Outside of the few unlucky hands stayed and stuffed with mops and buckets, the rest of us shuffled from the cafeteria and split across two halls —  proceeding as though nothing had occurred. My feet hit the ground though I couldn’t feel the meeting. I moved as a part of the whole, letting the assembly decide my steps so I wouldn’t have to think of them on my own. I shut it out for a time to regain my composure and let the motions run their course without me, only to return once the brunt of it had passed. A skill studied so I wouldn’t have to display parts of me I didn’t want to. Relax every muscle, focus on something mindless: go numb. The reverberations stopped pounding in my bones. The shake in my hands stilled. Everything dropped off but a subtle buzz across my skin, an assertive tell that I couldn’t leave my body behind entirely.

Down a long hall, the flock began to break apart through differing doors. Each door was a chunk of rectangular metal lodged into the wall, not complete without a paranoid number of thick locks along its side. Above the small horizontal window, taller than I could peek through, was a number. “135” read the label in a white paint that captured the lighting enough to reflect. Watching the glowing numbers rise, I progressed from one vault to another. 137. A warden to my left tossed someone inside their cell while contorting their arm to a near-snapping point. 141. A door I passed was thumping with a heavy thunk, thunk, thunk. 145. I stepped over someone crouched low to the ground, arm over their torso, gagging. 147. That same inmate was jittering against the floor after an administered shock from the guard in a power stance over the convulsing body. The inmate’s face splashed in the liquid they retched up.

149. 151. 153. 155.

157. Found it.

I tugged up the heavy latch to let myself in. Unhesitant as I was, it was less a headfirst push for bravery, and more a desire to escape from the cacophony of the hall. The snug space inside served as an initiator for my budding phobia. I looked to the walls for leverage in climbing them.

There were four cots in all, two stacked on each side, poking off the wall like shelves. The walk room between the bunks was no more than several feet. In the back was a sink-toilet hybrid of a device that I didn’t have to approach to know it smelled sinful. Walls and floors were the characteristic deep black that ICF had such an unfortunate favor for. At least the overhead lights packed an ever-paltry more potent punch.

Claiming the room’s right was a pale blond man in his late 40s with thin hair and a thinner frame. Built like a lamppost, he was exceptionally towering but could disappear if he stood sideways. His ankle and wrist bones looked plastered on top of his slender stickily limbs with how awkwardly they jutted out. His meager frame didn't deter him from responding to my attention in a confrontation-ready way; drawing up his boney shoulders. 

In the right’s bottom bunk was a second body. Facing toward the opposite wall, my only takeaway was the square shape of their back. With no intention to play welcome party to their new cellmate, they sat with arms on their knees as stationary as a piece of furniture. Their skin was only a few shades lighter than Jay’s ー though both were dark brown ー with curly hair a similar black to Jay’s natural base.

Materializing as though by consideration, Jay was there, cast from the pair onto the left side of the room. A face I wouldn’t soon forget and a “71” on his ankle. When I entered, he shot up from sitting, arms folded protectively over himself, looking at the floor like it had something interesting on it. At my advance to our designated half, his face scrunched like I was rank. He shifted his weight away from me in a gesture not intended to go unnoticed. I figured he’d resent me, but I didn’t expect it to be this obvious out of the gate.

Our paths intertwined during the chase of my unsuccessful getaway when he was waiting with an armful of books at a red crosswalk. In an already different world, I remembered the bookstore on that street, one of the new chains with two stories and a sky room. Someplace someone that appeared like him, or as he had, would frequent. I tore down that sidewalk, looked at him as he did me, my stride passing his standstill, and kept going unaffected. The entirety of our singular interaction. My “accomplice” the court had deemed him. Wrong place, wrong time, I’d say. If he was somehow involved in my crimes, it would be by either the plotting of a genius or an idiot. We’ve never spoken to each other before. That is, until now.

“Which bunk?” The sound of my voice jarred him. In a way, it did me too. I’d forgotten what it sounded like. Forgotten I had one. He moved his face further from my view.

“Top.” A spiked reply after a beat.

He moved to clamor up to his claim, but I stopped him shy with my arm. A stiff jump back, a sour look. Now I wasn’t sure whether it was hate or fear that made the foundation of Jay’s opinions of me.

I gripped the upper shelf and shook it. A rumble with an unsatisfactory amount of give. “It probably won’t crush me in my sleep.”

He didn’t entertain me in the slightest when he climbed into place once I was no longer a hindrance, despite already making it clear that I was one on a permanent basis. There wasn’t any reason to ask or expect cordiality from Jay. I didn’t mind if he couldn’t stand me, if anything, it was a bigger drawback to him than I. He had little choice but to be near in our cramped little home. Breathing space was a commodity none of us could afford.

“Keep shaking shit like that and it will.” The blond barked at me. His voice was crackly and hollow. Flailing his hands when he spoke, aggressively so, he continued “Break it and you’re sleeping on the damn floor.”

I eyed him lazily from my bunk. He had an energy to him that wasn’t difficult to decipher, yet it was already impossibly exhausting. Some kind of intimidation tactic to open with animosity. I was already hated well enough by one body in the room, two seemed overkill.

“Apologies.” My voice was flat. The energy to care about being disliked was already occupied by keeping me from caring too much about anything at all. Even if I predicted it would not let this meeting go over well, I’d not worry about that either.

“You better be fucking sorry.” He jabbed his pointer finger my way. The way his lip curled back reminded me of the reverberating door from the hall. I bet it hurt to be smashed against it. “Room was just fine with two till you fucks showed up and ruined that for me.”

He was using me as a scapegoat for his displeasure, thinking it was only his discomfort that took precedence. My chest bubbled in feeling. As though wishing ill-tidings on me, it was combative annoyance that surfaced. “You’re right. I don’t like sharing either, let me just-” I strolled to the door and reached for the interior handle that didn’t exist. After miming gripping something a few times, I tossed my hands up in surprise. “Well, what do you know? Guess not.”

“I’ll beat the smartass out of you-”

“Stop it.” A voice, soft but strict, called from the blond's territory. The unidentified fourth party turned to me, an unreadable expression with exhausted eyes, unbothered by their condition, and tight lips that offered an equal amount of mystery. I was envious of his technique. “Not the best at first impressions are you, 56?”

There wasn’t a way for me to discern if his intent was to be disrespectful. It felt that way regardless with how he chose to address me. “It’s Paige”

The blond laughed, a crass, mocking outcry, and tapped the screen of his anklet. 96. “Not here it ain’t.”

“81.” His bunkmate greeted, but still flashed his numbers at me with a turn of his ankle. “And your friend?”

Jay’s shelf creaked as he turned away.

I looked up to where he had laid down, displaying his back to us, and answered “71” in his place.

“Nice to meet you.” 81 bowed his head lightly, untroubled by Jay’s antisocial behavior. He addressed everyone saying, “Let’s tolerate each other. We’ll have to if we don’t want to make this worse on ourselves.” Maturity emanated off him more than anyone else in the room, even if he appeared several years younger than 96. On initial impressions, I couldn’t imagine someone as even-tempered as him violating any laws. Should the fact that he did put me on edge, or should I take it at face value and be grateful for the mediator? The lack of obvious intentions in preventing an altercation marked him as unfriendly despite having saved my hide. For some reason, 81 decided to look to me for a response. Having not done anything to earn the doubled hostility thrown my way, I only shrugged. That was enough to satisfy him. 96 grunted and mounted his suspended bedding. We all seemed in mutual agreement to ignore each other thereafter.

It was hard for me to think of 96 and 81 as people I’d once pass on the street or sit near at a restaurant. At a time, we all had been a part of that world together, now we were here together. Unless they’d been locked up since before I’d even taken my first breath. It was possible, my sentencing would extend past my current age as well. Someone else’s lifetime.

Jay had the appearance as much as the rest of them, but I still saw the scared man in the courtroom. Where had he gone now? As though answering my search, he shifted back toward the room’s center. I found that man again in the creases in his forehead and the quiver of his lips, unable to silence his anxiety. He noticed me. Our eyes met as they had before and I hoped to God it wasn’t as bad an omen as the first time.

The lights cut, plunging the entire room into pitch black. I startled and hit Jay’s bunk frame.

“What’s going on?” Jay questioned, breathless and sharp.

“Lights out.” 81 answered.

“Time to shut the fuck up.” 96 threatened.

If it was night already then could I have been knocked out for an entire day? I stood in the dark for several minutes, reaching for answers that I thought if I tried hard enough I could find, before giving up again at ever deducing it and feeling my way onto my cot. There weren't any blankets, pillows, or any offerings of comfort, only a plastic case filled with stiff padding. The wooden shelf whined as I rested my weight on it. The mattress shifted around in the leftover space made from the frame being too wide. I’d have to be exhausted to find sleep here, and even then, it may be easier to do so standing up. Smell better too.

A slight knocking overhead came from fists against the wall, then a dull murmur. It wasn’t loud enough to discern the words being made even if I craned my ears. No need to concern myself with it, with any of it, I’d adjust. The mattress, the roommates, the sounds, the worry, I’d adjust to it all. I’d have to.

Eventually. 

I curled into a ball and used my arms to wrap myself up. When I could still hear an imitation of the beating from dinner behind the walls, I knew it wouldn’t be as soon as tonight.