Orange is the new hell.

Chapter Nine: Visiting day

Orange is the new hell

Chapter nine

"Visiting day."

Jordan lay back on her bunk, her eyes scanning the pages of a Stephen King novel. It was visiting day. The day that for the past few weeks, Jordan had grown to hate. Everyone else seemed to have visitors. For them, this day was filled with tears of joy as they saw lovers and family members.  For Jordan, it was filled with the painful realization that she had no one. No family who was still willing to talk to her, no friends.

No one.

That was why, when she heard her name being called to come greet her visitor it was such a shock to the young prisoner. She stood slowly and started walking towards the visiting room, fixing her long, wavy ginger hair as she walked. Maybe it was her lawyer, though she wouldn't know why. She had already been sentenced.

As Jordan stepped into the vast, unfamiliar room where visitors sat, her stomach sank. There, sitting at the table in the middle of the room, sat her father. His posture perfect, his eyes looking around for his most hated daughter. Jordan knew that was all she was now. The most hated daughter, the outcast of the family. They had, after all, left her on the streets. Kicked her out of the house with no place to go. That wasn't even because of the drugs.

Shocker, right?

They kicked her out when she forced her way out of the closet at fifteen. Now, her father some how found out where she was. It was funny, she thought he had given up on her after he sent her on her way as a teen. But apparently not, and she was dreading talking to him.

Jordan walked slowly, hoping that if she took long enough to get there, he'd get up and leave. But he didn't. Which made the crushing realization that he was here all the more real. When Jordan got there he didn't hug her, didn't shake her hand, her just let out a stern, powerful, "Sit." Jordan did as she was told silently. There were no sassy remarks when it came to her father. If she said anything she would fear getting a slap.

"Father, good to see you again, it definitely has been awhi--" Jordan started to speak, but she was cut off by her angered parent.

"Cut out the bullshit, Jordan" He growled, "The priest at our church somehow found out you were here. You've caused us so much crap at church now, even when we cut you out of our life you seem to wiggle your way back in and cause us shit!" The man's voice was rising, but still wasn't loud enough to catch the guards attention. Jordan felt each word like a stab in the heart, and everything around her seemed to fade away as she spoke to him.

"Cause you crap?" Jordan said, her voice steadily rising, "You're the one who sent me out on my own at seventeen! You're the one who would beat me until I couldn't feel anymore. You're the reason I started drugs! But no! I caused you crap! I caused your precious fucking church to dislike you, because that is so much word than abusing and kicking your daughter out!"

Mr. Jensen stood up, and Jordan did as well. She was significantly shorter than the large man, and by no doubt she was weaker. Standing in front of this barely human creature spiked terror throughout her frail body. Her hands trembled and her breath came in shaky huffs. Why had she said anything? Why didn't she just let it go? Mind racing, she felt a lump form in her throat. This wasn't going to end well. At least, it wouldn't if they were at home. if they were home this would be the time when a jittery Jordan shut the blinds and locked all the doors. It would be the moments when she slunk into the corner in fear, her pale, freckled arms over her head to shield punches. But now she was in prison. She had to be strong. She had to act like it didn't bug her. Like she wasn't terrified of this man. If she did, she could be considered the weak one, and she would definitely get beat up.

Jordan's attempt at being strong didn't faze the brutal man. His hand rose high into the air, before connecting with her cheek. A slap so hard, she stumbled backwards, tears falling from her eyes at a steady pace.

The guards ran over and held him back, his arms swinging and moving in an attempt to hit her again. It took two people to hold back the shouting, swinging man. He wasn't drunk, but he was sure as hell aggressive. Jordan, on the other hand, said nothing as she ran out of the room, crying for what felt like the millionth time since she arrived here. The tears fell down her cheeks in salty, hot streaks, blurring her vision and burning her eyes. 

The ginger girl turned the corner, and as she did, she ran into a tall, figure, who, at first, she had no idea who it could be. She stumbled backwards again, looking up through her tears at the woman she ran into;

Alex Vause.