The info I got for this chapter was based off a blog I read by a man who was arrested and jailed in Minnesota for two years. He explained what jail was really like, the rape, the shanking, ECT. So what I wrote were based on true facts, and I hope you like it!
PS. PICTURES OF ANDY ARE ON MY PROFILE!
Fear.
It was something Andy personally loved, she realized at a young age it was nice to be feared. You got respect, without really earning it, it caused people to stay away from you, and unwanted drama. It was the feeling of pride and smugness, when you walked down a hall and people made an arc for you, only sending you scared looks, or awkward glances.
Even in prison Andy was feared, it was easier for her to be feared in the juvenile detention jail up in Southern California since she was one of the older students, but once she was deported to the woman's facility in Northern California, she realized it was harder to be feared by mass murderers that were twice her age.
6 year prior—
In the state prison, the woman who had lesser security on the higher floors got more 'free time', which was just an hour before lunch and possibly an hour or two before lights out. Andy was returning from the showers with most of her block on the second floor, as she leant against the pillar in front of her cage. It blocked most of her view, but it also blocked the guards view.
Making it easier for Andy to do what she wanted, even if it wasn't entirely legal, even in prison.
She was waiting for one of the three guards that were watching them in the shower to hit the third floor button unlocking the doors to their dorms. Andy heard the footsteps but refused to turn around, Andy wasn't one to talk to people, even in prison.
Her emotionless ways helped her in more ways than one. If you showed any kind of emotion it was used against you, either by the guards or the other prisoners, they enjoyed watching someone wither over something they loved or something they feared.
Someone twisted her by the shoulder, making her body tense up ready for a fight. Her marble like eyes came into contact with the Mexican gang; they were wives of the Mexican mafia that littered LA, who probably took the blame for their husbands like good Bendaha's.
The leader, a short, plumped woman glared up at Andy, she was chest to chest with her. Andy looked down at the woman as the bitch tried to be intimidating, but by the feared look in the back of the woman's eyes Andy knew she looked more frightening.
Andy always had a high tolerance for pain, it was something that made adrenaline curse through her body, and that was something she fed off of. When she was growing up, she would put her hands on burning furniture, or scrap off painful scabs from surgery to feel the cut again.
So when she felt the pinch in her side repeatedly trying to hit a vital organ she laughed, a mad cackle that made the woman in front of her show fear in their eyes. Before the woman who had been shanking her could even put the tips of her nails into Andy's skin to try and tear out any showing intestines Andy yanked the sharpened plastic toothbrush from her grasp and plunged the sharpen edge into the leaders brown eyes.
Andy lunged at the leader, leaving the wild smirk on her face. As she shoved her knees on the woman's arms to keep her down while she repeatedly stabbed the woman in the face. Her laughs escaping her mouth each time the woman cursed in Spanish, or thrashed around yelling.
After the incident with "Lena Sanchez" Andy was well respected through her block, and on some higher up levels as well, although all of the prisoners tended to stay away from her, they tried not stare directly in her eyes, and tried not to talk about anything with her, they nodded at her presence, and offered her drugs before going to the gangs.
To add to the thought Andy was insane, she particularly liked solitary confinement, and offered on a regular basis to bunk in the white rooms when the facility become over-packed.
The guards tended to be on edge while around the deranged prisoner, solitary confinement was the number one place prisoners committed suicide. It was so cut off, and lonely that the state only allowed prisoners to be in the room for 23 hours a day, for only seven days.
And yet, the young prisoner enjoyed the silence.
She was often put into the room under order's, she was one of the top fighting inmates throughout the prison. But most of the guards had never met a person that liked so much time alone.
John Kerman was an ex marine, who found the young lady fascinating, and tended to stay near her cell whenever he was on duty. He was tall, broad, and somewhere in his late thirties.
He noted how the young woman always started a riot while he was on the job, he thought that she did this to make it more complicated for him, but as time went on and he watched other guards handle Ms. Palon, and he noticed he was always the easiest on her.
He tried making sense of her silence. He tried understanding her actions which all had an interior motive too. Everything she did was for a reason, if it wasn't she did nothing. He couldn't count how many times he would walk next to the pillar and peak in and see her playing solitaire on her floor, or just staring at the scratch marks on the wall.
She was a strange that was obvious. But she had something else to her, something he didn't quite understand. She gave off the façade that she was mental and let everyone believe she had problems.
Only because she knew no one would understand her stand point on certain items, so she kept them to herself and let others guess.
The only way he understood this much about her, was because he would stand at her cell and say things to her, asking her question that ranged from her favorite color to why she killed her parents. All of which she didn't answer until one day, she murmured something quiet enough he had to strain to hear, and he even believed that he thought it up the next day.
"It's easy to let them guess, but it's harder for them to understand"