Maneater: Recovery & Redemption

Prologue

I stood in line, waiting to be served. My right wrist nagged at me with a listless, sharp pain. I rubbed it while I waited, desperate to sooth the ache. I looked down at the bandage around it, spots of red seeping into the fabric from my moment of crisis. Losing my freedom was more than I ever thought it would be, even when I thought I'd lost it already.

My tray was filled with subpar food of institutional variety--a hot dog with beans, a bruised apple, and a slice of stale bread. I glared down at the tray, then turned my glare to the burly female state employee that served me. She gave me a head nod, indicating it was time for me to move along. It was my healthy meal that the state had paid for. Lucky women that we are. Dazed and disgusted, I carried it over to the bench where I sat day in, day out. I picked over it like I always did, day in and day out. I gulped it down with the hopes of keeping it down, never with much luck.

"I'll throw it all up by noon," I thought to myself. I'd become my own best friend and worst enemy in here, engaging myself in conversations about things that would never happen, or about things that had happened already that I desperately wished I could relive. Frequently I daydreamed about a men that loved me, albeit only in my daydreams. In reality, I had no love in my life. If I'd had some, I wouldn't still be here. I'm sure someone would've made an attempt to get me out.

I stared at the clock continuously, hoping that if I stared hard enough, I would be able to make time move faster. But why bother? There was no future for me. Nothing awaited me but another mandatory psychiatrist session here at Women's State Corrections in Frackville. They were mandatory to all inmates on suicide watch. And fucking Frackville. Nothing out here but land and cows. It was the perfect setting for a despondent future because there was literally nothing to look forward to.

After another repulsive meal, I eyed my cell block guard as she grabbed my arm, escorting me to a small room with a tiny window--incidentally, not my cell. My eyes fell on Dr. Black, my psychiatrist. She sat there, waiting for me with her pen and notebook, ready to dig into the recesses of my mind for another loathsome hour of my twenty-five year sentence. There weren't enough hours in the day for her, but for me, I had nothing but time.

Her perfectly coiffed hair fell to her shoulders, blonde and freshly cut. It annoyed me. She was a beautiful woman, with high cheekbones and bright green almond eyes. She was the kind of beautiful that made other women hate themselves, kind of like how I did right now. I was jealous, and wouldn't deny it. Why would they give me such a therapist, as if I hadn't suffered enough? I was in jail for prostitution and murder; my ego was already permanently damaged.

It was damaged before I came in here.

My guard sat me on the couch, her mannish hands scratching me from the deep calluses on her palms. She looked how I felt; beaten, unattractive, and empty. Guards and inmates really were one in the same. We locked eyes for a brief moment before she left me to stand by at the door for once my session was over.

"How do you feel today, Sasha?" Dr. Black asked, crossing her legs over in her well-tailored navy pantsuit. "How have you felt since you were first discharged from the hospital?"

"Like shit," I answered. "I wish they'd just let me bleed out."

"Is that really what you want? I just bleed out and pretend there's no life left for you to live?"

I rolled my eyes, looking nowhere in particular. "I will be over fifty when I get out. I'll never be able to have children. I will have to try and find a job with no skills. I won't be able to find somewhere to live. I was living just fine until I got arrested."

She jotted a quick note, nodding her head. For her, I was just a job. Another crazy with the inability to cope with a life that they'd sought out. For me, she was a harsh reminder that I'd ruined my life, and that I could've been anything if I tried. My eyes welled up, tears sitting in the corners of my eyes.

She leaned in, squinting at me quizzically. "Tell me why you're getting emotional right now."

"Because this is bullshit. There are women all over the world who make a living through their vaginas, leaving them either empowered or humiliated at their own expense. For me, it was payback, and I'm the one suffering for all the others who do the same thing."

Taken aback, she looked at me. "Is that really what you think? You are the victim for other women who do the same thing that you do? Do you think women who prostitute themselves should be given a free pass?"

"Those men had a good time. They made their choice. All I did was fulfill a fantasy and make some money."

"And commit a murder," she reminded me in her snarky voice. "You killed your husband."

I sat back, smiling to myself as a tear rolled down my face. Yeah, I guess I did that, too.

"It wasn't on purpose," I retorted sarcastically. "It was all a misunderstanding."

"How is a knife to the groin a misunderstanding?" she asked sarcastically, but clearly wanting to know my logic.

"I misunderstood his intentions with his pants around his ankles. What can I say?" I responded equally snarky, not interested in sitting in the office another moment. I hated therapists. They were so smug, looking down on you for your problems like they didn't have any of their own. I sat across from her, ornery with annoyance.

"Sasha," she said, her voice demanding and attentive. "Tell me what happened again? Let's see if revisiting things will get us to where it all went wrong."

"It went wrong when I was born," I recanted. "I must've been born under a bad sign."

"Still," she said modestly, trying to not let on that she thought I was a complete train wreck, "It might be helpful for me to see if I can uncover something we might've missed."

I complied. I figured being difficult wouldn't help the session go any faster, and I sure as hell didn't want to spend an hour staring at someone I hated out of jealousy. Yes, I'm jealous. I am woman enough to admit it.

"Ok," sighed. "How far back do you want to go?"

"Let's start with Shawn and Will, your ex-husband and lover."

I smiled a sinister smile to myself, reflecting on those two and everything they did that drove me to madness. All men were the same, and definitely the reason why women lost their senses. We spent our entire lives trying to live for them, and often got nothing in return.

I lay on the couch, my eyes closed as I breathed deeply, trying to not let my emotions run me anymore. I was notorious for that, and it had come back to bite me in the ass. Now, I just breathed, thinking about Will, his touch, his scent, his fucking wife. Then, I thought about Shawn and his overly demanding, high-supreme attitude. Fuck them both.

"Ok,I will start there."ÓTS/1c