Page 11 of The Way We Rot
Not Lacey. “Hey.” This time, I grabbed her arms and pulled them apart, forcing her to look at me.
She sniffled, her red-rimmed eyes meeting mine.
Like an earthquake behind my ribcage, things would never be the same again.
I missed my sister most of all. After all, the reason this had all begun was because of her. My first official victim, her rapist.I murdered him in what they said was cold blood, but really, it was full of heat, burning anger and rage so hot it spilled out over everything.
But seeing Lacey was hard. She was always trying to help, to change me, and I knew it upset her watching me in this place, decked out in prison gear, led in chains to the table, guarded by eagle-eyed officers. So Itold her to stop coming. And told myself that one day I would get to see her again on equal terms.
In the fresh air and bright sky.
When things were at their hardest, when I didn’t want the darkness to overwhelm me, I thought of that day. When we could sit in the sun and smile.I thought about grass and trees and fucking butterflies. Shit, I wanted to run my hands over rough bark or through long blades of grass. Butterflies sometimes fluttered their pretty way through the yard, but it was insidious, wrong to have something so pure here.
It was a full week in isolation for me for my latest indiscretion, and a meeting to discuss more prison time. I was not a model prisoner. Hurting COs, other inmates, causing constant mayhem and chaos.
I had to meet with the warden, and he was almost as bad as Saggy Sal. We were old pals at this point, and I never paid much attention. There would be no trees and butterflies for me.
Both the warden and Sal were on the other side of the desk, the warden sitting, his expression fed up, Sal, unfortunately for him, standing.Huffing every few breaths.
“Penelope Karner,” the warden said, tutting and tapping his fingers on my folder. Randal stood behind me, my chariot from solitary to this dreary room devoid of anything personal. This place was almost worse; at least solitary was supposed to suck. The warden’s office, which I’d been in many times, was all dull gray and army green, a shelf of books with boring ass names and some faded furniture.
“Warden,” I replied, “Sal.” I nodded to Sal. I’d never even learned his last name to address him properly. They should all just be pleased I forwent the ‘Saggy’.
The warden pursed his lips. “Do you know why you’re here?” he asked.
“It’s kind of hard not to,” I said. “You don’t need to play this game, Warden.”
“Not a game,” he spat back. “And once again, Miss Karner, you don’t get to talk to me like that.”
I sighed. “Just do what you’re going to do, please. More time, more punishment. I’m never getting out of here, so what does a few more years added to my sentence matter?”
It didn’t matter what they did to me anymore. I was in here for life. My sentence would run out when Iwas 150 rather than 147 if they threw a few more years on. They were all fucking idiots, moving around and shuffling their papers like they were important.
“I can put you in solitary indefinitely,” he said, hoping for a reaction. I thought about it for a second, because I didn’t really care. Let the silence take my crazy to the surface. But, no. Not yet.
So I played it up. “Please don’t do that,” I asked, making my voice breathier, my eyes wider. “Please.”
It worked, and as the meeting finished, I was on probation. Any incident, however small, would lead to an extended solitary stay.
It was just unfortunate that Randal grabbed my ass as I walked into the hall, and an even bigger shame that I turned around and kicked him in the nuts.
So back I went to my void of a solitary cell, staring at the wall, imagining all the women who had come before me. How many deserved to be here? Locked away in a place where we were already locked away?
I did. But many did not.
Using my nail, I scratched at the wall behind my head, not looking as I pretended to chip at the surface, working on a tunnel to freedom. It didn’t matter thatthis wall connected with the cell next door, or that it was made of fucking brick. Anything to pass the time.
I shut my eyes, letting it wash over me.
A room, flashing with strobe lights, or what looked like them, might just have been a flickering streetlight. And he was positioned above her. She was unconscious, but not the gentle kind that came from falling asleep in a warm bed. The bump on her head told me it came from a hard slam to her skull.
And he was on top of her, on top of my sister.
Rage rushed me, sending me over the edge I’d been drifting closer to again.
It blinkered, and he was underneath me, dying. Dying hard. Badly. Painfully. Mm… It was just a dream, a warped memory I hadn’t experienced, but, shit, the blood and gore that came after it sickened me, festered in me.
My fingers slipped into my underwear, finding my slick pussy and rubbing as I remembered my first official victim, the way he’d looked at me with such horror and surprise when I slid my knife into his stomach. It slid in like butter — so smooth, no resistance at all, like it belonged there.
