The Inmate’s Angel

#3. Welcome to hell

Olivia’s arms were gripped firmly by the two female officers as they dragged her into the prison changing room. The fabric of her ruined wedding gown scraped against her skin, damp with sweat and streaked with dust. She struggled to take in the surroundings, the cold, sterile walls echoing every step she took.

“Why… why am I here?” she asked, her voice trembling despite her attempts at calm. “Why not just a female prison? Why… why male and female?”

The taller officer, her jaw tight and eyes hard, didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she leaned closer, her breath faintly scented with antiseptic. “Keep your mouth shut,” she said sharply, almost hissing the words. “Questions don’t get answered here, girl.”

Olivia’s stomach churned. Her hands fumbled with the fabric of her torn gown as the officers guided her toward a metal shelf holding stacks of prison clothing. She peeled off the ruined dress, feeling the cool air of the room bite at her skin. One officer handed her a folded set of dull gray fabric. Olivia took it slowly, fingers brushing against the coarse material, trying to reconcile herself with the fact that this would be her life for who knew how long.

The officers led her toward the shower area. The smell of bleach and damp concrete filled her nose. She hesitated, heart thumping, before stepping under the steady stream of water, letting it wash away the remnants of her panic, the grime of the escape, the blood and the terror. Her hands trembled as she cleaned herself, a nervous careful rhythm to each motion. The prison issued uniform she was handed afterward hung loose on her small frame, the sleeves swallowing her arms and the pants dragging against her feet.

When she was fully dressed, the taller officer motioned toward a door. “Come on,” she said, voice clipped. “Time to meet the others.”

Inside the room, two female prisoners sat on their bunks, their gazes immediately snapping toward Olivia. Their eyes didn’t blink and didn’t soften. They assessed her like predators measuring prey. Olivia stiffened, the chill crawling up her spine. She kept her posture rigid, arms pressed close to her body, refusing to give them the satisfaction of showing fear, though her heart hammered in warning.

“Get comfortable with your life,” the officer said, her tone sharp and harsh. She flicked the lock on the door behind her and walked off, the sound echoing down the empty corridor. Silence followed, thick and purely suffocating. Olivia’s shoulders tensed further.

One of the girls slid down from her top bunk with a fluid motion, landing lightly on the floor. She approached Olivia with deliberate steps. “I’m Emmy,” she said, voice steady, eyes locking on Olivia.

Olivia’s lips pressed together. She gave a small nod in acknowledgment, unsure what else to do.

Emmy extended her hand, palm open, unwavering. “Shake hands. Firmly,” she instructed.

Olivia’s stomach turned over. She hesitated, but fear outweighed her pride. She reached out and shook Emmy’s hand, her grip cautious. Emmy’s smirk widened, eyes glinting with satisfaction.

“Emmy, back off,” the other girl snapped sharply, pointing a finger at a single bed in the far corner. “That’s her bed. That’s where she stays.”

Olivia’s knees felt weak. She moved toward the bed, each step slow and cautious. Her breathing was shallow. She had never been in such an environment before, the hum of tension and danger was suffocating.

“You new here?” Lydia asked softly, voice carrying a subtle edge of curiosity, but no kindness.

Olivia simply nodded, hugging herself instinctively. Her arms crossed over her chest, as if holding in the chaos of her nerves.

Emmy leaned in closer, eyes sharp and her voice low. “What landed you in this place?”

Olivia exhaled slowly, a sigh that carried more weariness than words could convey. “Family affairs,” she said finally. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

Emmy chuckled, a dark, quiet sound. “All this stubbornness… it won’t work here,” she said. “Especially when you come face to face with Elizabeth.”

Olivia’s brow furrowed. “Who… who’s Elizabeth?”

Emmy and Lydia exchanged a glance that spoke more than words, then turned their attention back to her. Emmy began, her tone serious, almost reverent, “Elizabeth is the toughest girl in here. No one messes with her. Absolutely no one.”

Olivia pressed her lips together, lowering her gaze. “I don’t plan on getting on anyone’s nerves,” she said quietly.

She curled up on the narrow bed, hugging her knees, folding her arms around herself. The prison hummed with noise, voices shouting and metal clanging. Too noisy and too chaotic.

Emmy shook her head slightly. “Tomorrow is training day,” she muttered, rolling her eyes.

Lydia groaned in agreement. “I hate training day,” she added.

Olivia’s curiosity overcame her fear. “What… what’s the training like?” she asked, voice barely heard.

Emmy edged closer, lowering her voice so only Olivia could hear. “Training day… it’s not good. Not good at all,” she said, a shadow crossing her expression. “It mostly favors the rank prisoners. Tomorrow… it’s going to be bloody.”

Olivia’s body stiffened.