At Her Best.

Twenty.

I should be on someone's island right now soaking in the sun, and being fed grapes by a handsome man. Instead, I'm here in a cold ass, disgusting looking, horrifying smelling jail cell. Okay, I'm exaggerating. The cell was actually super clean and comfy but still, you get it. I don't want to be here. It's been two weeks since I've been in this hellhole and I don't think I'll ever get used to it. The other inmates were surprisingly nice and friendly enough, but that still didn't shake my feelings of loneliness and sadness. I hated it here, and I felt like my life was slowly passing me by.

Like a good friend, Keisha made constant visits to keep my spirits up and update me with the legal side of things. Eventually, I told Keisha to stop telling me about the legal shit. She was only repeating herself, which meant things were at a standstill and had no intentions of moving. Besides, within the first 48 hours of my imprisonment, I've truly realized how the justice system worked. I was bound to be in here for the rest of my life seeing how stacked the evidence was against me. 

Prison was definitely going to be a new normal. I tried not to think about it for too long. That would only make me emotional and I wasn't doing that in here. Gone are the days of unnecessary shopping sprees, luxury vacations and apartments. No more sexual fulfillments, nor the liberty to do what I want when I wanted. The shit was depressing. But contrary to what I thought, orange was so my color. And I guess that was a small plus.

I was having my moments in this shithole. Some days I was fine, and was making efforts to socialize and actually do something besides feeling sorry for myself all day. And other days I just wanted to scream and cry, wishing I never partook in this dumbass lifestyle of prostitution. If I was never apart of that bullshit, I wouldn't have had to involve Lorenzo. And maybe I wouldn't be in this fucked position. There were so many red flags to the life I was living, but stupid me ignored them because not only was the money great, but feeling on top of the world felt greater. I was so fucking stupid. I was so fucking stupid.

"Hey."

I paused, snapping back into full reality. I was standing in my cell looking at the bland walls and the voice was coming from behind me. It was a quiet, kind sounding type of voice. No hostility was detected in the woman's tone, and that brought relaxation to me. Now it was time to turn around and see what she wanted.

"My name is Ruthley, people call me Ruth for short." the woman said when I finally turned to meet her gaze. "I was wondering if you could braid my hair like yours. I came here yesterday, and I'm so used to getting my hair done, I've never had to learn. Plus you look like how I feel. I saw you walking around earlier and I couldn't help but feel some kind of connection to you. I know it sounds weird."

Ruth's words made me crack a small smile. She sounded so hopeless and sad, I'm glad I wasn't completely alone in that category anymore. Motioning her to sit on my bed, she obliged and I began the infamous prison braids.

"What are you in here for?" I finally said. "I hope I'm not prying."

Ruth huffed and shook her head. "Nah, it's fine. I killed my husband. That's why I'm here. He's been beating on me for the past three years and the one time I fight back, the idiot dies. I swore up and down that I didn't mean for the saucepan to hit him that hard. But when your husband is one of the best members of the police force...your words don't mean shit. They didn't even believe me when I said he was hitting on me. To protect and serve my ass."

I sighed heavily as I wrapped up Ruth's last braid. My heart sank for this woman, because life was truly so unfair. I gave Ruth a quick head to toe scan. She definitely didn't belong here, sis looked all prim and proper even in an orange jump suit. I could tell high maintenance was in her daily regimen. Shit, it used to be in mine too.

"What about you? Why are you here?" Ruth asked as she felt the braids on her head. "God, I miss mirrors. I'm not conceited or anything, but I literally had a hand mirror in every handbag I owned. Always had to be looking my best, you know?"

I chuckled lightly because Ruth was so similar to me. Ruth got up to face me, and we looked at each other dead in the face. She was so my type of person. I wished I could have met her when I was still as free as a bird. She seemed like my type of woman.

"Murder." I answered. "I'm in here for first degree murder."

Ruth nodded and smiled gently. "You had your reasons."

I stared at Ruth puzzled, because I wasn't sensing any kind of judgment from her. You would've thought I just told her we're having a buffet style lunch today or something. Her reaction was weird but somehow refreshing. Raja girl, I think you're making a new friend.

"People do things for different reasons. I wasn't in your shoes so who am I to say anything?" Ruth said when she caught my gaze. "You had business to handle and you did that. You just got caught up in the end."

"You're right." I answered. "But I didn't do it. I'm being framed by my brother and a dumb bitch I called a friend."

Ruth's eyes widen, genuinely surprised. "People are truly disgusting, huh? Girl, the truth always comes to light. Trust me, you'll get out of this."

I smiled slightly. "I don't know about that. They've covered their tracks so well. I hate to admit it but my brother's a genius. I might not be getting out of here. I don't know, being in this place makes you think a lot. My lawyer doesn't think I deserve this, but maybe I do. I wasn't exactly putting good karma out in the universe."

"Nobody deserves to be framed." Ruth answered. "Stop being so hard on yourself."

Ruth and I both sighed heavily and took a moment of comfortable silence. It felt good getting this reassurance and being able to open up about all of this bullshit. However, it won't change the fact that I was stuck here, probably forever. I might not have deserved to be here, but I did do my fair share of dirty dealings. And one thing Olivia taught me was that life has a way of catching up to you. I was learning and understanding that more as the days passed. That bitch karma came back with a quickness and she was ferocious.

"Okay, this is getting depressing." Ruth said, chuckling lightly. "When I got arrested and jammed into that dingy police car, I came to a swift understanding that I made my bed, and it's time to lay in it. Our lives may be at a standstill but it doesn't have to be over. My lawyer did some research and this prison is actually one of the best for women. The people are friendly and there are plenty activities we can do. So let's suck it up, deal with our shit, and go out there and connect with these other women. We don't have to feel so alone. I'm sure another woman is in desperate need for conversation and her hair done. I can't see it but my hair feels laid. Let's go."

Arm in arm, Ruth and I walked out of my cell and onto the block with the other women. Within moments I felt a rush of warmth and welcoming from the other women at Freeman's Correctional Centre. I had such a misconception of how women in jail communicated and acted, I wanted to slap myself. Everyone was kind, as they shared stories, empowered and advised others. It felt more like a support group but the downside was that you couldn't go home. This was the first day I actually didn't want to curl up in a ball and die. However, as the women talked and laughed, the patrolling guards and claustrophobic atmosphere were still extremely evident. That was the constant reminder that this wasn't some women's retreat where we all shared our deepest fears and glorious successes. We were in jail. A state prison. And some of these women, probably me included, would never see the outside world again. That thought lingered every now and again while I was chatting it up with the women, and I just couldn't believe that this is what my life has come to.