Chapter Forty-Five
Eight Weeks Later
There is only so much you can do without going insane here.
Crow opened up to me about his piece of shit uncle, so I told him I had a similar story in a way, murdering my wife’s abusive ex-husband.
He is the only one here who actually knows why I am here.
I’m just known as the pretty boy. But having Crow become my friend, I guess, has given me some street cred.
He is a psychopath. So I can see why people stay away from him, but to me, he’s just a guy.
How can you take anyone in this place seriously when you're dressed in bright pink tops and hideous white and yellow striped pants?
I understand the rules and why the uniforms were chosen, but I really fucking hate them.
The days creep by, impossible to keep track of. All I know is once a week, they come to collect me, and I get a fifteen-minute phone call with my wife. There isn’t much time to catch up with a week's worth of things. But all we can do is manage.
She tells me Charlie isn’t himself. He’s depressed, he doesn’t play much, and barely enjoys their walks.
They have kept a few T-shirts with my scent so he can at least still smell me.
I’ve been depressed, too, buddy. Daddy is sorry.
Unfortunately, my sleep paralysis has come back since coming here.
I fucking hate it. It drives everyone crazy.
They attempted to give me meds to regulate it, but it didn’t work.
After changing the dosage a few times, they ran out of options.
The days I can talk to Juni make them less drastic. She’s the only thing that keeps them away. Crow has thrown around the idea of pulling his connections and getting me a burner. At least I’d be able to talk to her more.
Big Mac is a little over two hours' drive away from Barnsdall, so we have been planning a weekend when she can make the drive and see me. I miss her, I miss Brenden, I miss working at the garage. Apparently, Brenden and Nate have had a falling out, something to do with Peyton. With them at each other's throats, they had to hire someone else for help. A female mechanic… Her name is Kelci, and she really pulls her weight around the shop. At first, I didn’t take a female mechanic seriously. But she’s proving us all wrong.
Since I’m not there to do paperwork and filing, Peyton has started helping with that.
How that’ll go, I have no fucking idea, I can’t do shit about it from in here.
My mom has only called a few times. She understands why I did it, why I had to do it.
But she’s still trying to come to terms with the fact that her only living son is a convicted murderer.
The guilt of that eats me alive. She doesn’t deserve this.
It’s hard not to get depressed here. Some days are harder than others.
They do provide a shrink, and I have talked once or twice when the days get too heavy and too dark.
On those days, I almost convinced myself I didn’t deserve Juni.
That she is more deserving of someone else, maybe if I were gone too, life could move on with everyone else, but the therapist has helped me ground myself.
I do deserve her, I deserve to live. But Reece fucking didn’t.
As the weeks grow longer, I wait for the guilt over Reece to come, but it hasn’t.
Reece deserved so much more than what he got.
I don’t understand how you could look at someone so small and fragile and feel good about hurting them.
I’ve hated myself for years for hurting her emotionally. I can’t fathom hurting her physically.
The intercom buzzes. “C - Unit, chow!”
The bed frame shifts and creaks with the weight of Crow coming down his ladder. “Come on, pretty boy. It’s nothing good, but you need to eat.”
Groaning, I unfold myself from the paper-thin mattress and stand up. We both walk to the door and wait for the correction officer to escort us to the Mess Hall.
Walking down the hall, we are ordered to stay to the right, shoulders against the wall, and keep on walking, no stopping.
A movement to the left catches my eye. An officer is escorting another prisoner. His face looks familiar, but I can’t place him. It might be the delirium starting to set in.
Grabbing a tray, we make our way through the food line. Tonight we are being served spaghetti with meat sauce, green beans, and stale white bread.
Eyes scanning the Mess Hall, I choose an empty table.
Placing down the tray, I take my seat. Looking down at my tray, my stomach turns.
The spaghetti noodles aren’t fully cooked, and the meat and sauce are a mix of red and gray colors.
The green beans are also dry, with nonexistent juice.
I’m not even going to attempt to eat the bread.
I’m pretty sure I can see mold starting to form.
The sound of someone setting their tray down makes me look up only with my eyes. Expecting it to be Crow, I'm shocked to see its Vice. Darious Velez is known as Vice to most of the C-unit. He isn’t someone you want to have accompanying you when you're defenseless.
“What can that mouth do, pretty boy?” He says, looking at me in question.
“I don’t think you actually want to find out, Vice. Better to keep it that way… yeah?”
“What a pretty boy like yourself looking the way you do, can’t tell me you don’t swing both ways, huh?”
“Sorry to disappoint.” My accent coming out thicker than normal with my frustration. I just want this mother fucker to leave me alone.
“Problem?” Crow asks as he sits down on the bench next to me. His lifeless eyes scanning Vice.
“No problem, Crow. Just conversation,” he says casually.
“Best to keep it that way, yeah?” Crow says with a warning.
“Whatever you say, Enfermo. Just keep your boy on his leash and out of my way.” Vice picks up his tray and leaves.
“You stick out like a sore thumb, you know that, right?”
“I’m well aware of that, Crow. I didn’t think I’d ever end up in prison for murder.” I say smugly.
“C-unit, rack it up!”
Standing, we walk and dump our trays and head in the direction of the front of the mess hall.
“Tonight is shower night. Once you're back to your cells, you will be dismissed by cell number.”
We all mindlessly walk back toward our cell. You can walk around on autopilot and get where you need to go.
Clean uniforms are folded at the foot of each bed. Sighing, I take a seat, and the thin mattress shrinks under my weight.
“Petrov, Harlow! showers.”
“I’ll sign the refusal,” Crow says from his spot on the top bunk.
“You only have one more refusal before you will be forced to shower Harlow!”
“You can try.”
“Alright, Petrov, get a move on.”
Unfolding myself, I stand up straight and look at Crow. “You're always so worried about me, but you don’t take care of yourself?”
“Being here for fifteen years does that to ya, kid.”
Shaking my head. I turn and step toward the correctional officer assigned to escort me.
We don’t speak on the short walk to the shower hall. This is probably the worst part for me. I’m asked to strip, they search, and then allow me to head into the stall, and they step into the hallway.
Stepping into the stall, I pause. A feeling of unease consumes me. I try to ignore it until I feel an unfamiliar presence.
“I guess you changed your mind, Cro-“ My words instantly cut off.
Pain erupts through me. Taking my breath as the heat starts spreading deep. And everything goes black.