Chapter 56: Chapter 56

Chapter 56 It was just a dream

I shoot up from the prison cot, panting from the nightmare I had just had. I can still hear the little boy's screams as he burns to death in a vehicle made of glass.

Sweat drips down my back and I bury my face in my hands. That was horrible.

It's almost as if I can smell the burning flesh still. It's almost as if I can see the carnage and destruction that I have caused.

It was just a dream. Just a dream.

But can I really call it that after what's happened? I mean, the dream wasn't that far from the truth. The little boy did indeed die in the car. Because of me.

It's guilt that I will have to live with for the rest of my life. I killed two people.

Looking around, I see that the two women in my cell are sound asleep. I'm relieved I didn't wake them from their slumber. Who knows what they would do to me if I did.

Gulping, I lie back down, looking up at the darkened ceiling.

There's no way I am going to be able to fall back asleep now. Not after what I've been seeing in my nightmares, any way.

Over the last month since I've been in prison, I have come to the conclusion that there is no comfortable position on a prison cot. They're hard, small, and they smell like sweat, as if they haven't been washed in years.

A shiver of disgust runs up my spine.

I miss my home. My dog, Peggy. The taste of cookies. My bed. Oh God, my own bed. I miss movie night and popcorn. I miss Owen. I miss my family. And damn me, I miss my friends.

I'm not sure why, but I think it's because right now, I have nobody. At least my friends were someone to talk to, someone I could vent to and socialize with. Even if they were fake, it was nice to talk....

And Owen. My heart still hurts for him, for what we should have had. I'm not mad at him, though. I understand him and why he broke up with me. But damn, his words put knives into my heart and messed with my head a little bit.

He made me feel worthless when he broke up with me.

But how can I blame him? I killed two people for God's sake!

I am angry with my family, though. I'm devastated and livid that they would leave me like this. Their rejection hurts me more and more each day, and it seems as if I'm growing weaker and weaker from all the stress that I'm carrying.

Did my family ever truly love me? Or maybe, there was a time when they did love me but then that love died for me like a romantic relationship gone sour.

I sigh. Whatever the case, they disowned me. No parent should ever disown their child for any reason, really. Family should be together forever, no matter what crap life throws at you.

And what will I do when I get out of here? Where will I go? I have no money....and who will want to hire someone who's done prison time for five years for driving drunk?

Maybe my family will take me back. Maybe they will change their minds.

I smile. Yeah, they probably will....

I stretch my arms out and before I know it, I drift off to sleep again. I once more enter a world full of nightmares that are a product of my guilty conscience.

* * *

The time of day has come again for all the prisoners to be let out for "Free time." Groups gather and once again, I take my seat in the shade against the cool concrete wall of the prison building.

I don't really have any friends. Some people are nicer than others. And by nicer, I mean that they don't glare at me with hate every waking moment of my life.

There's been a couple fights, but in general, all the women keep to themselves. I guess most people's goal is to get out early on good behavior. That's my goal, at least, any way, even if I have nowhere to go when I get out.

It's just boring here. The same routine, over and over again with no freedom. Then again, I guess that's the point of prison, right? No freedom really to do as you please.

Not only that, but every night I have horrible nightmares of the crash and of the people that have died because of me. I can't live with myself knowing I killed two innocent people. I can't even look at my own face in the mirror.

And every day, I hate myself more and more from it.

My own guilt seems to be driving me insane, but maybe I deserve it. I know the family of the child and the woman who died in the crash are pushing for me to get the maximum sentence of fifteen years.

I don't blame them, honestly. They just want justice but I can't imagine staying locked in this prison for another fifteen years. I can't imagine. I'd rather be dead than go slowly insane behind these walls for that long.

I sit there, minding my own business when a woman walks up to me, glaring down at me. I immediately stand up, feeling uneasy that she was easily towering over me when I was sitting down.

And I can tell this woman wants nothing but trouble. Her black hair is tied into a loose, messy bun and she has olive skin.

Tattoos crawl up her forearms and she has a nose ring in one nostril.

She looks especially scary with the angry, hateful glare her eyes are giving me.

"Can I help you?" I ask hesitantly.

"Why do you keep starin' at me?" She spits.

"What?" I ask, confused. I've never seen this woman before in my life.

"My group and I saw you starin' at me. Got a problem with me?" She asks, narrowing her eyes.

"Look, I've never seen you before. I'm sorry if it seems like I was staring at you....I was probably just zoned out and didn't realize. Now if you excuse me-"

She snickers. "How cute. You playing the innocent girl now? Look at you, all young, all innocent lookin'. You must be in for what, shop lifting high heels?"

My eye twitches in annoyance and I bite my lip to hold in my sarcastic comment bubbling to the surface.

This girl is ripped and not only that, she has a group to back her up.

As for me?

I have no one.

I am alone, so it wouldn't be wise to pick a fight I can't win.

"You don't know anything about me so please don't assume you do. I don't want to cause any trouble at all and like I said, sorry if I offended you in whatever way."

I brush past her but she stops me when she clutches my shoulder with her fingers and spins me around.

She is a couple inches taller than I and she uses the little height she jas on me to intimidate me.

But it's not her height that's intimidating.

It's her toned and muscular body and her killer eyes.

"You know how we settle things with people here?" She asks.

I think for a moment. "Uhm...you let them go peacefully?" I ask, hopeful.

She laughs lowly. "Wrong answer."

I have a feeling there was no particular right answer because I was going to get a fist in my face no matter what.

And that's exactly what happened.

All too soon a fist cracks against the side of my face.

And having never been in this situation before, I am unprepared and the impact causes me to fly to the ground.

I groan in pain, my fingers tracing over the now bleeding wound that sits just above my temple.

It's tender and I know it is going to swell eventually.

The woman laughs over me. "You mean to tell me you can't even take a single punch?"

I chuckle nervously and don't think before I talk. "Lady, I don't know if you've looked in the mirror lately, but man, you're ripped! And your punches don't exactly feel like butterfly kisses, missy. So don't try to make me sound like some weakling when you're built like some bull on steriods and-"

"You got some sass, girl? That ain't gonna cause you nothin' but trouble around here." She spits, fisting my shirt and lifting me up off the ground.

"N-nice beasty." I stutter nervously, clutching her fingers that are wrapped around my neck.

She narrows her eyes at me and slams my back against the wall. I groan at the painful vibrations that reverberate throughout my body.

"Not so funny now, is it?" She taunts darkly.

She presses her fingers deeper into my neck. "You s-should be a s-stand up comedian." I wheeze. Good job, Lily, keep feeding flames to the fire.

Suddenly, the woman is yanked off of me and I go colliding to the ground on my butt. I wince as I feel the concrete smash into my tail bone. When I look up, guards are escorting her away and I'm helped up off of the ground by a friendly guard.

The guard has short blonde hair that is tied into a pony tail. Her hazel eyes travel up and down and she wipes the dirt off my shirt. "Sorry about that. Posey tends to pick fights for random reasons." The guard says.

Posey....so that's her name.

"Yeah, I believe that." I reply quietly.

The guard gives me a weird look, looking me in the eyes and narrowing her eyes as if she's thinking about something. I roll my eyes. "I suppose you're thinking that I don't look like I belong here, eh?"

I get that look a lot. Mainly from other prisoners. Many say I look too innocent, too soft. Many say I don't have the hard, tough look prison seems to give to people. They say my eyes look innocent, but I say I hide dark things behind the veil of innocence.

"Actually, I was just looking at the wound on your head. I know not to get involved in a prisoner's past. It can be a hard topic for them." She says, offering a small smile.

Oh.

"I should take you to the infirmary. You might need a couple stitches for that one. It's a good thing you didn't fight back, you want to get out early on good behavior, don't you?" She asks.

Good behavior. That is my goal to get out on good behavior. I've just got to control my anger and behave and I may not have to spend so long in here.

I nod my head. "Yes, of course." Though, I don't know where I will go when I get out, but I suppose I've got a few years to figure that out.

"It's best to lay low here if you want a shot at getting out early. Now, come on, I will bring you to the infirmary." With those words, I am escorted to a large room with beige walls and white flooring. A nurse patches up my wound and as it turns out, I actually did need three stitches.

The swelling had gone up and it now looks gnarly as it is red and inflamed. The nurse said it should heal well, with the possibility of a small scar.

I'm just glad it wasn't worse.

Life is like a monster. It can have sharp teeth, evil eyes, and claws that can bring you to your knees and tear you apart. Life can also be like a flower. A sweet smelling flower with vibrant colors that promise a bright future.

The point is, life can be whatever you want it to be. A monster or a flower. But sometimes, life is neither. Rather, it can be like a hurricane. An unpredictable, dangerous hurricane that you have no control of.

Right now, for me, life is like a monster. It's tearing me apart with its silver teeth made of guilt and its claws formed from loneliness. The monster's teeth rip and sink into my flesh, injecting guilt and sorrow into my soul.

Its claws slash open wounds into my skin. The life that I used to know running forth from the wounds, and in its place, a new blood, a new life is being shaped. I am no longer the rich girl with a bright future as a singer.

I am a nobody.

A forgotten soul behind the bars of deserved confinement.

And I have no escape as the monster of life traps me in the corner like a helpless deer, eyes wide for escape. Each step of the monster is agonizingly slow, its eyes aglow with the need for ruin and destruction.

As the monster closes in on me and sinks its teeth into my flesh, I scream.

But nobody cares.

Nobody cares that I'm nothing more than a toy for life to ruin and throw out when it is done ripping the flesh from my bones.