With my first paycheck in hand, I smile the whole way to Marysville. I wish I could spend some of it on Alex—buy her a new matching bra set or something sexy. I hardly consider depositing another $100 in her commissary sexy. I suppose I could look at it another way and hope that money could be spent on more phone sex.

Next stop, Acacia & Collins.

I strap my purse over my shoulder and pull the wire, indicating that's where I get off. It's a half-mile walk down the road to the penitentiary, and in beautiful spring weather like today, I don't mind the quick jaunt. I check in at the gatehouse, and then proceed to the visitation room. It's then when I wonder if there's more than one visitation center and if Alex does get transferred to the other unit, perhaps I'll have to go to a different location.

Other than when I have to say goodbye, the worst part of my visit is when I first step into the prison. The smell of mildew and sweat mixed with the stench of rotten meat permeates the air and reminds me of my own time behind bars. It physically nauseates me, and I have to breathe deeply and eat a breath mint to quell the queasiness.

I hand the guard my ID. "I'm here to see Inmate 667552." I'm getting better at remembering not to call Alex by name.

The guard takes a bite of her peanut butter and jelly sandwich as she stares at her computer. "Not today you aren't."

"What do you mean?" I glance at the calendar on the wall behind her. "It's Tuesday; I'm here during visiting hours."

"Yep."

I wrinkle my forehead. "Why can't I see her?"

She takes another bite. "The inmate you're here to see is unavailable."

"Is she in trouble?" I lean over the counter. "Is Alex in the SHU?"

"I can't divulge that information." She clicks the keyboard a few times. "Next in line."

"I've been here every Tuesday and Thursday for a month." I refuse to budge. "Where is Alex Vause?"

She lets out a long breath. "Are you next of kin?"

"Yes," I reply with conviction. "I'm her wife."

She points at a screen that I can't see. "Says here she's unmarried."

"We were prison married." I avert my eyes, knowing it sounds silly. "I'm the only one who visits her. I should be listed on some form in your antiquated computer system."

"No next of kin listed here." She licks her fingers. "Next in line."

"I need to know where Alex is. I deserve to know if she's ok."

Finally, she looks at me. "You don't deserve diddly squat."

"Please, I'm begging you," I plead. "Is she safe? Can you at least tell me that?"

"Lady, you must be hard of hearing. I. Cannot. Give. You. That. Information." She bops her head as she says those words.

I feel the vein in my neck pulsating. "Then tell me who can."

"Try this number." She sighs as she writes something on a Post-It note. "Next in line."

I step to the side and stare at the phone number. "I'm not leaving until I get answers," I say to no one in particular.

I dial the digits and get a recording. Hello, you've reached the Marysville Federal Penitentiary. Press one if this is an emergency, press two for directions, press three to hear visiting hours, press five for all other enquiries.

I press five, and it rings three times. Hello, this is the Correctional Officer's main line. Press one for CO Mann, two for CO Nguyen, three for CO Eastman. I recognize that name as Alex's correctional officer, so I hit three and am confronted with another recording.

Fuck, I mumble. I leave a message for him, then call the main number again. This time I press one for emergency. I pretty much get in the same queue. I can't imagine the frustration my family and Larry must've experienced when they wanted to check on me, especially when I was in solitary confinement.

One of the guards announces it's time for the guests to visit the inmates and everyone lines up. I stand behind a woman who smells like incense and wait to enter the room.

"Where's your sticker?" the guard asks.

"I don't have one," I answer honestly. "I just need to see if Alex is going to show up."

"Who?" He appears agitated.

"I'm here to see Alex Vause, the same woman I've seen for literally every visitation day since I moved to Columbus," I say impatiently. "Inmate 667552."

"I don't care who you're here to see. You need a sticker to get in."

Seeing as how that's not going to work, I step out of line and dial the number again. I go through this procedure for the entirety of visitation, getting more and more frustrated with every minute.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry to disturb you again," I say to the officer at the desk. "But I've tried getting in touch with a CO or anyone who can give me information about Alex, and I've been unsuccessful. Can you please help me?"

She turns to me. "No."

"This place is fucking worthless," I yell. "You're fucking worthless!"

"Security," she calls without any real alarm to her tone.

A big, Samoan man moves in front of me. "You need to leave, ma'am. I'm not going to ask twice."

"I'm not leaving until I talk to someone about my wife!" I spit back.

"Alright…" the woman behind the desk saunters around the corner. "I didn't want this to get physical, Ms. Chapman, but here we are." She nods to the Samoan. "Now you've lost the privilege of seeing your wife for at least a week. Happy now?"

"Get your hands off of me!" I squirm against the man. "You can't do that!"

"Oh, but I can. I'm writing you up."

Now I'm positively furious. "I'm not a fucking inmate! You can't give me a Shot!"

"Consider it a domestic Shot," she says as the man shoves me out the door.

I fall to the ground. "Look what you've done!"

The officer shuts the door, and I have every intention of breaking the thing down before I think twice. My heart is pounding; I'm so angry I'm out of my head. Calm down, Piper. Remember to breathe. I get to my feet and dust off my knees, one of which is bleeding through my pants. I snap a photo with the prison in the background. Maybe I can sue the motherfuckers for physical abuse.

I'm at a loss for how to proceed. If I remain on Marysville grounds, I risk further retaliation. If I go home, I risk not being present if her CO wants to see me. I call the number listed on the sticky note for tenth time and hear the same message. As I walk to the bus stop, I decide to leave a message for any answering machine I get with hopes that someone returns my call.

I sit in the crowded, humid bus and my mind wanders to Alex. I've been in prison and know the reasons why an inmate wouldn't be allowed to make visitation. She's either been disciplined and lost that privilege for now; is in the SHU for who knows how long; or needs medical attention. Did she electrocute herself in order to get moved? I bounce my leg incessantly and check my phone to see if I somehow missed a call.

Thirty-five minutes later, I'm back home with no answers. I wrack my brain about who I could call, but I've got nothing—no one. Even if Larry's father and I were on speaking terms, what could a lawyer do to get me information about Alex quickly?

I open my browser on this piece of shit laptop I bought from Neri for $100 and hope it can hold out a few more months until I can buy a newer, faster one. The Q is missing entirely from the keyboard and the delete button constantly gets stuck.

I type Inmate's Next of Kin into the browser, and a list of articles pops up. I read the first three, and it sounds like Alex is the one who would have to request me to be her official next of kin. I'm kind of surprised she didn't do that already, then I remember we were estranged when she was processed at Marysville. Next, I type How long does it take to become next of kin? The results vary from 48 hours to up to six weeks. Knowing the prison system as I do, I'm guessing it'll be closer to six weeks than a mere two days. I scribble some notes on a legal pad and do a little more research to see what I can do to make sure this doesn't happen again.

An hour later, I'm too worried to eat dinner. I pace in my house until my cell phone rings and an unrecognized number pops up. "Hello?"

"Is this Piper Chapman?"

"Yes." I freeze in my tracks. "Who is this?"

"Correctional Officer Burl Eastman from Marysville Federal Penitentiary," he states. "I received your messages. As in multiple messages."

Ignoring his chide, I dive right in. "Please tell me where Alex Vause is." I think better of my demand. "I just need to know if she's ok."

"I'm looking at Inmate 667552's file as we speak," he starts. "She doesn't have anyone listed as her next of kin."

"I'm it—I'm her wife," I try, jabbing my finger into my chest.

"That may be, Ms. Chapman, but your name is not on the form," he responds. "I can't delve out confidential information to anyone who asks. We've got protocols around here."

"Look at her visitation list," I suggest. "I'm the only name on it. I've visited every day I possibly could since I moved here six weeks ago."

"And?"

"Doesn't that count for something?" I place a hand on my forehead. "I don't need to know where she is, just please tell me she's alive." Fear rises in my throat as I utter those words. Until this moment, I hadn't allowed my thoughts to consider if she died. "I think I'm going to be sick." I rush to the bathroom and take a few breaths as I get on my knees and bend over the toilet.

"She's not dead," the officer states. "That's all you're going to get from me."

"Ohthankgod." I lean back and try to control my breathing. "Thank you for telling me that, sir."

"I can't give you any more information, ma'am." He pauses. "But it looks like you had an altercation with Officer Randazzo at the front desk earlier today."

"That was…" I get to my feet and wet a washcloth. "I was really upset because I was supposed to visit Alex today, and they told me she couldn't meet me."

"That was true," he replies. "She couldn't meet any visitors."

"I didn't mean to cause any problems," I try. "I'm very sorry."

"Surely you understand that we take threats at a federal prison very seriously. I'm sorry I have to revoke your visitation rights for a month."

My head shoots forward. "A month?"

"A security guard had to escort you out of the building," he says. "You're lucky you weren't apprehended."

"I can't go a month without seeing Alex!" I shake my head in tight bursts. "I moved here solely to be with her!"

"Then you should think about your actions. Maybe try some breathing exercises."

Is he fucking telling me how to practice mindful breathing techniques? Fuck him.

"Listen to me, you little…" I pause and stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. If I mouth off to Alex's CO, I'll surely get more time added to not being able to see her.

"Care to finish that sentence?"

I sigh. "I'm sorry. I'm begging you to reconsider my visitation rights."

"I'll reconsider them in a week if I'm feeling particularly generous," he responds. "And, of course, if Inmate 667552 is on her best behavior."

"Thank you." I close the lid to the toilet and plop down on it. "I just miss my wife." I feel that familiar sting in the back of my throat, and I know I'm on the verge of becoming a blubbering mess. "I miss her so, so much."

"Think about that the next time you pop off to a federal officer, Ms. Chapman. The more you push, the less likely it is that I'll restore your visitation privileges."

"I will consider my actions." The tone of my voice reminds me of when Mr. Healy confronted me in the SHU about my lesbian behavior. "No more outbursts." Tears stream down my face. "I just want to see her and make sure she's ok."

"Goodbye, ma'am."

"Wait, wait, wait." I stand up and sniff. "Can you tell me how to get one of those next of kin forms?"

"That request will have to come from the inmate," he answers. "She can request the form from me."

I wipe my nose. "I'll let her know. Thank you."

The phone clicks. I collapse onto the bathroom floor and weep. The only bit of saving grace is that Alex is alive. I don't know if she's locked up in solitary, in the medical unit or just got a simple Shot with visitation rights revoked. Now because of my big fucking mouth, I can't see her for 30 days. Once again, I'm reminded of how badly my life sucks.

My mouth is so dry I can't speak. When I try to ask where I am, I'm welcomed with a fit of coughs.

"Here you go." A woman dressed in blue scrubs hands me a glass of water. "Drink up."

I take three long pulls from the straw. "Where the hell am I?"

"Marysville medical," she responds. "Do you remember how you got here?"

I search my memory. "No…"

"Do you know who you are?"

"Alex Vause—Inmate 667552," I reply. "I was working on the breaker on the South wall…Wait, did I electrocute myself?"

"Yes," she says. "I'll get the doctor."

"Wait!" I grab her wrist. "I'm alive right? This isn't some fucked up nightmare."

"You're alive, Ms. Vause." She smiles. "Let me get Dr. Breyard."

I try to recall exactly what happened, but the last thing I remember was standing on a ladder and twisting two wires together on the breaker on the exterior of a prison wall. I don't remember getting shocked or being transported to the medical unit.

"What day is it?" I ask when a man appears in the doorway.

He opens what I assume is my chart as he approaches the bed. "You tell me."

"Tuesday?" I guess.

"Wednesday morning," he replies. "I'm Dr. Breyard. You experienced an electrical shock yesterday. We kept you sedated overnight to run some tests."

"What kind of tests?" I sit up, and when I place my hand on the bed, it hurts. "Ow!" I glance at the bandage around it. Both of them are bandaged with white gauze, but one of my wrists is handcuffed to the bed. "What the fuck? Why am I restrained?"

"You have second degree burns on your hands," he begins, ignoring the question about my handcuffs. "The voltage had to escape somehow, and you're lucky it went through your hands and not your lower extremities."

I look at him like he's grown another head. "Like my ass?"

"Yeah," he chuckles but his expression indicates he shouldn't find that amusing. "Your wounds are superficial—they'll heal in a matter of days. You also fell off a ladder and sprained your ankle. We've been putting ice packs on it for the past 24 hours."

I wiggle my feet and pain shoots through my right leg. "Ow, it hurts."

"We'll outfit you with an air brace for a couple weeks, maybe even a little less time," he explains. "It's going to be sore for the next few days. Keep your weight off it as much as you can."

"What tests did you run?" I repeat.

"Two electrocardiograms, or EKGs—one yesterday and one this morning. We've also monitored your heart with this device." He picks up an apparatus. "This is called a Holter monitoring system. You'll wear it for the next 72 hours to ensure your heart doesn't skip beats or that you don't develop palpitations."

I follow the wire from the machine to my chest. "Could I have died from this?"

"The voltage wasn't high enough to kill a woman of your stature," he responds. "If you weighed 50 or so pounds less, it could've been a much different story."

"Am I going to be ok?"

"So far, everything looks fine." He gets to his feet and checks the monitor on my left side. "Let's get through the next few days to ensure it stays that way."

I rest my head against the pillow as my mind races. "Wait, you said today is Wednesday?"

He jots something down in my chart. "Yes."

"Piper." My eyes widen. "I missed visitation with my…with my friend." If I mention my wife, he might think I'm crazy. There's no record of my being married—at least not in any official capacity. The last thing I want is to get sent to the psych ward.

"Sorry to hear that." He shuts the folder. "You should be out of here in a matter of hours."

"But visitation is only on Tuesdays and Thursdays."

"Ah, right." He clicks his pen. "Then I guess you'll have to wait one more day to see her."

I shut my eyes. "She's going to kill me."

"Surely you mean figuratively not literally."

"Yes, of course," I say. "She's going to be upset that this happened."

"Well, hopefully she'll be thankful that you're alive." He issues a closed lip smile. "I'll let your CO know you're awake and that your vitals look good. He should drop by to see you soon."

I close my eyes again and think about how pissed Piper is going to be. Then I remember the way I set this whole thing in motion. Officer Creighton wrote a Shot, then that other douchey guard came with me to the breaker. He must've been there when I got electrocuted. Maybe this is my ticket to get transferred to unit 3B after all.

"Can I make a phone call?" I ask when the nurse arrives 15 minutes later.

"I'm sorry; I'm not allowed to authorize that."

I attempt to get out of bed. "Who is?"

"Whoa, there!" She puts one hand on my arm, the other on my leg. "You shouldn't try standing just yet."

"I need to call Piper." I look at my wrist and notice the handcuff, realizing I wasn't going anywhere anyway. "She has to be worried sick."

"Your CO can arrange a phone call." She pulls the sheet back over my legs. "For now, I want you to take these."

I stare at the pills in the little cup in her hand. "What are those?"

"Tylenol," she states. "Extra strength."

"Don't you have anything stronger?"

She gives me a look. "According to your medical records, we're not allowed to give you anything stronger."

Damn my history of drug use. I pop the pills in my mouth and take a sip of water.

"You're going to be released in a couple hours." She begins unwrapping the bandages on my hands. "I'll get you some burn cream and new dressing."

When she's finished unwrapping my left hand, I stare at the pink flesh. It looks like I picked up a pan right out of the oven.

"Will it scar?"

"Probably not." She gently rubs the ointment onto my palm. "Second degree burns usually heal well."

"Good."

Just then, CO Eastman shows up. "Inmate." He nods, taking off his hat.

Someone files in right behind him.

"I'm guessing you read the report about how this happened," I tell him. "The one that says I refused to do the electrical work and Officer Creighton made me try to fix the fucking breaker anyway."

"I did."

The other person, a petite woman with a long, black braid steps up to my bedside. "I'm Tara Wells—an attorney for Marysville Federal Penitentiary."

"A lawyer?" I look at Eastman, then back at Wells. "Should I have an attorney present?"

"That won't be necessary at this time," she states. "We reviewed your file, and it appears you're correct—Officer Creighton wrote you up for insubordination and forced you to attempt to fix the electrical issue."

"That's right."

"He had no way of knowing, however, that you'd be electrocuted—"

"No way of knowing?" I interrupt. "I was never properly trained to do that type of work! I told him this might happen!"

"I'm sorry," she continues. "We're prepared to offer you a new job placement."

"A new job placement?" I huff. "That's the minimum you're going to offer me." I tap my fingers on the mattress, feeling far more alert than I was 15 minutes ago. Think, Alex. "I need to make a phone call. I deserve that much."

"To call an attorney?" CO Eastman asks.

I side eye him. "Who I call is none of your business."

"She's right." Wells nods. "We're happy to allow one phone call, Ms. Vause."

The nurse comes over with a cordless phone.

"I need some privacy."

They walk to the other side of the room still within earshot, so I'm not going to press my luck by saying anything that could incriminate me. I quickly dial Piper's number.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's me."

"Alex!?"

"Yeah."

"Where are you? How are you?" she pauses. "And why didn't the recording about an inmate calling from Marysville precede this call?"

"I'm fine," I begin. "I need you to hear that before I say anything else."

I picture her nodding and holding her breath.

"I'm fine," I say again. "I'm in the medical unit."

"The medical unit?" Her tone is a cross between concern and anger. "Alex, what happened? Did you get electrocuted? I told you—"

"Piper stop!" I hold up one hand. "Before you say another word, this call is probably being recorded."

"I hope it is," she says followed by an almost imperceptible pause. "Because I told you that without proper training something like this could happen!"

She's so fucking brilliant—Piper is establishing a pre-incident conversation that could be used to my benefit in the future.

"Did you tell your work supervisor that?"

"Yes," I respond. "I have a trail of paperwork that shows I shouldn't have been on that job in particular. I even got a Shot for insubordination."

"Are you hurt?" Now that we've established this unspoken plan, she returns to Concerned Piper. "Why did it take you a full day to call me? I've been worried sick."

I fill her in on what I know about my condition, and that seems to placate her at least a little. "They're releasing me soon."

"Good."

"I need you to find an attorney."

"An attorney? We don't have enough money to pay someone to support your case," she replies.

"If you can't find someone to do it pro-bono, then I'll take whoever is appointed to me," I say. "Do your research; see what we're up against. I'm pretty sure we have something here."

"I'll do what I can," she responds. "Can I still see you tomorrow?"

I stare at the attorney and my CO. "I'll make sure of it."

"Please call me later if you can."

"I'll try." I hang up. "I need to see Piper Chapman tomorrow during visitation hours even if that means you wheel me the fuck down there."

"I'm sure you'll get crutches," the CO says.

"And if those aren't provided, we'll ensure you're able to conduct your regular visitation," Wells adds.

She seems awfully willing to please, which makes me think this could be big—bigger than I even imagined.

"Because the doctor wants you off your feet for at least a week, we're going to pay you for hours you were unable to work," she says. "After your follow up appointment, if the doctor says you'll need more time off, we'll heed his orders."

Damn right you will. "Fine," I say instead.

"We're done here." Wells turns on her heel. "I hope you feel better soon."

Eastman nods his goodbye, then they disappear into the hallway.