“No.” I shake my head, hugging my knees tighter.
Lena’s in my bunk faster than I can blink, trapping my face in her palms. The furrow of her brows shows the full extent of her worry. “What happened?”
My mom’s going to die, and I’m not going to be there with her.
“I talked to Noely,” I rasp, willing back the new wave of tears threatening to break free.
I haven’t cried yet and don’t intend to. Not right now. If there’s one thing you need to remember about prison, it’s that, regardless of what the circumstances may be, showing vulnerability in any form is a no-go.
Don’t let them see you sweat.
Don’t let them see you break.
Point blank.
When I don’t continue willingly, Selena smooshes my face tighter, shaking me lightly while she’s at it. “What did she say, B? You’re scaring me.”
That makes two of us. “It’s my mom. They just found out she has stage-four colon cancer, and she’s refusing any sort of treatment because it’s so fucking expensive. Without it, they’re giving her less than a year.”
Lena’s expression flares in shock. It feels like an eternity passes as she regards me, unmoving, speechless, her stare flickering back and forth between my eyes. What she’s searching for, I don’t know, but the longer she looks at me, the harder it becomes to keep the tidal wave of emotions at bay.
“Oh my God, Benni.” She pulls me against her when my lip trembles, trapping me in her arms. “I don’t even know what to say. I’m so sorry.”
“There’s nothing to say, Lena. She’s gonna die, and I’ll still be in here.”
“Well, well, what’s going on in here?” Another voice rings out abruptly from the doorway.
It’s Mack.
Fuck.
♫ Play with Fire - Sam Tinnesz & Yacht Money
Benni didn’t look so hot when she got back from the phones. Pale and one-hundred percent zoned out in some zombie-like state, she headed straight for her cell without acknowledging anyone who tried to stop her along the way. I haven’t been here long, and even I know that’s not normal for her.
Something's up.
I wanted to go after her, to check on her and make sure she’s okay, but I can’t. Not unless there are obvious signs of illness or clear hints of suicide on the horizon.
Seeing Mack blocking the doorway has me feeling a certain type of way, though, the magazine in my hands crinkling from the force of my grip. This motherfucker literally got up from his desk and dipped out of the box to go over there when he buzzed Birks in from the phone hall. I didn’t notice it much the first few days, because, you know—Benni. But once I forced myself to focus on the job, I started seeing it.
Rodriguez was right.
Some days it’s more obvious than others, but Mack always has a reason to “apprehend” or “question” her about something.
Right now, it’s very obvious.
Why was that necessary? All she did was check-in and go to her cell. What could he possibly assume she’s doing in there that warrants such a reaction?
From my spot, I can see his shoulders bouncing through a laugh.
I wish I could hear what he’s saying to her.
“Bala,” Jordan’s voice rings out before the slam of the door. “I need to take my fifteen. Can you man the block?”
Don’t need to ask me twice.
I’m not really feeling his little roid-fueled attitude, but he couldn’t have chosen a better time to take one of his many breaks. That’s one thing I’ve learned about Jordan. He takes more breaks than the rest of us combined. It’s kind of ridiculous. Claims it’s ‘cause he needs to eat to keep his metabolism moving, but I wouldn’t put it past him to lock himself in one of the broom closets for a quick jerk.
To be honest, I don’t care what he’s doing. He can jerk it as much as he wants.
All I care about is getting out there and parking my ass right in Mack’s vicinity so I can listen in.
“Yeah, man, I got you.” Dropping the shitty magazine onto the table, I push out of my seat and stalk past him out the door as casually as possible.
The block’s pretty damn quiet, I’ll say that. There’s chatter and bouts of laughter, but nothing too extreme, making it easy to maneuver my way around without a single interruption. I’m not even that close, and I can already hear him threatening her with a shot.
“Are you serious right now? We were hugging!” Benni snaps at him.
My jaw tightens, teeth grinding at what she’s just voiced. Some prisons have a no-touch rule, meaning the inmates can’t even hug. It’s considered “sexual misconduct” and after three shots, you can get hit with a Free World Charge and have to register as a sexual offender, all for hugging a fellow inmate. The Annex doesn’t have this rule, but Warden Kent has implemented a rule for the officers to use as a rule of thumb. If it looks like sexual misconduct, it likely is. Otherwise, don’t dehumanize them.
He’s a good guy, honest to God.
These women may have made bad choices, some worse than others, but at the end of the day, they’re still human.
“That was a little too touchy-feely, Villanueva,” he counters, this sick swirl of amusement dripping off his tone.
I don’t get it; I really don’t. What does he benefit from treating her like this? And not just her. Any of them. Our job can be taxing enough as it is. Why would you want to tack on the stress of provoking, and essentially, harassing, an inmate?
Because he wants her, and he can’t have her, my subconscious reminds me.
The thought straightens my spine as I take my spot at the head of all the benches, about twenty feet away from Benni’s cell. That is
