by Dee Garcia
“Fight back, goddammit!” Another rough shove sends me flying into the wall beneath the small window. “Fucking fight me back, Benni!”
I won’t, though. Not with Lena. If it were any other bitch in here, even the others I care about fiercely, I’d already have them on the ground. But I can’t with her, and I definitely can’t when I know I’m in the wrong. I’m the reason she was thrown in the hole. I’m the reason she’s getting more time. Clearly, I’m a shit friend as it is. No need to add more faults and flaws to the list that makes up Benita Adriana Villanueva.
“Why the fuck won’t you fight me?” Her fingers clench around my hair, drawing a hiss between my teeth as her arm presses into my throat. “Why?”
“Because what kind of friend would I be if I did? I know I’m in the wrong, Lena, but I swear to you, I’ll fix it.”
Lena holds my stare for several moments, lip curling in a feral fashion, her breathing harsh. I’m hoping she can see the apology in my eyes, but it’s either not obvious enough despite all I’ve tried to say, or she doesn’t care.
I’m going with the latter.
In the same lithe speed as the first, she slams me three consecutive times, jamming the words down my throat as blood begins to pour from my nose. The pain is indescribable, and it’s only then that instincts kick in, alarm bells blaring for me to protect myself regardless of who she is and what she means to me. If I don’t, she’ll knock me out, and with her history…
Well, let’s just say that wouldn’t fare too well for me.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her, fisting the front of her shirt to reclaim some control. “I’m fucking sorry, but you asked for it.” And then I wail on her, over and over again, each blow harder than the last.
The arm she’d lodged against my throat slips away, and the next thing I know, I’m slamming her back into the wall beside the desk. I’ve drawn blood already, too, feel it clinging to my knuckles, splattering onto my uniform every time my fist connects with her face.
“I’m fucking sorry!” I’m yelling it like a lunatic, my voice garbled as every emotion possible races through me. “I’m so fucking sorry!”
Somewhere in the background, I can just make out the sounds of other inmates belting out about the fight, and within minutes, maybe even seconds, I’m being pulled off my best friend. My chest heaves wildly from exertion as I watch CO Jordan detain Lena without any issue. She’s bleeding from both nostrils, head bobbing as she attempts to keep it upright. I can see his mouth moving as he says something to her, but I can’t hear the words. All I can hear is the roaring in my ears, combined with my erratic breaths. I can’t even hear the chaos of the block as I’m dragged through to the gate, can barely see it behind the tears still very much flowing. But it’s who’s dragging me that’ll stick with me most once I’m alone with my thoughts in the hole.
A disappointed and thoroughly destroyed Andrés.
♫ lovely - Billie Eilish & Khalid
Time doesn’t exist in the hole.
After the first day or two, you start to lose track. It’s impossible not to. There’s no window to clue you in like a normal cell in general population. The only tell is what type of meal you receive through the small slot in the solid metal door. I couldn’t tell you how long I’ve been in here if you paid me. Based on the swelling of my face that’s finally starting to go down, I’m gonna guess five or six, maybe even seven days.
But who knows?
All I know is I’ve barely eaten, barely slept. I have virtually zero appetite, and it’s far too cold to even think about sleeping for long stretches, the thin white sheet doing nothing to fend off the chill. The worst part of it, though, is the constant racing of my mind. It’s made it nearly impossible to completely shut down...and the random screams from other cells don’t help, either.
Yes, friends, literal screams.
Staring at the same four walls without any human interaction for twenty-four hours a day will do that to you. It’s easy to break in here, easy to go mad. I haven’t been in here too many times, but I will say that the previous times were almost a walk in the park in comparison to this fresh hell. Between my thoughts and the occasional screams, I feel like I’m losing my goddamn mind. If I have to think about Andrés or Lena or even Ryker and Kori one more time, I swear to Papá Dios I’m going to go apeshit.
I’ve been sitting on this hard-ass cot for hours, arms curled around my knees as I ping-pong from one topic to the next. Once I dissect and pick them all apart, I’m back at square one, repeating the same vicious cycle all over again.
Another round of manic screams pops off from somewhere down the hall as I’m circling back to Andrés and that devastated look on his face. “Make it stop,” I whisper to myself, scrunching my eyes tightly. “Make it fucking stop.”
I swear those screams enhance everything tenfold. The darkness of my mind does absolutely nothing to obscure what I see of Andrés. That agonized look still haunts me, the vagueness of his note, too.
We can’t do this anymore.
Why?
That very question seems to be the theme of my entire life. Why, to everything? Why was I stupid enough to trust Ángel? Why was I stupid enough to let him drag me into the Upper Echelon? Why was I stupid enough to fall for the motherfucker? Why didn’t he love me? Why did I have to go down for him? Why did Andrés have to come into my life and turn everything I’d grown accustomed to upside down with a single fucking look? Why did he end it?
“Why, why, WHY?” I bellow emotionally, my voice echoing off the stark white walls of the cell. “Why me? Why. Me?”
What did I ever do to deserve all of this?
You got involved with him. But it’s not that little voice in my head that says this.
No, it's Tommy’s voice. Tommy, who was smart enough to never get caught, ended up getting himself killed because of me. I never even got to see him again after my trial—never got to say goodbye. He was right all along, though; he really and truly was. My brother tried so damn hard to keep me out of that lifestyle, to get me away from Ángel. He warned me I’d go down for the comemierda, and I should’ve listened.
It would’ve spared his life.
Tears rolling down my cheeks, I send my brother another silent apology. I’ve sent him dozens over the last four years, begging him to forgive me for robbing him of his life. He was never supposed to—
A loud clunk meets my ears, snapping my head up from my place on the cot in time to see the cell door being pulled open. At the threshold stands CO Rodriguez, a sympathetic smile quirking the corners of his mouth at the sight of me.
I probably look like hell.
“C’mon, Villanueva.” He tips his head for me to follow. “You’re out of here.”
Eyes widening, I wipe the wetness clinging to my cheeks and scoot to the end of the cot. “R-really?”
Rodriguez nods, stepping aside so I can join him in the hall. “Yup.”
Finally.
He doesn’t have to tell me twice.
I’m hopping onto my feet—legs somewhat weak from the lack of rest and nutrition—and making my way toward him as another round of those soul-rattling screams breaks out. Both he and I cringe at the sound, shoulders shooting up to our ears.
“Has that been happening a lot?” he asks, to which I nod, suddenly feeling lightheaded.
“Every couple hours or so.”
“Jesus.” He shakes his disapprovingly, wrapping a gentle hand around my arm. “Might have to get her psych, if she continues.”
I don’t know who she is, but I feel for her, cringing yet again as we pass her cell, and she yells manically for someone to help her. Psych isn’t somewhere you wanna go if you don’t actually belong there, and I highly doubt she does. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be here. Psych is segregated enough as it is.
“Where are we going?” I glance up at Rodriguez as we make our way out of Ad-Seg’s wing.
“Back to the block,” he answers. “You have an appointment with Counselo
r Judge later, though.”
Just the mention of Judge racks a jarring shiver down my spine, my stomach churning despite the fact it’s empty. He’s probably going to tell me—in his most disappointed tone—that I can kiss my early release goodbye since I came clean about the phone while Andrés and Jordan were dragging Lena and me to Seg. Hopefully, the fact that I’ve not accumulated many infractions in my time here will spare me from a longer sentence or even deportation, but I guess we’ll see when I meet with him.
Walking the halls back to the block is surreal. I couldn’t have been in the hole that long, but it sure as fuck feels like centuries. Everything is exactly the same—the gray walls, the old, dingy floors, yet it looks different, too.
Feels different.
Even the buzzer alerting the block of our arrival sounds different.
The first thing I notice as we walk in is the clock on the far wall. It’s almost three in the afternoon. The next thing I notice, and it’s purely because they’re rushing toward me, are two of the girls. Mari and Quinn nearly rip me from Rodriguez’s hold and almost tackle me to the ground, both of them wrapping their arms around me in a joint hug that leaves me breathless.
“I’ve been so worried.” Mari’s voice quakes as Quinn nods silently in agreement.
“I’m fine,” I assure them. “Just tired, dirty, and suddenly famished. How long was I in there?”
“A week,” Quinn answers. “And you’ve missed a lot.”
Like what?
Rodriguez clears his throat then, prompting the girls to release me and step back as I pivot to face him. “You’ve got an hour before your meeting with Judge. Why don’t you go get your shower bag, and I’ll walk you down to the bathroom?” he suggests kindly.
I nod appreciatively because I definitely do need a shower. I haven’t had one in a week. You don’t get to shower in the hole. They just leave you there to rot, only providing meals because it would be against the law not to.
“Walk with me,” I tell the girls. “Fill me in while I grab my shower shit.”
Mari and Quinn flank me on each side as we amble to my cell, various greetings thrown my way from the tables scattered through the common area. When we make it inside the quiet and very empty confines of my space, I have to stop for a moment to breathe through the rush of memories before I was dragged out of here that flood me.
“Why the fuck won’t you fight me?” Her fingers clench around my hair, drawing a hiss between my teeth as her arm presses into my throat. “Why?”
“Because what kind of friend would I be, if I did? I know I’m in the wrong, Lena, but I swear to you, I’ll fix it.”
Lena holds my stare for several moments, lip curling in a feral fashion, her breathing harsh. I’m hoping she can see the apology in my eyes, but it’s either not obvious enough despite all I’ve tried to say, or she doesn’t care.
I’m going with the latter.
In the same lithe speed as the first, she slams me three consecutive times, jamming the words down my throat as blood begins to pour from my nose. The pain is indescribable, and it’s only then that instincts kick in, alarm bells blaring for me to protect myself regardless of who she is and what she means to me. If I don’t, she’ll knock me out, and with her history…
Well, let’s just say that wouldn’t fare too well for me.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her, fisting the front of her shirt to reclaim some control. “I’m fucking sorry, but you asked for it.” And then, I wail on her, over and over again, each blow harder than the last.
The arm she’d lodged against my throat slips away, and the next thing I know, I’m slamming her back into the wall beside the desk. I’ve drawn blood already, too, feel it clinging to my knuckles, splattering onto my uniform every time my fist connects with her face.
“I’m fucking sorry!” I’m yelling it like a lunatic, my voice garbled as every emotion possible races through me. “I’m so fucking sorry!”
Somewhere in the background, I can just make out the sounds of other inmates belting out about the fight, and within minutes, maybe even seconds, I’m being pulled off my best friend. My chest heaves wildly from exertion as I watch CO Jordan detain Lena without any issue. She’s bleeding from both nostrils, head bobbing as she attempts to keep it upright. I can see his mouth moving as he says something to her, but I can’t hear the words. All I can hear is the roaring in my ears, combined with my erratic breaths. I can’t even hear the chaos of the block as I’m dragged through to the gate, can barely see it behind the tears still very much flowing.
“Birdy? You okay?” Quinn asks, grabbing hold of my arm when I sway to the side.
“I’m good, I’m good. Just really lightheaded.”
“Siéntate,” Mari instructs. Sit. “We’ll grab all of your stuff.”
I do as she’s asked, dropping onto my bunk as I clutch my head and force the vivid replay from my thoughts. Quinn settles in beside me, rubbing my back in slow, soothing circles.
“You’re off the hook,” Mari continues, dragging my unfocused stare up to where she stands.
“What do you mean?”
“Koko fessed up and told them it was all her.”
My eyes almost burst from their sockets in complete shock. “She what?”
“She told them it was all her operation. Word through the grapevine is Franca threatened her, told her if she opened her mouth, she’d kill her.”
That sounds just like Franca. She’s here for life. Killing a bitch and the consequences that come with it means nothing to her.
“Could be that,” I agree. “Or it could just be that Koko always did say she wouldn’t pin it on me if it came down to it.”
Both Mari and Quinn hum as Mari pulls a fresh uniform for me.
“What else did I miss? Is Lena still in Seg?”
“Creo que si,” Mari answers. I think so. “We haven’t seen her since you both went in.”
“Unless they switched her to a different block for some reason,” Quinn adds. “I mean, y’all did fight.”
“Yeah, but you and Koko fought, too, and you’re both still here,” Mari points out. “They’re probably just keeping her in there longer since she was out of Seg for a whole five minutes before going right back in.”
My heart breaks either way. Sure, she initiated the fight, but I still don’t blame her for doing so. She got pinned for something that wasn’t hers. All I can do now is hope that my coming clean will reverse whatever time they’d tacked on to her sentence.
“Oh, one of the guards quit, too,” Mari throws in, holding her hand out for me, my small shower bag slung over her shoulder.
Slipping my palm in hers, I rise onto my feet, squeezing my eyes shut as my head spins again. I really need to eat something. “Who?”
“Bala,” she answers simply because she didn’t have a single clue as to what was happening between him and me.
Neither did Quinn or Gia.
Lena was the only one, and even then, she didn’t know everything.
None of that matters now, though. What matters is that Andrés is gone for good, and much like my brother, I didn’t even get to say goodbye.
Ángel may have been the elusive one between the two, but Andrés will now and forever be the one that got away.
The one I was never supposed to have.
And I’m not so sure I’ll ever be the same again.
♫ Don’t Let Go - Farruko
I lasted four days after throwing Benni in Seg before I was turning in my badge and walking out the door.
I couldn’t do it.
Knowing she was in there—helpless, heartbroken, hurting, and alone was more than I could handle. I didn’t say goodbye to anyone on the team, didn’t even bother voicing I was leaving. I simply went straight to Warden Kent’s office and told him I was out, blamed it on the long-ass hours and lack of respect from some of my teammates. What that meant for them after the fact, I didn’t care, and I still don’t. Perhaps my tip-off might prompt Kent to
keep a closer eye on some of the scumbags he keeps employed.
What I do care about?
Benni.
I won’t lie…it’s been hell without her. Despite us not being able to freely have a relationship, every moment we shared, no matter how small, meant something. From that first look, I knew there was something special about her. She wasn’t just some chick I wanted to fuck—although that was part of it—she was something more. What sparked between us was unlike anything I’d ever experienced in the past, even with my exes, and it’s been killing me slowly that I lost it. That I had to give her up.
That I undoubtedly broke her heart.
I still stand by my decision to end it, but it’s probably the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. That and leaving without saying goodbye, without giving her the explanation I know she needed to understand why I’d done it in the first place. She may be smart as a whip, but there’s no way she’d figure it out on her own, not when I threw it at her from one day to the next.
It’s been four weeks since then. I’ve moved back to South Florida and have taken on a new position as a property manager for the apartment complex where I’m currently renting. I’d contemplated going back for my old job at the nearby prison, but I couldn’t bring myself to be placed in that setting again. I needed a change. I finally visited my parents in the Keys, too, and yes—it was for the Fourth like my mom wanted, and have just been trying to occupy my free time with whatever means necessary. There have been a few meaningless one-night stands here and there, but they were just that—meaningless as hell and nothing like Benni. I keep waiting for the day when she won’t consume my thoughts, or when the thought of her won’t hurt my heart, but it’s not happening.
Every day I wake up missing her, needing her, and I’m starting to think I always will.
Which is why I’m currently parked in front of the Annex after an almost three-hour drive to see her. I keep telling myself it’s for closure, that she and I both need this, but my heart has other plans I’m not even aware of yet. I’m too worried about her reaction to recognize any ulterior motives my subconscious has up its sleeve.
