Fatal Attractions

XLIV

"Next."

I swallowed a dry lump in my throat as I stepped up in the line, flinching as server plopped a spoonful of an unidentified substance on my plate that resembled wet cement with chunks of carrots in it.

"Next."

I quickly moved out of the way to the next server, who threw a stale roll onto my tray.

It's middle school all over again. Shitty food, dirty looks, miserable cafeteria monitors. The only thing that would make it complete was my braces and all of the girls hating me, but the second part might just be true.

I made my way to an uninhabited table in the corner and sat down, gagging as the smell of freezer burnt meat got to me.

I put a hand over my mouth to keep from throwing up as I glanced at the other women around me, licking their plates like it was cake.

Two days in prison and I was nowhere near becoming assimilated.

The snores from the cell next to mine bizarre me, how can they sleep on a mat with a towel for a blanket (it's not actually a mat and it's not actually a towel, but that's what it feels like) makes me jealous of them because I'm tossing and turning all night. They drop their pants in the bathroom, not bothered by the fact there aren't any doors on the stalls. It really made me appreciate public bathrooms a little more. Finally, this food resembled something puked up by dumpster diving dogs, yet they ate it like they had never tasted anything better.

Why was I even here? I didn't belong with criminals that I had put here.

Speaking of that, no one had noticed who I was yet. I kept quiet most of the time and tried not to show my face.

I noticed a table of women across the room glaring at me and quickly hid my face with my hair as I brought a soupy spoonful of vomit to my mouth, forcing it down.

"The food isn't so bad once you get used to it."

I looked up nervously, seeing that a woman, probably my age, had sat down across from me and was shoveling watery mashed potatoes into her mouth.

"Haw," She said with a mouthful of food, reaching her tattooed hand across the table. "I'm Penelope, but people 'round here call me Pixie."

"Because of your hair?" I asked, glancing at her tousled short platinum hair cut. After second glance, she did kind of look like Tinkerbell with her slim figure and teal eyes.

She smirked at me. "No, for how I work my magic in bed." Pixie winked at me as she licked her spoon clean.

I had to remind myself every once in awhile that I was surrounded by horny women that probably hadn't seen a man in months, and was bound to get hit on at some point.

"So what are you in for?" She asked me, poking a few peas on her plate.

"Armed robbery." I muttered.

She pulled up her sleeve, revealing a bunch of small holes scabbing over in the crease of her elbow. "Substance abuse."

I nodded, glad she wasn't a murderer.

"So how you likin' it here?" She brandished a fake grin sarcastically. "Isn't it a blast?"

"Something like that." I muttered, glancing back at the women still staring at me from the other side of the room.

"Shit," She said, looking in the same direction. "What'd you do to piss them off?"

"How do you know they're pissed off? Is that a bad thing that they're pissed off?" I asked nervously.