by Becca Little
As scared as I was, the reality was there. I could be a survivor, and if I wanted to survive in the cold confines of a women’s prison, I was going to have to do whatever it took to keep my head on my shoulders and my guts away from an angry shank. I accepted that fact, and when I made my trek towards the prison, I had a plan—or at least I thought I did.
Chapter 3
My entrance into prison was humiliating. They stripped me down, sprayed me with water, and searched every cavity I had for contraband. Once they were satisfied and I was hurting from the probing, I was dressed in an orange jump suit and marched through a sea of women who made fun of me at every step. The cell door slammed and I was face to face with the exact kind of big beefy woman I thought I would end up servicing if I wanted to survive.
“I’m Betty.” She said in a raspy voice. “What are you in for?”
“My name is Beth…” I muttered as I put my bedroll and my pillow on my bunk. “I’m here because I’m a fucking idiot.”
“Aren’t we all.” She picked up a book and started flipping through it.
Betty mostly ignored me during the day, but I was still certain it was going to happen once the lights went out. I crawled into my bunk and prepared for the impending doom. Lights out was called, and I lay motionless in the dark, just waiting for her to make her move. After about ten minutes, I felt tired and sleepy. I tried to force myself to stay awake, but the darkness drew me into a slumber and I let it have me. Right before I finally closed my eyes for the last time that night, I heard her snoring. I curled up in the fetal position and cried until I woke up to the sound of the guards coming down the hall.
“Time to get up, ladies.” A large robust woman said as she hammered her flashlight on the bars.
Despite all of the horror stories I had read, nobody bothered me while I ate. I sat alone and finished my meal in peace. As I put my tray away, I felt uneasiness, like someone was watching me. I looked around until I found the source of my discombobulation. Across the cafeteria, a group of men were staring at me. Three of them were prison guards, and the fourth was dressed in a suit.
I had seen his picture while I was being processed, and I recognized him as the warden of the prison, Mr. Hank Matthews. After our lunch, I witnessed my first fight. Two women surrounded another, and beat her face in to the point I could see broken bones outlining her visage before the guards finally responded and broke it up. I realized that could just have easily been me. I knew I had to make good with my cellmate if I didn’t want to end up hurt or killed. I was still very willing to do whatever it took to keep my skull from getting bashed in. I lay there in the darkness for about twenty minutes, then rolled over and looked up at her bunk.
“Are you awake?” I whispered into the darkness.
“I am now. What do you want?” Betty sat up and glared at me.
“I know I’m new here, but I kind of understand how this works, or at least I think I do. I don’t want anything bad to happen to me. I’ll do whatever it takes to have you on my side. Whatever it takes…” I reiterated the last part in case she didn’t get it the first time.
She shook her head and laughed at me. “I think you’ve been watching too much television, kid. I have no interest in murdering you in your sleep. I want to get out of here one day.”
“What about that woman I saw earlier? They nearly killed her!” I pulled my covers close as I remembered the horrifying sight.
“She was smuggling drugs into the prison. Those two women kicked her ass because she gave one of their friends product after she had been clean for six months.” I could tell she was getting annoyed by my questions.
“Oh… So, I don’t have to become someone’s wife to survive?” I finally just asked her point blank what I was thinking.
“Lord have mercy. No. The pretty ones aren’t ours to take. They’ll come for you soon enough. You better hope the warden really does like you, because if he doesn’t, he’ll let his dogs have you.” She rolled over and put her face to the wall.
“His dogs?” She ignored me and I felt my heart beating into my skull.
***
The next day began just like the previous one had. The lights came on early and we were marched down for breakfast, which consisted of slop I could barely stomach. Nobody bothered me as I sat alone, but once again I saw the warden and his guards watching me. The way their eyes lingered on me left me feeling a little uncomfortable, but I tried to put it out of my mind. I was the new inmate, so maybe they were just keeping an eye on me—at least that is what I hoped.
I thought about trying to make some friends, but everyone seemed to be in their own cliques. The only person who even acknowledged me or spoke to me at all was my cellmate, Betty, and she was pretty distant. As the cells were getting ready to close, I saw the three guards from earlier walking towards our cell. They pointed at my cellmate and she backed against the wall, then one of them motioned for me to come closer. I looked back at Betty, but she had a look of defeat and submission on her face. I turned back towards the guards and took a step forward.
“Come on, meat. The warden wants to see you.” The larger of the guards took me by the arm and started walking me towards the stairs that led to the warden’s office. All of the eyes in the prison were focused on me as I was led away and I felt a sense of dread.
***
I was taken upstairs and put in a chair outside the warden’s office. The guards opened the door and let him know I was there. I heard some muffled talking, and then three of them disappeared back down the stairs. It felt like I was back in high school sitting outside the Principal’s office. I hoped I wasn’t in trouble already, and I certainly didn’t think I had done anything to warrant a visit to the warden. The hallways were long, dark and cold. His office appeared to be the only thing upstairs, although there were several rooms closed off with no signs to indicate what they were for.
I could see that the end of his hallway had an elevator with some sort of locking mechanism. That explained why we never saw him come or go in the prison. He had his own entrance. Despite the fact I was too cowardly to ever attempt it, I started to run through escape options in my head. I felt guilty when the warden opened the door and glared at me—it was almost like he knew what I was thinking. He motioned for me to come in and then slammed the door once I was inside.
“Sit down, Ms. Wilson.” He pointed to a chair across from his desk and I did as commanded.
The warden was a tall and powerful man standing nearly six foot five with broad shoulders and visible muscles underneath the suit he wore. I judged him to be in his mid-forties since he appeared to be around the same age as my father. He had hair that was slightly gray with evidence of the strong black color I saw in some of his older photographs peppered across his head. His office was filled with his accolades. Even though everything said Hank for the most part, I learned his real name was Henry because a few of them said Henry “Hank” Matthews.
The prison had won awards for safety and was touted as one of the top women’s rehabilitation centers in the state according to a news article and accompanying plaque sitting on his bookshelf. His office smelled like burnt tobacco and my eyes were drawn to an ashtray resting on his desk that had several snubbed out in it. As far as I knew, the prison was non-smoking, but I assumed the rules didn’t apply to him. This was his kingdom after all, and I was face to face with the king.
“So, Ms. Wilson.” He picked up a file. “You ran down some poor guy in a crosswalk?”
“It was a mistake…” I cast my eyes downward.
“You were in a thirty-five mile per hour zone, how the hell did not see him. Oh, you were probably drinking, weren’t you?” He shook his head and closed my file. There wasn’t much use in denying it.
“Yes sir…” I admitted and sighed deeply. He had already read between the lines. If he did that so easily, then it was no wonder they threw the book at me.
“So, you’re going to be my guest for five years? That’s an extremely
long time. You’re young, but the five years you are in here will take their toll on you. I doubt you’ll feel twenty-seven when you see the sun as a free woman. This place adds years directly to your soul.” He pulled a cigar from his desk and lit it up behind a plume of fire from a butane lighter.
I really didn’t know what to say or how to react to his words. Once the cigar was puffing smoke, he looked back at me again. “Of course, with good behavior you could be out of here in two years.”
“Really?” I felt my first sense of hope.
“Absolutely, Ms. Wilson. We’re in a prison crisis right now. Overcrowding is through the roof, and we would much rather lock up the dangerous criminals than someone who had a little too much to drink and made a mistake. You didn’t kill the guy after all…” He gave me a brief smile and I felt a sense of overwhelming relief.
“I’ll be the best prisoner ever. Oh my gosh, if I can get out of her in two years, I will—” Before I could continue he held up his hand and stopped me.
“Having your sentence reduced for good behavior is only an option if you have been properly rehabilitated.” He said as he puffed his cigar. “I’ve decided to take a personal interest in your rehabilitation and if you do exactly what I say, you’ll be out of here before your twenty-fifth birthday.”
“A personal interest?” I blinked a few times, unsure what he meant by that.
He opened the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a length of leather that appeared to be about as long as my arm. It was smooth on one side and coarse on the other. He placed it on the desk in front of me, and my eyes were drawn to it. “Do you know why we didn’t used to have so many problems with overcrowding?”
“No?” I felt a lump forming in my throat.
“Parents used to rehabilitate their children themselves. It wasn’t up to the schools or the penal system. If someone didn’t do what they were supposed to, they found their ass blistered and red. They learned to associate pain with misbehavior, and it kept them from being irresponsible when they grew up.”
He rubbed his fingers across the leather as he puffed his cigar. “Those days are almost gone in our society. Kids grow up without discipline and then they end up here—just like you.”
“My parents didn’t believe in hitting…” I shook my head back and forth.
“Exactly my point, Ms. Wilson. That is exactly what I’m saying. If your father would have taken a leather strap like this to your ass a few times, you would have known better than to act like an idiot.” He leaned back in his chair and stared at me as his cigar continued to glow bright in his lips with each puff. “Of course, we have some time to correct those mistakes while you’re here with me.”
“Mr. Matthews, I think I’m ready to go back to my cell now.” I didn’t like where the conversation was going, and I certainly didn’t like the sight of that leather strap.
“That is your choice of course. Nothing happens inside my office that isn’t consensual, but I want you to think about what I said. If you want to get out of here early, I’m happy to help with your rehabilitation.” He opened his drawer and tossed the strap back in. “Five years is a very long time, Ms. Wilson. A lot of things can happen in five years…” He hit a button and a voice came on. “Ms. Wilson is ready to return to her cell.”
I sat there in silence as he stared at me smoking his cigar. I felt uneasy, like he was undressing me with his eyes. My mind spun with the thoughts of what he said. After several uncomfortable minutes, one of his guards opened the door. “Come on Ms. Wilson.” He said with a gruff voice.
As I stood up, Mr. Matthews walked around his desk and accompanied me to the door. “I want you think hard about what I said, Ms. Wilson. I’d hate to have to let my dogs have you.”
“What? Your dogs?” I stared at him in confusion as my heart raced in my ears again.
I felt a hand on my arm as the guard pulled me from the warden’s office. I turned to see his grinning face staring at me. He reached around my waist and pulled me close, letting his hand drift down and squeeze my ass. “Woof…” He said with a smile. I looked back towards the warden’s office and to the guard—everything was very clear.
Chapter 4
For the next two days, I found myself being harassed constantly by his guards. They would grab me in the hallway, push me against a wall and bark into my ears. They touched me in places I should have never been touched, but there was nothing I could do. I thought about trying to send a letter to my parents begging for help, but Betty told me that was a very, very bad idea. She said that they read all mail going in and out, so it would never make it outside. All it would really do is make the warden mad.
My next thought was the telephone, but as I walked to the phone, a guard stopped me and told me my phone privileges had been revoked. I begged Betty to talk to me about the warden and his supposed dogs, but she said even speaking of it was dangerous, and she wasn’t going to put her neck on the line for someone she barely knew. The vice of prison clamped down me, and I became even more of a prisoner inside the stone walls.
When I went to the cafeteria, I found my tray light on nourishment. Every time I tried to shower, I found multiple guards watching me with their eyes glued to my body. Two days was all I could handle. There was certainly no way I could stay there five years with the constant threats hanging over my head. I also didn’t know if they were empty threats or not—I wasn’t sure I wanted to test them and find out.
“I want to meet with the warden…” I whispered to one of the guards as I walked past him.
“I’ll let him know…” He grinned at me and walked away whistling before letting out a slight woof. The barking was making me sick to my stomach.
***
That night, I found myself once again marched up to the warden’s office. I tried to psyche myself up for what was ahead of me and remain strong. My parents had never so much as laid a finger on me as a form of discipline. They even went as far as to sign forms which prohibited the school from touching me. They were staunch advocates for alternate methods of punishment. They were both spanked as children and said they didn’t want to treat their child that way.
My father told stories of living in fear of my grandfather’s belt, while my mother said that most of the time she was put over my grandmother’s lap for a bare-bottom session with her thick wooden hairbrush. I wondered if the warden was right. Would I have turned out a whole lot differently if I was punished the way they were punished? They became productive members of society, members of the local church, and didn’t drink or smoke, while I threw myself into whatever chemical concoction I could find. When the warden’s door opened, I tried to be brave as I walked into his office and sat down.
“You wanted to see me, Ms. Wilson?” He sat down behind his desk and lit a cigar. The office smelled like he had just finished one before I walked in.
“I get it now.” I sat up straight and tried to appear strong. “You’re going to make my life hell if I don’t agree to your twisted form of rehabilitation.”
“Twisted? I don’t think it is twisted at all, Ms. Wilson. “As I said, nothing is going to happen in my office that isn’t absolutely consensual.”
“What about outside of your office? What about your dogs?” I was surprised by my own ability to stand up for myself and question his motives.
“Well, Ms. Wilson.” He smiled and puffed his cigar. “This is prison after all. Things happen here that I have no control over. If you have a complaint about anything that happens or if you feel my staff has been behaving inappropriately, you are welcome to fill out a report. Of course, I’d have to meet with each person you accuse individually, and it would take a few months for the investigation…”
“I get it.” I nodded. There was no way out, and no way to win with him. “So you’re saying that if I agree to this—other—form of rehabilitation, you’ll recommend me for an early release for good behavior? If I don’t, I spend five years here?”
“Don’t make it sound like yo
u don’t have a choice because you do. The sentence you were handed by the court is five years. A recommendation for an early release is entirely at my discretion.” He furrowed his brow and glared at me. I could tell I was not doing myself any favors by upsetting him.
“Okay…” I sighed deeply. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Oh, this isn’t something you do and get it over with. We didn’t really have time to talk the last time you were here. This is more than just one session with the strap. For two years, you will be mine. Anything I want, when I want it…” He let the cigar linger on his lips as I processed the information.
“You mean sex?” I felt my eyes growing as large as saucers. I hadn’t even considered that.
“Anything I want…” He repeated his phrase. “When I want it.”
I looked down at the floor as I thought about what he said. My next actions would define the next two or five years of my life. He was certainly an attractive man, and if I met him in the outside world, I would have probably considered a date with him if he asked, despite our age difference. I was no prude, and it wasn’t like I was necessarily selective in my sexual adventures. I had woken up with a stranger on more than one occasion after a night of drinking and partying.
Sex sounded better than facing the business end of his leather strap. I told myself I would be strong when I came into prison, and I certainly had the opportunity to use my strength to make my life better. It was a complicated decision to make, but I really didn’t have to think through it very much. If he was willing to erase a few years of my sentence in exchange for the genetic gifts I was given, then I would do just that. My time at San Trinidad Correction Facility was about to take a turn I didn’t consider, but I knew I wanted what he was offering, so I looked at him and nodded.
