Marked | ✔️

Part 1:Jason

*Clang, clang* "Hey! Wake up, Myers!" the guard shouts as he knocks his baton against the iron bars.

I rub my eyes. "Huh?" I ask.

"It's time to go, Myers!" he says as he unlocks the door.

"Wait, really?" I ask.

"Yes, now scram. Get your belongings at Block B." I scramble to my feet and speed walk to Block B as told. Once I've gotten everything back, two guards lead me to the exit and shut the door without hesitation after I step outside.

"How am I supposed to go back to the city?" I wonder to myself, looking at the empty fields in front of me. *Honk!* A loud sound startles me, and I look around for the source of it then spot a white jeep on the far side of the jail wall.

"Hey, stupid! Let's go!" Amber, my childhood friend, shouts as she waves at me. I jog over to her and enter the vehicle swiftly. "Long time no see, retard," she says as she ruffles my hair.

"Can you not insult me as soon as you see me?" I ask, and she scoffs.

"Nah, not gonna happen, weirdo," she replies with a snort and starts driving.

"Also, you visited me last month. What do you mean 'long time no see'?" I ask.

"It's just something people say when they finally see their friends getting released from prison so stop being such a butt," she answers and glances at me lamely.

"I don't think that is correct," I comment.

"Shut up, Jason," she remarks, and I smirk. I miss this bantering we have. Amber hasn't changed at all since young. She's only two years older than me, but she acts as if she's ten years older. From when I met her to now, we've always bantered like this. Amber is pretty, you could say, considering I don't have beauty preferences in people to acknowledge that they're beautiful. For example, some people deem women who have long hair, clear skin, and a sweet smile pretty. I don't really care about those things.

Amber has her own style. She has a black pixie cut, tan skin, doe eyes, and a crooked smile. She doesn't wear dresses, in fact, she despises them. She usually wears over-sized t-shirts and loose shorts along with a pair of sneakers. Whenever her hands are free, she would stick them in her pockets as if trying to hide them. She's special in her own way and that's why I like her, as my friend of course. "How much money do you have?" she asks.

"In the bank, I have $200 my mom left for me in her will," I reply.

"Oh, okay. I'll give you some more until you find a job," she remarks awkwardly. I know why she's acting this way. It's because of my mom. If you have questions about why I went to jail, this will probably answer it for you. When I was small, the person who was my 'dad' would abuse my mom daily. He was a damn drunkard and gambler. He would spend all my mom's money on alcohol and gambling. The bastard would use me as bait to get my mom to give him money whenever she hid it; he'd threaten to beat me as well. My mom, being the person she was, gave in and let him take the money in order to protect me.

She'd put a bunch of makeup and clothes on to hide the evidence he left on her. I had always asked her why she didn't report it to the police, and she'd answer saying that he'll eventually change and that she doesn't want to ruin our family. Amber always knew, but mom asked her to keep quiet, so she did. Once, the bastard even beat her till she couldn't move her arm. She couldn't go to work, and he got even more agitated because he had no money to spend, so he started beating me.

My mom couldn't bear it, so she went to work anyways. I cried myself to sleep several times wishing that it would all just stop one day, but it obviously wasn't going to. He was already in too deep with the gambling. He was overly addicted. Our abusive relationship went on for several years until one day, I came home to see him staring at my mom who was lying on the floor with a pool of blood under her head.

"Mom!" I rushed to her side. She did not respond, and her whole body was limp. "What the hell did you to do her?!"

"She hid the money from me, so I took it from her, but then she clung unto me, and I pushed her away then she stopped moving," he said, and I could see from his eyes that he was long gone from sanity.

"You fucking bastard!" I threw a punch to his face, and he stumbled onto the floor. "I'm gonna fucking kill you!"

I knelt above him and punched him repeatedly until he pushed me away making me fall onto the floor. He started to strangle me, so I grabbed something nearby and injured him with it. Turns out I grabbed an umbrella and stabbed the point into his heart. I killed him, but I didn't regret it. I got to avenge my mom's death.

After the neighbors called the police, I went to jail for murder even though it was defense. I was 15 at the time, and I was sentenced to 10 years. Amber found out later on and did a funeral for my mom then visited me occasionally, so I wouldn't be lonely. She hated herself for not speaking up when she had to, so she feels responsible for what happened to our family. In the time I was locked in, I spent some time to think about stuff. I don't regret killing him, but I did wish it could've turned out differently, and I also learned to forgive him for what he did even though it ruined our lives.

After about an hour's drive on the road, we reach a small house in the city. "Welcome to mi casa," Amber says. "It's small, but two people can definitely live in it." She smiles. "I'll go out to buy you some clothes then tomorrow we'll go job hunting. Okay?" I nod my head.