowledge me at all. No one does, not really. Time ticks on and my leg shakes with impatience. I can’t hear the TV from here, but I can’t get a good look at what’s on anyway. This has to be what makes people go crazy, having to sit here and do nothing. And this is my life now.