People said that where there's life there's hope, but to her that was kind of a stretch. It was more accurate to say that where there's life there's a chance. Although sometimes, that chance was buried under so much crap that you couldn't always see it. Time, repetition, the slow roll of the everyday could bog down anything. Anyone. Still, you were supposed to keep it together, as if losing it wasn't the most natural reaction. The problem with losing your shit was that, statistically, it was likely to happen in the dormitory you shared with five other women.
Alex turned the page and rested the book on her bent knee. She was sitting up, with the pillow sandwiched between her back and the wall, doing her best to zone out the perpetual continuum of noises that people who are crammed into tight spaces make without even realizing.
At first, Alex had been glad to be assigned a top bunk. Space was, after all, the one thing more valuable than any contraband item, and it provided a certain distance -however limited- from the Triangle of Death that comprised her roommates, the grimy floor, and the single toilet. That hard, lumpy bed was now her island, her refuge. She believed it would offer her a decent vantage point in case one of those idiots decided to escalate and turn even more asinine. After all, Alex spent most of her time curled up there, whether sitting up or lying down.
The attack, however, came from the one person she couldn't see. The moment Alex stretched and let her leg dangle from the edge of the bed, Johnson -the woman who slept directly underneath her-, grabbed it and pulled on it like some sort of psychotic Rapunzel. Crying out in sudden pain and fear, Alex sent her book flying and plunged her body forward, discarding the instinct to resist. With the visual image of her leg being used as a lever and with the terrible sound of her own bones snapping too fresh in her mind, she allowed herself to be dragged downwards.
There was an instant of emptiness in the pit of her stomach as her body slid from the bunk into midair. Voices and movements slowed down like a dramatic scene in a bad movie, and everything appeared to have a distressing, underwater quality. She fell on top of Johnson's considerably more ample body and tried to push her away with her free foot, but she was koala-hugging her right leg so strongly that it was impossible to make her budge.
"What the fuck do you want?" Alex yelled, her foot firmly planted on Johnson's forehead to no effect. For the first time, she found she missed the sturdier boots they were issued back at the regular Litchfield camp, instead of those lousy slippers.
The others had started making a ruckus as soon as she dropped from the bed: spurring them on, placing bets, or simply guffawing. One of the voices was in fact urging her to hit Johnson with her cast, but Alex just held on to one of the metal bars of the bunk bed for dear life. Despite being absolutely terrified, she was aware of the absurdity of their struggle. There was a howling woman affixed to her leg like a leech, and refused to let go, but wouldn't tell her why. At least she wasn't trying to bite her.
"You want me to do it?"
Alex had failed to notice that another of her roommates -a girl called Rossi- had approached them and was now crouched over Johnson. She repeated the question, her muscular arm already drawn back and ready to deliver a killer punch to the kidney area, and Alex actually allowed herself a couple of seconds to think about it. She had only discarded the dark-blue uniform of the newbies very recently, she didn't know any of those people in the slightest, and had no idea about the ins and outs and power dynamics of the place.
"No, thanks." It was better to not owe anybody any favors. Besides, if forced to pick between coarse coercion and abject violence, she preferred the former. "I got it."
The girl pulled a face before retrieving her arm and returning to her bunk. "Alright. But it looks like she's got you."
Not daring to let go of the metal bar, Alex peered at the large inmate that was atop her leg. It took her a moment to acknowledge that everyone had shut up, even Johnson. The others had lost interest, it seemed, since it wasn't a proper fight, and Alex herself calmed down enough to detach her foot from Johnson's forehead, which was now creased with lines and diamond shapes from the sole of her slipper. The woman was no longer being aggressive – not even sexually aggressive. She wasn't humping her leg or anything, just hugging it with her eyes closed. For whatever reason.
There were plenty of things Alex would rather be doing instead of seeking to negotiate her way out of a wrench, but here she was. Now that she thought about it, she still hadn't heard Johnson speak, and she hadn't as much as glanced at Alex since her arrival, so one could only conclude that she must have done something to upset her.
"Hey," Alex called out to her, sternly, but not above the volume of a whisper, so as not to distress her again. "Johnson."
There was no reaction. Alex sighed and turned to the others. "Hey. What's her name?"
Rossi shrugged. "The hell if I know. She never says nothing. She just freaks out every now and then."
She had neither the patience nor the energy to deal with what was essentially a 200 pound infant, but she had to figure something out. Was it plausible that the unexpected appearance from her leg from above had been enough to cause Johnson to hulk out?
"I'm Alex. What's your name?" Nothing. "Can you look at me?" Johnson blinked and rolled her eyes towards Alex, who forced herself to smile a little. "That's good. Listen, I didn't mean to startle you. Can we get up now, before someone sees us?" Or before they caught some incurable infection from the floor.
Something in her words or in her tone did the trick, because the woman liberated her leg, albeit very slowly, as if they were a pair of velcro strips. Breathing out an almost inaudible "Thank fuck" of relief, Alex stood up, finally let go of the metal bar, and straightened her glasses. With a grimace, she noted that her whole leg was sweaty. She then cautiously stepped closer to Johnson and helped her to her feet with her good hand.
"So we're cool?" It was more of an affirmation than a question.
The woman nodded, which had to be a big step or whatever, but all Alex wanted was to be done with the entire incident and be left alone. She found her book, clambered the metal ladder to her bunk, and sat on her previous spot, making sure to cross her legs. It was imperative not to get in trouble so as not to have her already sparse rights annulled. Not before she'd figured out what to do.
Her fingers stroked the uneven surface of the cast plaster, unable to concentrate on her reading once she started remembering.
The cavalry announced its presence with a gunshot right outside the door, and they prepared for its imminent entrance the only way they could: by standing in the center of the pool in plain view and not holding anything suspicious, just one another's hands. They were expecting it, and yet they all gasped when the door burst open. The brief flash of fire pushed them like a gust of wind, and they took a step back like in a synchronized dance.
A cloud of smoke and particles -mixed with fragments of cardboard and debris- blew over them and enveloped them. After a beat, they all began shouting out their surrender, but their voices were swiftly swallowed up by the invaders' loud stomping and incomprehensible commands, which the weird acoustics of the pool turned into cartoonish. Several dashing columns of light started cutting through the gloom, and the knowledge that there were not only flashlights -but also guns- coming towards them from the other end of the room almost made Alex lose her mind.
The atmosphere became dense with dust and din, and dark figures all around: some knocking things over, some raising their arms, others dropping to their knees, and two or three running past her. She wasn't sure about who was who in that imbroglio, with the exception of Piper, who was squeezing her hand.
"Alex." Piper said, or screamed, perhaps for the first time. Or perhaps she'd called her name more than once.
Alex yanked her hand out of Piper's grip and instead surrounded her waist with her good arm. She was scared of getting down on the floor because she really didn't want to get trampled on, but as soon as she sensed Piper's body lowering itself, she followed its movement until they were both kneeling.
"I'm here." She pressed her face close to Piper's ear, hoping to be heard.
Someone bumped against her left shoulder, sending searing waves of pain down her arm, and she cried out in hurt, tearful surprise. They were almost leveled with the floor now. Maybe the whole thing hadn't taken more than half a minute, but they were like clay figures stuck inside a stop motion film in the making. It felt like it was taking forever.
There were lots of stamping feet too close to her ears. In a panic, she tried to cover Piper's head with her arm at the same time that Piper was attempting a protective embrace. But then, her world sped up again, with the icy clarity of shots being fired around them. Were they really shooting at them? She felt -more than heard- Piper's horrified gasp and, before she could do anything about it, her throat appeared to close up. It was more than not being able to breathe, it was as if the air had turned into fire; she couldn't take it in or let it out, and coughing did nothing to soothe her. Her eyes were smarting so badly that she thought they would liquify and flow out together with her tears.
Opening and closing her mouth like a choking fish, Alex managed to turn to look at Piper, who was frantically sputtering and wheezing. The commotion had quieted down a great deal thanks to what she gathered were pepper bullets, not real ones, and she could now hear several other people coughing in their vicinity.
One of the prostrate inmates scrambled to her feet and bolted, heading to the opposite end of the pool – with surprising agility, taking into account that it was probably Frieda. The fact that she was still wearing that helmet, with the visor down, had surely helped her counteract the effects of the pepper rain, but she was promptly deterred with a swing of one of those extensible batons.
Just as Alex was managing to catch her breath again, they grabbed Piper and pulled her arms back, binding her wrists together with plastic handcuffs that looked like zip ties. She wanted to tell her not to resist and that it was going to be fine, even though she didn't quite believe it. But then someone seized her to do the same thing to her, and she howled in pain as soon as they tried to move the arm in the sling.
"Stop it! She's hurt! Her arm's broken!" Piper cried, thrashing despite her restraints.
"Piper, stay still and shut up." Alex hissed quickly. She wasn't being snappish to be mean, but because an alarm had gone off inside her head. The main thing was to get out of there in one piece, or at least not in any worst shape than they already were.
In the clearest, calmest tone Alex could muster, she stated that she had a broken arm, and discarded the makeshift sling and splint as ceremoniously as possible, as if she was unveiling a relic. However much it hurt, she needed to prove that she was harmless and wasn't hiding anything.
"Take this one outside." the person behind her ordered, hauling her to her feet and shoving her into the hands of another officer. There was also something about clearing that fucking dump, but she was concentrating on Piper's distraught face, hoping to convey that she should play against type and try not to do any shady shit.
"Wait..." Piper said, softly, eyeing the officer behind her like a character in a fairytale who doesn't wish to disturb a sleeping dragon.
"Piper, I swear to God..." She cradled her left arm against her chest and closed her eyes for a second.
An iron grip on the back of her neck steered her away and out of the swimming pool, without letting her finish, although she was uncertain of what she would have said. Perhaps something similar to "Please shut the fuck up and let's survive this." On the way out, Alex turned around several times to look at the array of inmates from that new and improved viewpoint. They were either face-down or kneeling on the floor, with their hands tied behind their backs. Some -like Nicky- looked back at her, while others didn't, or couldn't. Meanwhile, the pitch-black officers with reflective face masks looked like ghostly robots.
She zoned in on Piper, whose face, like everyone's, was practically obscured by shadows, and yet her eyes glistened. This felt like a much more extreme version of saying goodbye at the airport: hanging on to the last instants in which you could still see that person, trying to communicate with them wordlessly by infusing your gaze with as much emotion as possible. With the added bonus of being sucked into a tunnel of uncertainty.