Jail.
How the fuck did I get here?
I sit on my bunk, like I have for the past 149 days. With my legs folded, arms by my side, and keeping my eyes staring straight at the wall. I attempt to keep my breaths at an even pace.
If you could burn through objects with your eyes, I'd be a free man.
But, alas. Like any normal human being, I can't.
I let my eyes wander. The walls are cement, the floor is cement and the bunk is cement.
Surprise, surprise.
The bunk has a mattress as thin as a sheet of paper, the linen are covered with grit from shower less nights, and a pillow that had been spat in every day for at least the last five years.
The crossed hatched bars on the window are iron. They have dints and dents from the previous jail victims attempting to escape. It lets the littlest rays of yellow sunlight in. And if you gaze through the small holes, you will ultimately see a brick wall with a small window that holds bulletproof glass.
I remember back to my first day at jail.
Emmett, a 120 kilogram man (all of pure muscle), hits me in the back of the head with his metal tray while I'm waiting in the lunch cue.
I collapse to the floor in my ghastly orange jumpsuit. I hear the sound of laughter, and a man calling my name. My anger turns everything in my vision to the colour of blood red. All I see is Emmett as I stand up on my wobbly two feet.
I start throwing wild punches in his direction, not even thinking consciously about his size.
He punches me in the side of my face, not hard, but not exactly soft.
I fall back again. I feel a warm gush of liquid on my brow. I attempt to stand up and throw another punch, thinking it will get me air.
He laughs in my direction. He pulls me up by my collar and I start squirming.
I am nothing to his size, but at least I attempt.
Emmett puts me into headlock, and leans forward towards my ear.
'I've done you a fucking favour, mate. I'm gonna let you go now. If you keep fighting me, fuck, I will break every bone in your fucking body.' He says roughly with a hint of outback Australian accent. He lets go of my wrists that are now withering in pain, dramatising the movement, and softly drops me onto the cold, hard rock floor.
149 hard, long, unfruitful days had passed since then.
Turns out, Emmett, was just marking me as 'his', so I wouldn't get into any crap. He likes to say he was marking his territory. And he's a pretty nice and happy guy.
Well, happy for a guy that's been here for 10 months and 9 days.
And wrongfully accused, might I add.
He still has one year and six months left until he can hold his wife and child in his arms again.
And speaking of his wife, Whoa.
With her legs spread and her heaving chest, I can see why they chose her to be on the front of every filthy magazine in the continental United States of America. And at least she understands everything that he's going through. My girlfriend ditched me when she found out.
Isabella Swan.
Emmett's wife visits him whenever she can. She brings him magazines, cookies and the like. Isabella, didn't visit me once during my sentence.
And I think that is just a bit coincidental, because her father, Charlie Swan, was the man who caught me speeding every time.
Stalker.
But, I've served my sentence. I climb off my bunk and gather my small belongings, and place them into a small plastic bag. A guard comes to my gate, he pulls it open. 'Go say a quick good bye to yah mates.' He says to me while taking my belongings from me.
I find Emmett scoffing down the lunch lady's soup. He stops abruptly, immediately noticing my expression. He brings me into a tight, bear like hug. 'I'm gunna miss you, mate.' Emmett says to me. The other men around us wolf whistle at our hug, but Emmett doesn't even react to them. He lets go of me and pats my back. 'Good luck.' He says to me.
'You too.' I say back.
I walk quickly to the waiting guard and pace my even steps according to his. He stops at a brown, wooden desk and collects a pile of paper work that has the word 'SERVED' stamped on it in big, thick, red lettering.
He directs me to a small cubicle and gives me my old, worn out clothes. I quickly change out of my orange jumpsuit and literally jump into my clothes. They smell like sweat and grim, but they are comfy in all the right places. I fold the jumpsuit neatly and emerge out of the cubicle. I swap my jumpsuit for my small bag of belongings.
'Nobody's come to take you home.' I hear him say to me. I nod towards him, acknowledging that I heard him. I walk quickly behind him. We pass the front desk of the jail, there sitting in the main chair, his eyes slitted towards me, was Charlie Swan. I graciously nod at him and then the guard sends me on my way. I walk out onto the street. I don't know exactly where I'm going, but I walk. I try to remember the way to anybody's house. It hasn't been that long, Edward. I say to myself.
Nobody had come to visit me; nobody had came to pick me up. Wow, I feel so loved. I was only in the slammer for 5 months. I try to think who would pick me up. Both my parents are dead. My sister Alice lives in Australia with her husband Jasper. Come to think of it, the only person that I am fairly close to, that still lives here, is Isabella.
I don't know where I'm going, but as long as I have my mind, I can survive.