Heartless People

ONE

Though this be madness, yet there is method in't.
—William Shakespeare.

LAUREN.

DAY 1

123.

124.

125.

126.

I counted as I pulled myself upwards. The bars running across the ceiling provided an ample structure for my workout. Ignoring the burning ache in my arms, I continued with my routine. If I disregarded the husky, deep, and howling voices around me, I was able to find silence in my new six-by-eight stone and steel cell. For one hundred and twenty-seven days, I'd drifted from one cell to another in different jails all across the state for my safety. But none of that mattered; I was away from her, from my son, from my family. Drifting and working every muscle to the brink of exhaustion, was the only way to keep the last bit of sanity I had left.

No emotion. No fear. That was the mantra I kept while I waited.

"How are you liking your new palace, Jauregui?" one of the officers asked as he beat his hand against the entrance of my cell. Without the shackles and steel, his bravado would be nonexistent. I knew that, and he knew it too.

"It seems like you've never been to a palace,"  I replied stoically as I pulled myself up once again; one hundred and fifty pull-ups, two hundred crunches, two hundred and fifty push-upsthose were my days here.

"Well, thats what ya get when you murder your wife. The warden wants to personally welcome ya to your new home,"  he said, and I wanted bash his face in.

With a sigh, I stretched before I grabbed my shirt off of the dog mat they called a bed. Placing my hands through the open slot of the door, the little prick pressed the cuffs around my wrists harder than he needed to. But if he was looking for a reaction, he was looking in the wrong fucking place. Stepping
back, I waited for him to slide open the door before I walked out. It took three of them, all heavy set and balding, to escort me.

"Walk," the eldest of them stated, as he nodded towards the corridor with his chest puffed out like a penguin. This was nothing new, this was the third
penitentiary, and for some reason they all felt the need to prove themselves and show me who was king of this shithole. As I walked, the insults were the same as other facilities, a barrage of noise and threats always came my way.

"Wooo, look at the pretty white girl."

"Wheres your money at now, Jauregui?"

"Jauregui, you're my bitch now."

"You ain't shit, girl!"

Walking towards the silver steel stairs, I simply ignored them. Everyone was looking for a reaction, just to be noticed. For one moment in their miserable excuse of a life, they wanted to be seen and heard. I wasnt going to lower myself to their incompetenceI had people for that.

"You better watch yourself, Jauregui," the guard, whose name I wouldn't bother to learn, said as he opened the steel door for me.

She sat sandwiched between an old organized desk and a wall that was covered in awards, certificates, and medals. She had short red, shoulder-length
hair, wore dark framed glasses, and a suit jacket. She couldn't have been older than forty, and the golden plaque on her desk read: Dr. Rachel Alden.

"Have a seat, Mrs. Jauregui."  She pointed to the wooden chair in front of her desk as she spun around and grabbed my file.

As I sat down, the two guards behind me made sure that their presence was known. She eyed me like a hawk. Her hands were folded, and her body leaned
forward as though she was about to pounce.