by Dee Garcia
Selena scoffs a quiet laugh and drops her head over the edge of the bunk, curly locks spilling over in a wild veil. I can’t see her face in the obscurity, but I can feel her wicked smile. “He didn’t say no, though. Twenty bucks says you’ll be fucking him in a week.”
My. Pussy. Clenches.
Just imagining myself beneath Andrés, even if it’s up against one of these dirty-ass walls, is enough to ignite the heartbeat in my clit.
Down, girl.
“I’m more worried about the phone than fucking him, Lena.” And that’s not a lie.
Do I want him? Obviously. But I want the phone more. It’s not even a want; it’s a need. Neither Ma nor I can afford for me to make daily calls, and now that I know she’s sick, I’ll lose my whole shit worrying about her the days between calls without one. My sanity is all I have left in this place.
Fuck the risk and the extra time they’d add to my sentence if they found it. She’s gonna die before I’m freed anyway. Might as well soak up what little time she has left however I can.
“Oh, he’ll get you the phone, watch, and then he’s gonna rearrange your insides.” Lena snickers, disappearing from my line of sight. “I want all the details like right after, you hear me? Not a million years later like this time. Why didn’t you tell me you’d been passing kites?”
She can’t see me, but I shrug, running my fingers through my hair. “I don’t know. I hadn’t planned to do it really. It was a spur of the moment decision after two heated days, which ended up backfiring.”
“I’m not surprised, honestly. It’s a lot to process in a short amount of time. If I got hot just watching the two of you look at each other, I can only imagine what it must feel like to be on the receiving end of that pointed stare. I guess the question now is, does it hit harder than what you felt with Ángel?”
The sound of his name sends my shoulders flying up to my ears. My heart could probably shatter into a million pieces again if I allow myself to think about him for too long. Four years later, y ese pendejo can still get me down. “No, but it hits a different way.”
“Good different or bad different?”
“Both.”
“Can’t be both mujer. Pick one.” She laughs, the bunk shaking a bit as she shifts around to get comfortable.
I do the same, rolling onto my side, wringing the sheet in my fists. “It is both, though. It’s good because it’s nothing like what I felt with Ángel, but it’s bad, too, because I know I shouldn’t be feeling this at all. This isn’t The Bachelor: Prison Edition.”
“You can’t control shit like that, B. No one can. A connection like that doesn’t give a flying fuck about time or place. It comes in hard and fast when we least expect it.”
She’s definitely not wrong there. Andrés came in like a goddamn freight train. “I know, I know, but…”
“But what?” she presses again, and again I shrug into the darkness.
There isn’t an actual “but” other than a singular fact I’m ashamed to admit to myself, much less voice aloud.
Fear—the fear of getting hurt again. ‘Cause let’s face it, this thing—whatever it is—is intense enough as it is, and while I don’t regret opening the door a ways more, it’s a very real possibility I’ll be left to pick up the pieces when it’s all said and done. I don’t think my heart could handle it. The first time was hard enough.
A quick fuck? Sure, no problem, I could do that all day with my eyes closed, but something tells me that if Andrés puts his hands on me, it’s going to be far from those detached quick fuck vibes.
“Just keep it light, okay?” Selena says after a silent beat. “No kissing, none of that sweet shit. Suck him off, let him pound you into next week, and that’s it. Wham bam thank you, ma’am, or I guess, in this case, thank you, sir. And that’s only if he gives you the phone. If he doesn’t, call that shit off and keep it moving. We’ll find a way for you to talk to mami.”
I’m not even remotely surprised she knew what I was thinking, not when we’ve been bunkies for three years. Selena knows everything there is to know about me and vice versa, which means she knows I’m a hard-ass bitch.
My heart, though?
Not so much.
Yard time is one of my favorite parts of the day. The Florida humidity still sucks, but being out in the sun and getting to breathe that fresh air helps get me through another day. Today is no exception. It’s beautiful out—not a single cloud in the sky. Kind of windy, too, a soft breeze whipping past my face as I tread farther into the yard toward Mari and a few of the girls at one of the tables.
“Oye!”
The sound of my voice whips her around, a broad smile drifting across her face. “Sup, putaaa,” she drawls, holding out a fist.
I bump mine against hers and swallow her in a hug. “When can you thread my brows, bitch? I’ve got caterpillars hanging on my face.”
Mari’s the resident eyebrow lady in B Block.
Laughing, she reaches for my face and swipes her thumbs along said caterpillars. “They’re not that bad, but I can clean ‘em up tonight unless you showered already.”
“Nah, not yet, so that works.”
The showers are where everything against conduct happens: fights, commissary swaps, contraband sales, eyebrow threading, sex.
Everything.
And yes, getting your eyebrows done really goes against conduct. Insert the eye-rolling emoji right here.
“I need mine done too,” Quinn quips from her perch on top of the table, smoothing out her blonde brows.
“So do I.” That’s Gia.
Mari sighs and throws her head back playfully on a groan. “Why the fuck do y’all pendejas wait until the last minute? You know it takes a good fifteen apiece. I gotta be able to wash my ass at some point, too, before they’re calling us—”
“Well, well, well, would ya look at that,” Quinn cuts her off, green eyes trained across the yard.
Gia, Mari, and I all follow her line of sight, and what we see solidifies Mari’s story from last week.
It’s Koko. Well, it’s Franca and her twin ass-licking sidekicks, Beth and Carrie, closing in on Koko, but obviously, she’s there, waiting for those D Block bitches like they’re the best of friends. Judging by the way they greet each other, it sure looks like they are.
My eyes narrow of their own accord as I watch their interaction take place. Franca’s your quintessential ghetto Italian bitch from New York, down to the mannerisms and all. She’s loud, conceited, and apparently “knows it all.” She’s also the Queen-Pin in D Block. Her charge is infinitely worse than mine, though—killed a few motherfuckers who were trying to intercept one of her shipments.
Now she’s here for life.
Beth and Carrie, on the other hand, are entitled, little white girls. Grew up privileged from what I’ve heard. Evidently, their very biological father used to fuck them—at the same time—and when he tried to cut them off after some ‘Come to Jesus’ moment, they killed him.
Yeah, you read that right.
The sick part is, they still fuck around, even without daddy around. Like right now, they’re holding hands, swinging their arms back and forth as they follow behind Franca, their flaming pigtails flapping around behind them. They remind me of those creepy little bitches from The Shining, their frilly blue dresses replaced by cherry red prison uniforms.
They’re too far for me to make out a word of what they’re saying, but it looks like Koko’s over there having the time of her life, all smiles and shit. I can’t believe this hoe is really gonna try to fuck me over. I should’ve listened to Lena when she told me it wasn’t a good idea, but of course, me being me, I had to give the chick the benefit of the doubt, thought her particular skill set could work well in this equation.
Obviously not.
That’s all right… Like I told Mari, I’m not going to say a damn word. Let her think everything is just peachy. I wanna see what she’s gonna do when I come to collect.
“Villanueva.”
&n
bsp; That voice… Eyes widening, I gasp quietly as my entire body locks up tighter than Fort Knox at the unexpected sound. Every inch of my skin prickles, my feet rooting to the ground beneath me, and I think the only reason I’m able to move is the girls watching this go down. I love them, I do, but I don’t plan to tell them about Andrés. Lena knowing is one too many people already, and I trust her with my life.
My heart stops for a beat when I get a good look at him, longer still when he crooks his finger at me. “Come with me.”
“For what?” I question, nearly choking as that traitorous thing in my chest restarts and shoots up to my throat.
“Counselor. He wants to see you.”
The counselor? What the hell does he need to see me for?
“Okayyy,” I drone, brows cinching together in the middle of my face as I miraculously start toward him.
Two minutes later, we’re back inside the building, wandering the hallways en route to Judge’s office. Other than calling my attention and asking me to come with him, Andrés hasn’t said a word to me. I’m trying not to take it personally or overthinking what it could mean after our last exchange two days ago, but my stomach’s in knots, heartbeat galloping wildly in my ears. Still, I don’t dare open my mouth, biting my tongue to keep from saying something I shouldn’t. I don’t think the security cameras can pick up sound, but just to be safe, it’s probably best I don’t say anything anyway.
Not even when I catch him peeking at me from the corner of his eye.
The nerve-wracking silence continues as he locks a hand around my arm and yanks me around the corner toward the South wing. I’m too caught up wondering where the hell we’re going to realize what’s about to happen.
Until my back hits the wall of D Block’s bathroom, and I find myself caged with nowhere to go.
Andrés brings his face inches from mine, tongue peeking out to wet his lips as he stares at mine. “I need you to listen to me, and I need you to listen really well, understand?”
Ho-ly fuck.
My throat bobs, head nodding by way of response as I nearly swallow my tongue.
“I got you the phone. It’s stashed in B Block’s bathroom. I’ll tell you where exactly, but you have to promise me something first…”
I swallow again, harder this time. Feels like a jagged boulder scraping down my throat. “A-and what would that be?”
He reaches up, hesitating only a moment before he’s tucking my hair behind my ear. “Don’t get caught, please. I can’t go down for this. Promise me we’re gonna be good.”
I know what he means, but the way he says we makes my stomach flip. “I got this,” I assure him. “And even if I do get caught, I promise they won’t know it was you who got it in for me.”
That wicked dimple of his comes out to play, a hushed laugh shooting out from his nose. “If there’s one thing you should know about me, it’s that I’m not a snitch.”
My lips twitch at his reply. Those were my words, what I wrote in that first kite. “Damn right, I’m not.”
Andrés’s smile widens. “I believe you, I do, but just promise me, Benni… Please?” He steps closer still, invading my senses.
His proximity.
The way he smells.
How I can feel he’s using every ounce of restraint he knows to not put his hands on me right now.
I wish he wouldn’t, wish he’d just do it so I could stop warring with myself. If we keep it light, this could be so fun.
Gently fisting the front of his shirt, I turn my head to meet his stare. His lips are right there. “I promise,” I vow.
Those two little words seem to soothe his soul. He deflates slightly, relief washing over his features. “Last shower stall. There’s a loose brick on the wall opposite the showerhead. The phone, charger, and earbuds are all there in a tight plastic baggy.”
All I asked for was the phone… The charger I expected, obviously, but earbuds?
“You brought me earbuds, too?”
“They came with the phone.” Andrés chuckles, hitching a shoulder. “Figured you’d probably appreciate them. Now c’mon, let’s get out of here before Judge sends someone looking for us. He’s probably wondering where you are.”
I didn’t get to see Judge. The inmate who was in his office when Andrés and I arrived went completely batshit over who knows what. He had to call for back-up, which resulted in Mack telling Andrés to bring me back when he showed up with Jordan and Birks in tow.
That was fine by me. At that point, all I wanted to do was get to the showers anyway, and, thankfully, the block was already back from yard time. Mari and the girls tagged along, bursting with questions regarding Andrés and Judge. My answers were minimal, mostly believable bullshit to get them off my case while Mari threaded my eyebrows.
Soon as they headed out, I was hopping into the shower and, as promised, the phone was right where he told me it’d be. What baffles me isn’t so much how he got it into the building and past security, but that I’ve been here four years and had no clue this specific stall held a secret storage compartment.
So how did he?
I’d ask him eventually.
Right now, though, I’m too wrapped up in a late-night text conversation with my sister to care. She flipped her lid when I first messaged, but after laying out my explanation, she’s calmed down a bit.
Nono: I still can’t believe we’re texting right now. I miss you so much.
Seeing that nickname on my screen has me buzzing in excitement. Forget not having the luxury of a phone all these years, this right here—simply talking to my sister—is everything. Noely’s always been Nono if you’re curious. “No” was her first word. She’d just stumble about on those chubby legs, curly hair a wild mess with her little lips puckered going, “No, no, no, no.” Sometimes she’d wiggle her little finger too. It was adorable, and she’s been Nono ever since.
Me: I know. I miss you too. Think you can come see me soon? Feels like it’s been forever since I saw your face.
Nono: I took off the last weekend of the month. I can come then?
Me: PLEASE. I need to see my hermana. Think Ma will come too?
Nono: I’m gonna say yes, but I guess it’ll depend on how she’s feeling. What are we gonna tell her about the phone, though?
Me: We’re not gonna tell her anything other than call times have changed.
Nono: I’ve got a bad feeling about this, Benni...
Me: Don’t. I got this. I wouldn’t have asked him for it if I didn’t think I could pull it off.
Nono: Don’t forget to erase the messages and turn it off before you go to bed.
I chuckle into the sheet and roll my eyes.
Me: Lol, okay, mom.
Nono: Shut up, go to sleep. I love you.
Me: Don’t tell me what to do. I love you too. I’ll text you tomorrow.
Locking the screen, I shove the device under my pillow and breathe a sigh of relief that I have a way to talk to her. To mami. None of this would be possible if Andrés hadn't come through. Tomorrow I’ll thank him properly, will make good on my—
The phone vibrates again, the buzz rippling through the pillow from one side of my face to the other. I smile, just imagining what comeback Noely has now as I reach for the phone.
But it’s not my sister.
It’s a random number, and all it says is: You still up?
There isn’t a single doubt in my mind that it’s him. I can feel it in my gut. It makes sense, really. Who else could it be?
Holy shit, he’s texting me.
My stomach flips one too many times, a rush of adrenaline zipping down my spine as I type out my response.
Me: Andrés?
Sheer seconds after I send it, those three little dots pop up on the screen, bouncing around in a taunting rhythm. His reply doesn’t come much longer after the fact: Were you expecting someone else?
A grin slithers across my face.
“Smart-ass,” I whisper, going about the necessary steps to
add him into the small list of contacts.
Andrés is the first thing I type out, only to delete it just as quickly. Then I go with just A, even B for Bala, but something tells me I shouldn’t. What if I get caught with this phone? I know I told him everything would be okay, and you can bet I’m gonna do everything in my power to keep us both in the clear, but what if? What can happen to me isn’t important, but if they learn I had even the most short-lived conversation with him? He could get in a shit-ton of trouble—like an arrest and jail time kind of trouble.
I can’t let that go down.
Me: No, but I wasn’t expecting to hear from you either. This isn’t your number, is it?
Again, the dots come immediately, as if he’s lying in bed waiting for my responses. Jesus, that imagery. The man looks like a fucking snack with his uniform on… Imagine it off.
The text bubbles shift up with his reply: Nah. It’s a burner.
I nearly laugh out loud. This dude said it’s a burner.
Me: Lol, are you for real?
Another bubble: Do I look stupid?
Me: I mean, you did give an inmate a phone...
The minute I hit send, I swipe back into the contacts and throw in something more lowkey, something more...fitting. I can all but feel the devil horns piercing my scalp.
Chulo means cutie, by the way...
Chulo: Shut up. Don’t make me regret it, Villanueva.
Me: Don’t start with that Villanueva shit. You’re not on the clock.
Chulo: My bad… Don’t make me regret it, Birdy.
Me: **Benni
Chulo: Don’t make me regret it, Benni...
Me: I promised you, didn’t I? Speaking of, when should I pencil you into my “hella busy” schedule to suck your dick?
Those horns pierced through my scalp, all right, just like old times. Tongue caught between my teeth, I’m trying my absolute damndest not to wake Selena up right now with the fit of laughter that wants to break free, especially when I see the dots appear.
