Page 5 of On Your Life

Jesus Christ.

He’s even bigger up close. I’m barely five-three, forcing my head all the way back just to meet his eyes. If his height wasn’t intimidating enough the sheer width of him solidifies it.

His shoulders tense in front of me as he leans down just inches from my face. He smells masculine—like spearmint gum and expensive cologne. The kind of scent that would have me sneaking a second glance if we’d crossed paths anywhere but here.

He exhales sharply, the warm breath knocking me out of my trance.

“Don’t waste your time getting comfortable,” he spits. “I have your body bag ready in the morgue.”

What the fuck?

My stomach drops and acid burns the back of my throat. For a second I’m convinced I may actually throw up. He continues down the line of rooms whistling and clicking away like he didn’t just casually threaten my life.

I glance over at Barbara who watches him walk around the room with the dreamy expression of a lovesick school girl. Now I can’t help but think that her “generosity” only goes so far.

In short, I’m fucked. And if I’m being honest with myself, I’m scared.

***

The minutes crawl by. I stay curled up on the top bunk, pretending to sleep while my mind replays every word that came out of his mouth.

“I have your bodybag ready in the morgue.”

The voices from the common area echo into my cell above, mixing with bursts of laughter that feel like they don’t belong here. The whole pod feels hollow, like every sound drones on forever.

“Lights out!”

The command rings out seconds before darkness swallows the room. Doors slam shut one after another until the noise slowly fades, leaving behind an eerie silence.

I didn’t think silence existed in here. The county jail was always loud and always bright. People came in and out around the clock so there was never a moment where the place truly settled. I adapted somewhat, but my sleep has still been shit at best ever since.

I climb down from my place on the top bunk and shuffle toward the door. The slides they gave me are several sizes too big, forcing me to drag my feet so I don’t trip over them.

I glance down toward the large desk at the front of the pod. One of the guards is gathering his things, chatting with someone like it’s the end of any ordinary workday.

What I would give to leave. To go home and never have to look at another human being again.

My eyes drift to the person he’s speaking to. A figure is leaning against the wall. Only the front half of his body is illuminated by the blue glow of a computer monitor but I recognize him instantly. It’s that guard.

The one who threatened to zip me up in a body bag, and his eyes are directly on me. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. My grip tightens on the door handle as I yank it shut. The heavy steel door feels like it weighs a hundred pounds before it finally slams into place.

For some reason, it doesn’t feel like enough to block his stare.

Chapter 3

Fox

Who the fuck thought this was a good idea?

The morning briefing is usually full of passive aggressive comments from the captain about how shitty of a job we’re doing and how we need to correct it.

Stupid shit from not rounding enough at night to the endless drug problems in the prison. Like we are just sitting there watching them shoot up for the entirety of our twelve hour shift instead of trying to keep hundreds of inmates from killing each other over dinner.

This morning is different, the warden decided to grace us with his presence. He stands at the front of the room with his hands folded behind his back, waiting for the chatter to die down. His crisp uniform doesn’t have a wrinkle on it.

This is my first week back since Conner was murdered. To be honest, I almost didn’t come back at all. We applied here together a week after high school graduation because there wasn’t shit else to do in this town. You either worked at the factory until your body gave out or you worked behind razor wire. I couldn’t see myself feeding parts into a machine until retirement. That sounded like it’s own kind of prison.

My earliest memory has Conner in it. Every important one after that does too. If you’d told me just a few weeks ago that I’d be carrying his casket I would’ve laughed in your face.