I don't know how long I stay there, but it seems to me, to be hours on end. Perhaps it is. I do not move from my modified-fetal position. I shake and I sob but I do not move. After a while, another guard comes in, a different one from the guy I beat up.

I am starting to think like an inmate, and it hurts. I do not see guards as allies, fellow law-enforcement officers. They are enemies. From the start, they did not consider me a friend, but I had a difficult time accepting that they were in fact against me. I had thought, erroneously, that maybe they would be lenient because of the circumstances. Even understanding would have been fine. I have been proven wrong again, though.

The guard stands in front of me, and waits until I look up. Good, I figure, let him wait. Let him wait the next twenty damn years, like I'm going to. At last, I raise my head, and look the guard in the eye. I must look a fright, for his expression immediately softens. My hair is at its worst, my nose is bloody and running, my eyes are puffy, tearstains line my face. He squats down, so that his face is level with mine.

It is a small gesture, but it is the first kindness I have received, and I am immediately attached to the young guard. He is in his mid-twenties, I believe, black, dark eyes, shaved head. He reaches out to shake my hand and I take it, disbelievingly.

"My name's Damian. Listen man, you's in deep," he says, telling it straight, and not cutting any corners with me. His voice is a deep southern drawl.

"Tony Almeida. I know." I, too, am straight with him, and do not pretend that I did nothing wrong. I did, and I know it, and he knows it.

"Macmillan's in surgery now, Tony. You really messed him up bad." He informs me.

"He okay?" I ask, not actually concerned about the man, but wondering if I may be facing murder charges. I take it in stride. It really does not matter any more. I am already here for the next twenty years, and by then Michelle will most definitely have moved on. By then, it won't matter if I get out or not.

Damian shrugged. "You's broke a couple bones, but he should be fine."

I nod. "So what happens now?" I ask.

"Well, you's gonna miss out on all you's yard privileges. Meal privileges. Any privileges you's might get, it's all gone to hell, man." he tells me.

"I don't care" I say in a monotone.

"Good, man, 'cause then you's home free. Mac's gotta record of abusin' prisoners, so you's very lucky. Warden' not filin' charges."

I smile. "Thanks, Damian. Thank-you."

He smiles back, showing a mouthful of perfect white teeth. "You's welcome, man. I think I mighta done the same thing from what I hear. If you's ever need anything…"

I nod. "Thank-you."

He stands up, motioning for me to step ahead of him. I do, and he handcuffs me. I do not resent him for it, as I do the other guards. He does not want to humiliate me; he knows why I am here.

"Sorry man. Let's go to you's cell." Says Damian, leading me out of Solitary, through hallways I have not been in before.

More paper is thrown at me, more curses, but I ignore. It is a strength I have gained during my time here. I can remove myself from a painful situation, so that the pain does not feel as great as it could. I can detach myself.