1 – A Million Miles Away

Without becoming a morbid zombie I am not left with that many options. After so long in SHU I have come to realise that there is only so much pacing, cleaning, exercising (Yoga Jones will have nothing on me by the time I'm allowed out of here)– hell even downright thinking – you can make yourself do. After that it's a struggle to even get up off the hard as fuck steel frame they call a bed in this torture chamber.

It's a struggle even ascertaining how much time has passed. It can't be years because I still remember how to think coherently like a human being. At least, I think I do. And I'm not talking to voices; I learnt that stupid-ass lesson the hard way the last time I was in here. Last time and now; now and last time. I would go back to last time any day. At least I had the somewhat comforting idea that Larry would be creating a shit storm on the outside because he hadn't seen me on Thanksgiving and the notion that maybe Alex would take me back after I had, albeit in a kind of messed up way, reasserted my loyalty to her – shown her I really do goddamn loved her.

No, it's been two months I'd say at a guess. Well, an educated guess. I've been assuming they allot us a breakfast, lunch and dinner, so I resorted to counting the meals with tally marks etched on the wall with my strangely strong fingernails. It's like prison has toughened them up or something: as it has me, I suppose. According to my chart then, it's been 56 days and I still haven't managed to block out the screaming. Or the crying, or the half-crazy insane shit that people shout at all hours of the day and, what I have to assume must be, night. If I'm honest, it scares me for all the wrong, most selfish reasons imaginable. I'm not worried or scared about them, or of them or for their own sainty (the other prisoners I mean). No, I'm funda-fucking-mentally terrified of how long they must have been rotting away in here to get like that. Because that means I might be 'incarcerated', as my mother says, for just the same amount of time.

And no one would give a crap.

Not even Healy has given me the pleasure of his company this time around. I wonder… in fact I wish, I hope, I even pray to whoever-the-hell is out there, that he's been fired. Maybe Pennsatucky decided that if he had stepped in earlier, I might not have had such a long time to smash her ugly teeth in. Oh, I bet she's so pleased with herself for this: up on her pedestal once again, telling the world how God has been all good and merciful once more by getting her the best new teeth a prison allowance can buy. Idiotically – as Fischer so kindly informed me before I was dragged away– it could actually be a pretty decent set because of Figueroa's recent budget screw-up or something. I don't know though – I wasn't really paying attention to much at that point.

I'd just been dragged off her completely limp form by Bennett who looked nearly as bad as I felt. Pennsatucky's face was all bloodied and practically unrecognisable with the gore. All I could think was: did I really do that? Was that me? My eyes eventually zeroed in on my crimson hands and sounds started to register, it wasn't just the snow and icy wind that assaulted my numb senses, but Bennett bellowing into his microphone for back-up and some sort of animalistic-like cackling sound. After a few minutes of utter confusion I realised the sound was coming from me. After that it was all too rushed. I'm here now and that's all that really matters in the scheme of things.

Tiffany's not dead though, so maybe she does have something to be thankful for… And I definitely do in that respect. Fischer again whispered to me that it quickly became apparent that the majority of her wounds were superficial, other than the teeth obviously. Fischer's not one to keep you waitin gin agony to hear the news of whether you're going to be given lifer for murder - not like all the other cunt Correctional Officers. If not for the fact that it wasn't too serious, I would be in Max. right now; it's a goddamn miracle I'm not in Psyche. It's only thanks to Taystee's account of all the shit Doggett pulled beforehand, coupled with my crying, begging and pleading with Caputo and pretty much all of the COs that has meant I've been stuffed into this tiny slice of heaven within a hellhole.

I'm not proud of myself, not for any of it. I shouldn't have lost control like that. It was just that retarded song and then seeing the back of Alex's head in the audience, all cosied up up to Nicky; that got me to see the light alright. Fucking bright white lights spiralling in front of my eyes that made me want to throw up from the sudden pain of loneliness and abandonment; I felt it scrape its way through my body from the pit of my stomach, right up to the solid ball of guilt and self-pity that had lodged itself in my throat. No matter how hard I try I can't forget that raw emotion. I probably never will.

I couldn't miss Alex more if she were a million miles away.

A/N: Feedback would be greatly appreciated and more chapters will follow in the near future... :)