Warning: The next two chapters centre around one of our officers. .' You're probably gonna kill me for doing this, but it links in well with the rest of the story.
Chapter Nine
Oh shit! 8.30am. She was late again. Mr. Jurgen would surely have her head for that one. She knew how he hated lack of efficiency, especially from his employees. The prisoners, he expected it of, but not of her. After all, she was meant to be enforcing the rules and setting a good example, but sometimes, she couldn't trust herself to do even that.
Sometimes, she didn't even want to work, with all those men, glaring at her and making her feel small. Even the prisoners she had been assigned to as a personal officer made her feel insignificant. When she'd open their dorm up, they'd already be awake and would instantly discontinue their conversation and slink passed her without a word. But even though they said nothing, their actions spoke louder.
Showing her badge to the security guards, they let her through and she hurried across the blacktop of vehicles and vans towards the building. She was then made to show her badge again, before she ushered herself through the locker room, where she dropped off her coat and lunch, before heading towards the F Wing, where they would be expecting her.
When she entered the staff room, it was 8.45 and the officers were sat down, while the Wing Governor announced the week's events. When he turned around, he looked down his nose at her.
"And what time do you call this, Salima?"
Everyone stared back at her, waiting for a response.
The redhead bowed her head.
"Sorry, sir!" She mumbled.
He soon turned his back on her and went back to the remainder of his declaration, before dismissing everyone ten minutes later. Salima glared at her feet throughout, wishing that somehow, it could have been at her employer himself.
"Don't let Jurgen get you down," She suddenly heard, when the governor had exited.
When she looked up, she found the friendly face that was Hillary's, staring back her sympathetically. "He's just a big sourpuss"
"I know," Salima mumbled. "I know, but sometimes I just wish I could do something right."
"It's not easy being new, especially in this place," Hillary explained. "You're only on your third week. It takes time."
Salima nodded and smiled weakly, as Hillary then disappeared out the door to begin releasing the prisoners from their dorms for the day.
She had to admit that the brunette was lucky. It had gone around that everyday she was greeted by Tyson Kinomiya. She remembered the childhood star well. A famous beyblader he had once been before he had been caught in the illegal act that had gotten him placed in jail. It had been plastered all over the papers. Some people had blamed it on his success, saying it had been a stressful time for the adolescent, while others hadn't been so lenient. But though he was a criminal now, he was known to be one of the friendliest people on the Wing and Salima wished that she had been assigned to him instead of the duo, Rei Kon and Lee Chan.
Prisoners on the "threes" were meant to be the most pleasant of all people, but she couldn't have been allocated to the most bitter of the section. It wasn't so much Kon, himself, but Chan.
The shorter of the two had his way of looking at her that could only imply that she either bored him or annoyed him and that his tolerance of her was wearing so thin that it could snap at any moment. She remembered when they had first been introduced and how quick he had been to ask where his previous personal officer had been located. She hadn't even been given the time of day, let alone the time to get to know either of them since. Nonetheless, she had gathered that Chan held some sort of authority over Kon, who often appeared rather casual. There were times she'd attempt to make conversation, but her coyness regularly got the better of her to which she forced herself to keep quiet.
Salima huffed. It was going to be a day like all the others.
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The morning seemed to creep past ever so slowly that day, as Salima had been put on Canteen duty for the first half of the morning. This included making sure no one jumped the queues or started fights with the staff or each other. It also, aggravated her because she was forced to watch the gathering of men eat, regardless of if they had table manners or not. The fact that she had been forced to miss her own breakfast hadn't helped either.
Hurrying towards the staff room, when her break was due, she quickly ushered herself into the small abode, where she quickly made herself a hot drink and sipped it, grateful that she was the only one in the room.
The redhead was in no mood for small talk. Aside from the seniors, the remaining staff seemed rather friendly and welcoming, which she was thankful for, but it didn't make her any happier. In truth, she wasn't happy at all. Perhaps she hadn't thought this through.
She had originally worked in a woman's prison, but the snide remarks and bitchiness would often get the better of her. Before that, Salima had regarded herself as a strong woman with morals and enthusiasm to help people in any situation, but as the years had gone by, this greatness had been lost, along with her self-esteem. She had hoped that working with male prisoners would have been different. She'd watched officers like Hillary, who made it look so much easier, but it wasn't to her, it was exactly the same as with women.
The inmates were still sufficiently rude, if not worse and dealing with them seemed even harder. She had thought about handing in her resignation, but money had been scarce in her case and she needed all the money she could get. Plus, who else would have her? She only held experience in this one particular field. What was she to do, except just live it out? Maybe things would get better, though it seemed very unlikely.
Scanning the pinups that informed officers of their duties, Salima established her position on the timetable and groaned when she realised she was to be on the corridors until lunch and then in the dorm halls afterward. Nowadays, luck just seemed to avoid her altogether.
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Twenty minutes later, she found herself patrolling the corridors that led from the kitchens, down to the laundry room and showers. Sinking her hands into her pockets, she huffed. Not only was the job stressful, but it was boring as well. She had had brief words with other officers who had told her to avoid slouching as it showed a form of weakness that the prisoners would catch up on and she had tried to follow their advice, but had failed miserably. They had said that working in a prison was almost like being out in the wild. You had to be expectant of everything and ready for anything. Great! More riddles and theories. Why didn't they realise that life wasn't that easy. She couldn't fake what she didn't feel.
"Well, well, well. Look who we have here"
Salima cringed. She knew the voice. She knew the voice all to well.
"Don't tell me you've lost your tongue now,"
Ian.
Ian and his boys.
"What do you want, Ian?" She said, as she approached him.
She removed her hands from her pockets and decided to adapt some of her colleagues' advice into her posture.
"Nothing! Nothing at all," Ian's cheeky grin, made her cringe even more.
His companions snickered.
She thought she would've been used to their offhand comments and childish sarcasm, but the more she saw them, the more she wanted to evade them. She reckoned they picked on her because she was new. Maybe it was a tradition in Stanheld to pick on the inexperienced. She just wished she had retained the assertion that would allow her to deal with them properly.
"Say, Miss, I was wondering if I could have one of those personal talks with you some day," Ian asked, openly.
She stopped in front of him.
"I'm sorry, but you'll just have to talk with you're own personal officer," She explained, before moving to head onward.
A large firm hand stopped her advancing.
One of the other boys, sneered down at her as he blocked her way, his meaty hand stretched out touching the wall opposite him.
"But we want you, Miss," Ian added.
The other boys chorused their agreement, sneering broadly.
Salima hesitated. Her guard had been dropped and they had noticed.
"...Listen...if you don't let me through, I'm going to have to report you,"
"But we just asked a simple question, Miss," Ian said derisively.
The boys seemed to be moving in on her.
"I...I'm warning you," She tried to protest.
The grins broadened. The snickers continued and Salima began to feel claustrophobic all of a sudden. She held her breath tight.
"...And what seems to be going on here, exactly,"
Salima let out her breath as the inmates withdrew from their aim – whatever it was. It was the Senior Governor himself and for the first time ever, she was glad to see him. Her senses relaxed. Then she remembered the previous ordeal.
"Err...nothing Sir,"
"Yeah, we were just telling Miss, here what a great job she's doing,"
She felt someone slap her back. She could tell it was meant to be perceived as friendly, but it felt a little too heavy handed for comfort.
"I hope everything is in order, Miss Yamaki?" Mr. Jurgen's piercing eyes drilled into her own.
She could tell him. She should tell him. They'd been on her case since the beginning. They should have been reported, right? But then she didn't want to be alleged as unsuitable for the job. She needed the job, but then she didn't need constant harassment either.
"...Everything's fine, sir," She replied.
Internally, she slapped herself for her judgment.
TBCOh my god! The concept of it is still alluring. Ian has boys. (sweatdrop)