Thank you so much to everyone who has read and reviewed and enjoyed this story! I wasn't planning on doing a continuation, but I stumbled across some historical information one night and it it just made the plot bunnies jump. There will be a third (sexy) chapter if all goes well. Your reviews are lovely and I appreciate them so much. Thank you and enjoy!


Alex tried to remember that there were worse times to be imprisoned. To remind herself of this, she Googled the most barbaric Medieval torture devices and forced herself to look at each one. When compared to the breast ripper or the rack, even to the charmingly named cat's paw, Litchfield was a paradise. Her interest led her to an hour long investigation into the living conditions of the average peasant in the 11th century. Eventually, Taystee and Poussey glanced over her shoulder with synchronized curiosity.

"Girl, look at that. If that's what they did to white people, imagine what would have happened to us African devils."

Taystee responded with her usual theatrics, " Wicked Moor! Get thee and thy spectacular posterior into the head crusher. Thou hast filled the minds of the king's army with sinful thoughts and witchery!"

Poussey clasped her hands. " Oh good sir, thou knowest well that once the mind has travelled to Nubia, it cannot again return! Do not hold this truth against me!"

"'Tis a truth as old as time, dusky lady. I too have fallen under your spell"

They giggled and walked off. Poussey patted Alex on her shoulder affectionately. She smelled faintly like cologne, and the gesture of solidarity made her feel a little less alone. She returned to browsing and made a mental list of all the things that were worse than solitary confinement: bubonic plague, impaling poles, mutilation, a lack of fresh water, becoming a man's legal property. Piper may be alone, but she wasn't exposed to the elements. She may be alone, but she wasn't being slowly sawed in half. Rising, Alex walked towards the exit, only to see Mendez slap a piece of chocolate out of Taystee's hand and onto the floor. He used his heel to grind it into the carpet. Taystee's head was inclined toward the ground, her bouncy curls falling forward as she attempted to repel the humiliation. Poussey seemed to draw into herself, power and anger flashing through her body like lightning.

"No food in the library, inmate. It's not really a place for chocolate." He emphasized the last word, flicking her hair with his fingertips.

Poussey balled up her fists and Mendez glanced in her direction "Go ahead and fight me, Pussy. No matter how much you look like a man, you'll never really be able to do what I can do." He thrust his hips in Taystee's direction and walked off, the chocolate resting in a crumbly pile. Taystee looked up and composed herself, eyes glistening. Poussey deflated slightly, watching as he exited with a swagger.

Poussey glanced at Taystee. They smiled tightly at each other and fell into a close embrace, drawing strength wordlessly. Alex suddenly felt like she was spying and she backed down the aisle quietly. Violence was traumatizing, but so was witnessing violence, and it could take so many forms. She remembered a quote by Mark Twain: Nothing that grieves us can be called little: by the eternal laws of proportion a child's loss of a doll and a king's loss of a crown are events of the same size. She drew a shaky breath and felt grief rise up from her stomach and saturate her eyeballs until they leaked. She felt the grief she had just witnessed and the grief she imagined deep in the labyrinth of SHU. She couldn't feel her own, though. It splashed around in a tightly stopped bottle in her gut. It roiled and strained to free itself, but she used the tears she shed for her friends to push the cork in tighter. That sadness could only be taken a drop at a time.

That night, Alex meditated on her recovery. Intellectually, she knew that as a provider of drugs, she was integral to the misery of her clients just as she had been integral to her own suffering. Her ego, however, repeated its perpetual mantras: You never would have used if she hadn't left you. You could have gotten away with it. You won't let your emotions interfere next time. She dabbled in that line of thinking briefly, and it took her to a place where Piper's time in solitary was exactly what she deserved. It was a cold place where she stood a head higher than everyone in Litchfield. She wasn't like these women. She was an industrialist, a capitalist. She was only here due to sloppiness caused by heartbreak. Listen to me the ego said, Next time, don't look for a girlfriend. Look for a bitch. Look for someone with a great body who you can show a good time and not let into your head.

With practiced patience, Alex disengaged from the voice and gave it a thorough examination. It sounded an awful lot like all the men she had known as a girl, the ones she had mistakenly looked to when she first realized that she was attracted to women. It sounded like her father.


Alex, seventeen, sat at the bar before it opened. Josh the bartender was feeding her drinks and she didn't care that he wanted to fuck her. What about her tits? Josh was asking, If she's got great tits, you need to make your move tonight.

Full of bravado and Jameson, Alex gestured to indicate her approval. They're good, you know. They're…perky.

Perky? He slapped the bar and laughed Fuck, Vause, never say that to a girl, ok? That's what middle aged women say when they talk about teenagers. You don't want to sound like a damn Wonderbra commercial do you?

No.

Then don't tell her they're perky.

I wasn't planning on telling her anything about her tits. The word felt dirty, but she liked the thrill of the staccato syllables. She didn't tell him that she already knew a lot about Laura's tits and that those few moments alone in the girls bathroom, afternoon sunlight skimming pale skin, had been the softest and most sensual of her life.

You know, Vause, Laura's not the only one with nice tits around here. Josh pushed another shot her way and she accepted and laughed it off. As the liquid screeched down her throat, she felt bad about herself and didn't know why. She teetered to the bathroom and double checked the lock. The little voice that remained vigilant even in the wooziest binges never led her astray, and Josh's quiet, repeated attempts to open the door sobered her up almost instantaneously. Those insistent scratchings lit the long fuse that ended years later in a grimy green room. Any discussion of her tits after that point was not tolerated unless you were a beautiful woman.


Sighing into the perpetual fluorescence, Alex pulled her blanket up and tried to get comfortable on the hard frame, wondering where Pennsatucky could have stashed something as large as a mattress. As she had on so many lonely nights, she imagined that the pressure of the blanket was the soft contact of Piper's body. She felt the gulf between her emotions and her own body narrow slightly and fell asleep with a stony frown that bordered on a grimace.