Attacking wasn't a choice that had to be made. It had to be done. The women were starting to question your leadership and choices. You couldn't afford to make another mistake; letting the others think more of you and him. There wasn't another option, if you didn't do something, you'd lose the womens' respect and you'd be back at the bottom. You had to do it, you had to.
That's what you tell yourself as you lay on what may as well be a concrete bed. You take a deep breath as you lie staring up at the ceiling, you can't calm down, your mind flashes back to just a few minutes before… "I just came to say thank you, Bea."
You see red. You follow him a few steps before kicking the back of his knee so that he falls to the ground, his face thuds against the metal bars. You cringe. Tears threaten to spill from your eyes; you can't let that happen. You pin him down, throw one punch to his face… and another… and another. Your mind is somewhere else entirely, you meet his eyes for just a second and that is all it takes for a sharp pain to shoot through your chest. You barely acknowledge the screams and shouts of the other women stood from a distance. In that moment, you weren't there.
You guess that a few hours have passed when you wake up. You squint your eyes as you adjust to the light in the room. Could you call it a room? It was essentially 4 walls, a very tiny barred window and a door. Of course, it was a slight improvement on your last slot visit, which was just a month or so before the fire. You're thankful for the fresh paint and the new bed and toilet, but the atmosphere was still as shitty as you'd remembered it.
You're thankful for the silence though. After recent events, it's damn near bliss being able to have your own space, without anyone there to demand things from you, asking about congical visits, arguing over who gets the basketball court, who gets the last piece of bacon. At the end of the day, you can't blame the women, you wanted to be Top Dog, you knew what was expected of you, and what came with that responsibility. It's just hard sometimes.
You spend the next three days alone. The only company being the officer that bought you your meals twice a day and oh, what riveting company he is. He barely grunts his responses to you when you ask about the women in general. You expect that, though. Since there's nobody else in the slot with you, you're pretty much silent for those days. You spend the majority of your time working out – you pretty much started to workout daily when you first came to prison, for obvious reasons. As well as the obvious reasons, you actually enjoy it.
You're halfway through your fifty push-ups when you hear the sound of keys being turned just outside of your door. You expect to see the Governor, or at least an officer to escort you to her office for one of her 'chats', but who you see isn't at all what you were expecting.
"IT'S NOT MY FUCKING GEAR I TOLD YOU!" Allie is being dragged into the cell to the left of you. You begin to pace the floor of your cell… shit is all you can think.