Entrapped by love- never trust a stranger

Prologue

The electric buzz of the prison door was followed by the familiar scrape of metal against concrete as the cell door slid open. The harsh clang echoed in the small space, a daily reminder of confinement. I had grown used to that sound. It came at the same hour, every single day, marking the brief window of limited liberty I was granted.

I sighed, feeling the weight of the routine pressing on me like it did every morning. Betsy, my cellmate, pushed the door wider with her shoulder and turned back toward me, her expression hard but sympathetic.

"Melanie," she said softly, almost in a whisper. "You coming or not?"

I hesitated. Normally, I was the first one out, eager to escape the stifling walls of the cell, even if only for an hour in the yard or to go to the laundry where Betsy and I worked. But today, that familiar desire to leave felt dulled. I stared at the floor, my thoughts miles away. Six years... six years I'd been trapped here, and I was only twenty-five.

"Yeah, I'm coming," I mumbled, standing up slowly and following Betsy out into the cold, sterile corridor of the pod.

As we stepped out, Deputy Stone stood waiting, as rigid as ever. Her sharp eyes swept over us, scanning for any sign of defiance or trouble. She never smiled, not even a flicker of warmth, and though we all feared her, I couldn't say she was cruel. At least, not to me. She was just... cold, like a machine.

"You have thirty minutes in the yard," she said in her flat, measured tone. "After that, you're scheduled for showers."

Betsy and I both nodded. We knew the routine. We'd done it so many times it was burned into our bones. The monotony was worse than the prison walls, worse than the bars, worse than the lack of freedom. The routine killed something inside me, slowly, day by day. There was no spontaneity, no surprise. Nothing ever happened here—unless it was a fight or worse, someone getting killed. Nothing to look forward to. Nothing to hold on to.

I fell into step beside Betsy, my hands tucked into the pockets of my prison-issued pants. She was my friend, if you could call anyone in here that. And yet, every day, I felt the creeping sense of isolation gnawing at me. Even Betsy couldn't reach that part of me anymore.

As we walked into the yard, the cold wind hit my face, biting through my thin uniform. Betsy lit up a cigarette and offered it to me, the smoke curling in lazy tendrils between us.

"Want one?" she asked, her voice rough from years of smoking.

I shook my head. "No, I'm trying to quit."

Betsy raised an eyebrow, incredulous. "Quit? Here? You serious? This is the only thing that makes this place bearable. It's not like we've got a lot of options for... comfort."

I crossed my arms over my chest, feeling an old disgust rise up in me. "It'll kill you."

Betsy laughed bitterly, a harsh, guttural sound that barely resembled humor. "And that's supposed to scare me? You know as well as I do, it'd be a mercy. I'm here for life, Melanie. The day these cigarettes kill me will be the day they finally do me a favor."

Her words hit me harder than I wanted to admit. Betsy had been sentenced to life for killing a cop during a robbery gone wrong. She wore that sentence like a second skin, like it had become part of her identity. And in a way, it had. I watched her sad face, the lines of defeat etched deep into her expression, and I felt a pang of empathy.

We weren't so different. I was trapped in here too, only my sentence wasn't forever. But sometimes it felt like it might as well be. Fifteen years. Fifteen years for a crime I didn't even commit. My stomach twisted with anger as I thought about him. The one who'd put me here. The one who had used me, betrayed me, and then left me to rot in this cage while he walked free.

Betsy must have noticed my silence. She turned to me, her cigarette burning down to ash in her hand.

"Mel, you had that nightmare again, didn't you?"

I didn't need to answer. She could see it on my face. I nodded, ashamed. It was the same nightmare every time. The same memory. The betrayal. The courtroom. His face.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "Did I wake you up again?"

Betsy waved it off, shaking her head. "Nah, I couldn't sleep anyway. This place... it messes with your head, you know? Every night, the same thoughts, the same ghosts." She paused, taking another drag of her cigarette before looking at me with a sly grin. "You should talk to the shrink, though. Maybe he could help. And he's gorgeous. I mean, if I could get just one night with him, I'd die happy."

I forced a smile, though the weight of my thoughts pressed down on me too hard to fully engage in the banter. "Yeah, I know."

Betsy eyed me, her expression shifting from playful to serious. "You were dreaming about him again, weren't you? About that bastard."

I didn't reply, but I didn't have to. She already knew the answer. He was always in my head, lurking there like a shadow I couldn't shake. No matter how hard I tried to forget him, no matter how much I wanted to erase him from my life, he was always there.

Betsy stubbed out her cigarette on the ground and turned to face me fully. "Melanie, I know you won't like what I'm about to say, but you need to hear it."

"Please don't," I interrupted, my voice tight with emotion.

"You have to listen to me, Mel." Her voice was firm, insistent. "Forget him. You've got to stop letting him live rent-free in your head. He's gone. He's not worth it."

"I can't!" I snapped, louder than I intended. My voice echoed across the yard, catching the attention of a few nearby inmates. I lowered my tone, struggling to keep the rage at bay. "When I get out, I'm going to find him."

Betsy's eyes darkened with concern. "To do what? Put yourself in trouble again? Is that what you want?"

I shook my head, but the answer wasn't as simple as that. My hands clenched into fists at my sides. "No. I want revenge."

Her face fell, and for a moment, neither of us spoke. The wind howled between the fences, and in the distance, I could hear the faint sounds of a fight breaking out in another part of the yard. But here, in this moment, it was just Betsy and me, locked in a silent battle of wills.

"Melanie," she said softly, her voice barely audible. "Revenge isn't going to give you your life back."

I met her gaze, my jaw tight. "No. But it'll give me peace."