You Know What They Do To Guys Like Us In Prison

Three. (Frank's POV)

I lied there, crying my eyes out as he watched. I could feel him staring, I was used to it. I wanted to hide the fact I had actual human emotions because they made me look like a wimp. I wasn't a wimp. Not even close.

I kept sobbing into my pillow, trying to tell my mom I was innocent. I remembered that day at court, the day I was plead guilty. As soon as the judge slammed that doomed hammer onto the round slab of wood that ruined so many lives, I looked at her. Her face was emotionless and stern.

~flashback~

"It wasn't me!" I mouthed at her as guards handcuffed me against my will. She still had no expression. I started to cry as I tried to fight of the tiny metal prisons around my wrists.

"Mom! Help! Tell them! I'm innocent! I swear!" I screamed in agony as I kicked the air while being carried to the door. Tears stung in my eyes as I screamed and shrieked.

She just stood there. I almost saw her whisper "I love you honey" before she walked away, her arms crossed. My little sister was crying her eyes out and tugging madly to my mom's skirt. She didn't understand why her sweet brother Frankie was being pulled out of a room filled of angry people. I couldn't blame her, she was only 5.

They carried my spasming body into a police truck waiting outside. The driver shut the door.

I was left there, madly banging at the metal door until my fists and elbows hurt. I then lied down, leaning against the cold metal and had a good old cry.

~end of flashback~

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The same red beeping alarm and fat officer shouting and banging on the door woke me up this morning. I hadn't fall off the bed this time though.

Nº 489 wasn't there for some reason. The feeling of loneliness surrounded me again. Breathing became hard and I felt my throat closing up.

I got out of bed, clutching my shirt and leaning on the wall, trying to breathe.

It's only another panic attack, calm down, it's fine, only a panic attack I told myself. I was soon panting and crumbling onto the ground and shaking.

Thankfully, he then walked in and shouted my name. He shook me to make me snap out of it.

"Frank! Frank! You're not alone! I'm here! Cut it out! It's just a panic attack!" He was holding my shoulders and shouting, looking straight into my eyes. His were a light hazel with a few light brown stripes. I just gazed deep into them and tried hard to calm the heck down.

"Can't... Breathe." I manages to squeeze out after a few seconds. He immediately ran out the cell and shouted.

"We need an inhaler! This is urgent!" He was flailing his arms to get attention.

"I've got one! I'm coming!" A voice shouted from across the hall.

Nº grabbed it, sassily flipped his unnaturally red and wooshy hair out of the way to see me. He kneeled next to my gagging body and jammed the inhaler into my mouth. I grabbed it and pushed the button to shoot the stuff down my throat. I choked for a second and then started to breath again.

I looked around, my sheets were a mess, I had ripped paint off the wall and spat blood on the floor. All because of a bit of loneliness.

"Are you okay?" He asked, stressed. I nodded quickly, hesitated and then shook my head before melting into tears. My eyesight was blurry and my lips were chapped. I coughed out more blood and grabbed onto my cellmate's shirt. My head was resting on his lap.

He handed the inhaler to the guy who had lended it to me. It was the same polite blondie from yesterday.

"Thanks, Patrick." Nº 489 said nicely before telling the crowd of people around our room, trying to see what was happening to leave us alone. He then stroked the greasy black thing I had for hair and whispered that it was okay.