by Dee Garcia
Me especially.
I’m nothing to him.
“So did you hear about Kovitz?” Mari asks quietly, pulling me out of my head.
My vision refocuses on the pile of uniforms in front of me, then on her form beside me. She’s much closer than she was minutes ago, her dark stare scanning the doorway to make sure Birks isn’t listening in.
Folding the uniform top in my hands in half, I flick my gaze that way as well. “What about her? She’s out of medical, right?”
“Yup got out on Friday. She’s already making moves, though…”
It’s not so much the statement itself that gets me, but more how she says it. “What exactly does ‘making moves’ cover? She has to make moves if she wants her shit to keep moving through here smoothly and undetected.”
Mari hums, but it’s not in complete agreement, placing another pair of pants with its matching top and specifically numbered bag. “Word through the grapevine is her moves are what she’s making moves on. After what happened last week, she’s trying to change things up.”
Freezing in place, I mentally repeat what she’s just said and allow myself to absorb it. Nah...there’s no way. Koko can’t be that stupid. “Explain. How do you know this?”
“Quinn. I guess Koko’s mom sent her some money, and she was able to get a beauty day penciled in over the weekend. I’m also guessing she didn’t know Quinn was in beauty that day ‘cause she spilled the beans to Jahna without any reservations.”
Interesting. Jahna’s D Block, but she’s cool people—a lifer with mad hair skills. She gets on with pretty much everyone. “And what exactly is she planning to do?”
“One of the CO’s in D Block is dirty as fuck. Ryker’s his last name, I think. Anyway, Franca’s been fucking him for months already. Her pussy must be gold ‘cause, apparently, he volunteered to help their efforts.”
Oh yeah, I’ve heard of Ryker. He’s fucked lots of the girls here. Some by choice, others not so much… How he still has a job, I’m not too sure. Given how Franca’s mind works, it doesn’t surprise me her crazy ass is giving him access to her pussy.
What I am surprised about is that—as it would turn out—Koko is that stupid.
I already know the answer to my next question, but I put it out there for Mari to confirm. “I’m assuming this new mule means she’s breaking off with another partner, correct?”
Mari nods and reaches for another garment. “Bingo.”
I almost shake my head. Damn shame, this is what it’s come to.
All right, Kovitz. I got you.
“Ladies,” Birks's voice booms into the laundry room, halting us all in place. “Start wrapping up. You’ve got five minutes until pick-up.”
When his big-ass frame returns to the hallway, and the rest of the girls start scrambling about to finish up the loads, I turn back to Mari. “I’m not gonna say a word to her about it.”
Her dark browns widen. “You’re not?”
“Nope.” I grin. “Not now, anyway. Let her think everything is gravy, that I’m just letting her do her thing. She and I will chat when it’s finally time to collect.”
Mari doesn’t like that answer, expression fraying with worry. “B, don’t be doing anything stupid. It’s not worth it. I only told you ‘cause—”
“I got this. I’m not gonna fuck her whole shit up. She just needs a reminder of how things work around here. She wants to link up with Franca? By all means, go for it, but she’s gonna keep giving me my cut if she’s gonna bring that shit in here and sell to our girls.”
That answer doesn’t sit well with her either, lips thinning disapprovingly, but she doesn’t push her opinion. I suspect it’s ‘cause we don’t have time. I’m sure I’ll hear about it later, though. Mari’s not old enough to be my mom, but she worries and loves like a mom. She has a big heart, and if you’re part of her clique, she only wants the best for you. Knowing how hard I’ve been working on getting my early release, she’s undoubtedly going to give me an entire list of reasons—probably scribbled on a piece of notebook paper—as to why I should just let Koko do her thing and turn the other cheek. I can see her passionate ass already, my lips twitching at the thought.
Let’s just say dinner is going to be interesting.
Five minutes later, we got all the laundry sorted in their individual bags and onto the cart for redistribution. CO Rodriguez took Diana and Kati to do just that, leaving the rest of us with Walker...and him.
Andrés.
When I saw him coming to pick us up, knowing he would end up right behind me, my heart literally stopped and not in a good way.
I wasn’t kidding when I said he’s barely spared me a look in the last six days. He will, if it’s in relation to the job, but other than that?
Nothing.
It’s like he flipped the switch from one day to the next like I don’t exist, and I don’t understand why. Truthfully, I haven’t really tried to pick it apart and understand it. Yeah, the change is drastic from his first two days here, but it was only that. Two days. Forty-eight measly hours.
So why am I tripping about it?
The high, my subconscious whispers, which like always, isn’t wrong. The rush he gave me multiple times in those two days. God… I haven’t felt so alive in such a long time. I’ve been dying within these walls, suffocating, wasting away day by day because I made stupid choices fueled by greed and musings of the heart. The world around me had lost its lustrous color, all its vibrant hues drained in entirety until only shades of gray, black, and white existed.
But in came Andrés, splattering different colors on the dark monochrome canvas that is my life with a single look. And that dimpled smile? He smiled at me, and all I could think was holy shit. The man sparked a flame I’m sure he didn’t mean to spark, and I think what gets me most is, I know he felt it too.
Is that why? Does it feel as overwhelming for him as it did for me? Unless it’s the kite? Was that a step too far?
Probably.
That has to be it. Looks, smiles, and stolen whispers can’t be proved…a paper trail can.
I’m so deep in my analysis, trying to connect the dots and give myself some sort of an answer, that the sound of his throat clearing behind me almost sends me through the roof. I’d forgotten he was there. Hand slamming down against my racing heart, I force myself to breathe and keep on as normal...until I hear it again, closer than before.
He’s not dangerously close, but the heat radiating off his person still manages to envelop me, prickling the hairs at the nape of my neck.
“Put your hand out,” Andrés whispers, the simple command widening my eyes.
For one, he’s talking to me? And two, my hand? Why does he want my—
Fuck it, I’m too curious to try and make sense of it right now.
Doing as he’s asked, I reach back with the hand closest to the gray wall and find a small note placed in my palm, not two seconds later. It’s not balled up like the one I gave him. No, it’s folded into a perfect triangle like the notes I used to pass with my friends in high school. His warm fingers seal over mine, closing them into a fist to trap the kite inside, shooting a gasp free from my throat at the unexpected contact.
“Hide it. Hurry,” he demands, voice hushed yet still commanding enough to get me moving.
Nodding, I wait until we round the corner to the B Block hallway and leave the cameras behind us before I slide my hand into my uniform top, and tuck the note into my bra. This is probably the one and only time I’ll ever be grateful for these abuelita bras. The cups are so big—legit covers your entire tit—you can shove anything in there, and it’ll hold.
And it does, holds right through the rest of our walk and our check-in with Jordan inside the block, all the way to my cell. I try not to make it too obvious and rush in here—stopping to greet some of the girls along the way—but the damn thing is burning a hole through my shirt.
Not to mention, my head is spinning.
Almost a week of silenc
e and then BOOM, he hits me out of nowhere with this. Not a look or another one of those smiles, but an actual physical reply.
The whiplash is real.
I’m relieved to see Lena’s not here yet, deflating like a balloon as I dive into my bunk for two minutes of privacy. She’s been wondering about Andres, too, because of course, she noticed the change as well. If she saw me unwrapping a note from him, she’d have a fucking field day.
Pulling the kite free, I stare at it for several moments. It’s folded so evenly, meticulously, so tight that if it were to fall on the ground, it’d remain sealed. What is in this note?
With shaky hands and my heart lodged in my throat, I go for it, unfolding it carefully so as not to rip it. The message is written dead-center on a sheet of notebook paper.
I wasn’t gonna respond, but I want you to know the Why behind it. Don’t ask why, I just...do. Paper trails are a bad idea. Could end badly for both of us, and I’m sure you don’t wanna be in here any longer than you already have to. I have to know one thing tho… Tell me what you’re in for, and I’ll honor you that favor.
You have my word.
♫ Algo Me Gusta De Ti - Wisin & Yandel
I was doing so good.
So. Damn. Good.
After Benni gave me that kite, I knew I had to put a stop to whatever the fuck this was attempting to flicker between us. It couldn’t happen, point-blank—no matter how enticing the flame might be. And if the speed in which everything had spiraled—coupled with the sheer intensity of it all—proved anything to me at all, it’s that both time and morale knew no bounds in this equation, and that flame would burn into a raging fire just as quickly if I didn’t snuff it out before it spread.
So, for the rest of the week, I clocked in, did what was expected of me, and clocked back out without incident. I didn’t look at her, didn’t engage her—not a damn thing. It wasn’t easy, especially when I could feel the confusion and disappointment emanating off her in waves, but I was making it happen.
I was getting by.
Until the weekend came around...
Exhausted from the mass amount of effort it took not to slip up, her words taunting me from my nightstand weren’t helping me prepare to suit up for the following week. That’s my own fault, though. I hadn’t brought myself to throw her note away, and not because I didn’t try. I’d flung it into the trash at some point on Friday night, only to end up fishing it back out Saturday morning, the temptation to break my resolve and respond, becoming harder and harder to subdue. I had way too much time alone with my thoughts, and by the time Sunday rolled around, I couldn’t take it anymore.
My plan was simple, a one-time thing. Keeping my distance and maintaining professionalism wouldn’t change.
But if I couldn’t have her, then I at least had to know why in the ever-loving fuck was she in prison.
Maybe if it were bad enough, it’d turn me off and end this madness.
If only it were that easy…
If only.
Little did I know my response was going to kick things up a notch—or five.
♫ Dear Mama - 2Pac
“This is a collect call from an inmate at Glades Correctional Institution. A twenty-one cent per minute charge will apply if you accept the call. To accept, please press—”
A long beep resounds through the line before the recording finishes, and then I hear, “Hello?”
Noely.
The very corners of my lips turn up in a smile at the sound of my sister’s voice. “Hi, hermana.”
I’m expecting her to ask me how I am as she usually does when she’s the one who answers, but what I get is an emotionally-charged, “I miss you.”
My heart breaks more than it normally does when I call home. This hellhole is almost three hours from Miami, so visits are limited to once per month—if that. I haven’t seen them in almost three months. Phone calls are really all I have, but man, do they make it hard sometimes. I hate it when they tell me they miss me. It’s nothing more than a grueling reminder that what pain they feel is because of me. I’m what’s made them suffer all these years. It’s more common for Ma to get emotional on me, though, so when my sister tells me she misses me? I know something is wrong. Noely’s affectionate. She’s just not the greatest with words unless she’s falling apart and doesn’t know what to do—then she suddenly has all the words and more.
Laurelio, her new-ish boyfriend, has been known to be that reason a few times in the last couple of years.
“I miss you too. What happened now?” I ask, huddling up right beside the phone to peep the area around me.
Lena, Mari, and Quinn are all on calls too.
“Lo mismo.” The same. “But I miss you for real too. Wish you were here…” Her voice cracks at the end there, immediately plummeting my heart to the pit of my stomach.
That sound is never good.
My skin prickles with goose bumps. Shooting upright, I clench the phone cord for some sort of support as panic begins to slither in from the shadows. “Noely, don’t fuck with me right now. What the hell happened? Did that comemierda touch you?”
It wouldn’t surprise me if he did; that’s why I’m asking.
“It’s not Laurelio.” She’s definitely crying now, turning the blood in my veins to ice.
“K, not him this time, got it. What happened then?” I grit.
“She told me not to tell you.”
She? My head rears back so hard, it nearly slams into the heavily painted brick wall behind me. “Who? Tell me what?”
Nothing follows, just the seconds ticking away with no answer. The line actually goes so completely silent that I’m left wondering if the call dropped without warning. “Hello? Noely?”
“I’m here, I’m here.” She’s still crying, but her voice comes much softer, yet so much more pained.
“Who told you not to tell me what?” I’m pressing anxiously at this point, earning myself a few stares at the urgency in my tone.
More still, when the softest whimper meets my ear as though she were bent over, physically crippled at the thought of saying whatever it may be out loud.
What the fuck is happening right now? “Noely, spit it out, seriously.”
“It’s Ma... Mami told me not to tell you!”
Ma? The mention of her, in this particular moment, spikes my heart rate through the fucking roof. “She told you not to tell me what?”
“That she’s...” My sister inhales a deep breath, suffocating on what sounds like the beginnings of a guttural sob. “That she’s sick. She told me not to tell you she’s sick!”
She’s...what? Her words echo in my ears, jaw falling slack as everything around me comes to a screeching halt.
Literally everything is frozen except me and my racing heart.
She’s sick.
My mom’s sick, and she didn’t want me to know.
That’s all I can hear, all I can feel as I absorb the news, every single hair on my body stiff at attention.
There are very few times in my life when this has happened—the world just stopping—but what they share in common is how monumental each moment was and how they affected me after the fact.
When my dad fell off the raft and drowned in the Atlantic on our way to American land is one. My last arrest is another. Ángel’s visit hit me hard as hell, too, and my brother’s homicide just a few months after that? Brutal, one of my biggest heartbreaks to date. Tomás got himself killed because of me.
And now...now I’ll have this moment right here. Of all the things my sister could have said to me, that is not what I was expecting.
Obviously.
“She’s what?” The question comes so softly, I don’t think Noely even heard it.
But she did, sniffling into the phone as she repeats, “She’s sick, Benni. She’s been feeling off for a few weeks, so I finally took her to the doctor. They ran some tests and sent her on her way as normal. I honestly thought everything was going to be fine ‘cause, I mean, she
’s getting older, right, and our bodies change and all that shit? But the results came in like three days ago…”
I’d say my heart plummets again, but it’s already lodged in the pit of my roiling stomach, cracked, barely holding all the pieces together. Tears burn the back of my eyes as this new reality settles in. Forget the cord, I’m clutching the phone in both hands like it’ll disappear at any moment, trying to keep my emotions in check. “What’s wrong with her?”
My sister falls silent again. It’s not done with purpose. She physically can’t speak, sobbing quietly in the background, the sound so muffled I can all but see her breaking down into her pillow.
Ma’s probably home…
“Noely, please.” I’m barely holding it together at this point. “I need you to be strong and tell me.”
“It’s c-cancer,” she stammers in grief. “Stage-four colon cancer and she’s refusing treatment, Benni. They said she has less than a year without it...”
Less than a year.
I zoned out after that, only heard bits and pieces of everything she said before the guards called time, and we had to hang up. Even walking back to the block was a blur. All I could think about was that my mom has cancer, and she’s refusing the treatment for it ‘cause she can’t afford it. Of course, she can’t—she’s still undocumented, which cancels out health insurance from the equation. Noely’s still trying to pay off all of Tommy’s funeral expenses, so she can’t afford it either, and I’m in here, helpless to do anything.
If you had told me this is what my Saturday was going to turn into, that this was the conversation I was going to have with my sister during my weekly call home, I wouldn’t have believed you. This whole thing came out of nowhere; at least, for me, it did. Noely said Ma’s been feeling off. Why hadn’t they told me anything?
“Whoa.” That’s Selena as she ambles into our cell fresh from the shower. She stops dead in her tracks, eyes widening from her place at the door. “Estas mas palida que un fantasma. You okay?” You’re whiter than a ghost.
