Whatever You Want To Be

Locked Up

Disclaimer: I literally know nothing about jail/prison so I wrote whatever.

Monty's POV

The cell was cold, but so was my bed at home. My mind was practically blank as I stared up at the gray ceiling. I honestly like being in solitary confinement, it gives me room to think. God knows that I could've used that before I made the world's most stupidest sequence of decisions. I sighed aloud, all my anger from before was subdued now. I was just confused. Why did they suddenly decide to suspect me again? I had an alibi. I was at Charlie's... Damn it. I'm a fucking idiot. Winston. Fuck.

My mind flicked back to the conversation I had with him before they took me away. I'm such a fucking pussy. I groaned and my hand flew up to my face. Kill me now. "De La Cruz!" I shot up from where I was laying down.

"You've got a visitor." Some cop came to escort me out of the cell. "What time is it?" I asked. "Why do you need to know?" I just glared at him. "8:30 in the morning." Jesus. I didn't sleep the entire night. My footsteps felt heavy and it didn't help that my ankles were chained together. On a side note, what the fuck. Is chaining my ankles together really necessary. Is this even a normal thing? At this point, it'd take five years to make it to the visiting room. Me and that bitch of a cop finally made it to an even more gray room, if that's even possible.

Oh shit. That's my dad.

~~~

He shouldn't be allowed to do that. He shouldn't be able to come see me, let alone fucking spit on me. Crying should be the next step, but I'm not crying. The tears just won't fall. Instead they sit there in my eyes, hurting, because they need to be released. I think I forgot how to cry. I guess it's fine though because punchings a better alternative anyway.