when Maylyn Jones gets thrown into prison for the murder of her parents, she wasn't expecting to meet anyone special, until Michael Scofield caught her eye. Her mother had always told her not to fall in love with a criminal, but they're all criminal...
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chapter three // hey girlie
M A Y L Y N As soon as Anya and the second guard removed my handcuffs they called out for the cell door to be closed. One part of me was thankful that there was a barrier between me and the other inmates, but the other half realised that I was in prison and there was no going back.
I took the chance to glance around the small cell, everything conveniently a boring shade of grey. There was a small table, a sink, a stainless steel toilet and a bunk bed that took up most of the space. I looked at the bed warily before taking a seat on it, the noise of the cheap mattress underneath my weight making me cringe. My eyes skimmed over the walls, observing every inch of it to try and familiarise myself.
I looked back over at the table in the corner and noticed my small brown notebook already placed on the top. I leaned over and grabbed it, the touch of its leather reminding me somewhat of home. I opened it to the first page and three small pictures fell out; one of me at school prom, one of my parents and one of my brother and I. My face dropped as I realised how much shit I'm in. My fingers brushed across each one gently before I slid them back into their place and placed the book gently back on to the desk.
The catcalls and insults didn't stop, even long after I was put away into my cell. I walked over to the front bars and placed my arms through, leaning my bodyweight on them and resting my forehead against the cold metal.
"Mhmm, what else can those hands do?" "Show us more, pretty." "I want her with me first." "I wonder if all her family looks that good." "Oh, imagine an orgy with her siblings."
"Shut up!" I yelled, bashing my fist against the metal bars with a crack. I winced at the slight pain in my knuckles but brushed it off, resting my head back onto the metal.
"Ooh, I love a feisty girl." "The new meats got a temper." "You like it angry I'll give it to you angry."
Over all the shouts and sexist comments, one voice seemed softer than the others. "Don't listen to them." He said calmly, his voice making my muscles relax. "I think it's a bit late for that." I turned my head to look at the cell next to mine, where a pair of heavily tattooed arms were poking out of the bars.
He made a humming noise in agreement, and I retracted my arms from their place.
I flicked my wrist up and looked down at my watch. 9:00pm. It was for the first time in a while that I actually felt tired. My eyes started to droop and all I wanted to do was curl up into a ball and sleep.
