Amanda woke in the same spot she had begun yesterday's escapade in. A feeling of déjà vu came over her as she lifted her head from the cot's starchy pillow. Her temples were pounding as she furrowed her eyebrows in frustration from the pain. Along with this feeling of intense pain, there was that same void inside of her, needing to be filled. However today, this craving was begging to be satisfied—more so than ever before.

But with what…? Think, what had filled this void temporarily…

Then it dawned on her. Bits and pieces of memories from the previous day were recalled in her mind. But what was that substance the redheaded woman injected into her vein? She couldn't recall its name.

It began with an H…ended with an N...

"Heroin."

Amanda whipped around and saw Brenda standing right before the gate of her cell. It was Brenda who uttered the name of the drug that had quenched Amanda's depression. Amanda smirked slightly at Brenda, and nodded in appreciation. Brenda nodded in response, and slipped back into the dark part of her cell. Sadly for Amanda, it was now decided Heroin would be the source of her happiness in this depressing environment.

For months, the same day repeated over and over. She'd go out for recess, find the shady spot, and exchange something for the drug. Sometimes it was jail rations, sometimes money she had stolen from other jail members, and sometimes sexual favors. The sexual favors were the worst thing she had done. Amanda was straight, and never could picture herself with a woman. However because of the situation she was in she had to commit to doing things with those who were not straight like her.

Amanda felt as if she had to do them, because she knew if she didn't get the drug, she would go out of her mind. Each day after Amanda got her fix outside, Peter would return her to her cell, and clean her up. However, one day Peter informed her of her trial date. She decided it would be best to not be hopped up on Heroin during the trial. So she stopped cold turkey.

Those few days before the trial were the worst, Amanda experienced intense withdrawal. She couldn't sleep, she tossed and turned in bed, pain radiated throughout her body, and was desperate to drive away the craving. All she could think about was shooting up.

Monday, the day right before the trial, Amanda sat upright in her bed, thinking about how to drive her mind away from thoughts of shooting up. Her eyes darted around the room, looking for an activity to distract her. All she saw was the toilet, the bars, and the other cot adjacent to hers. Then something caught her eye. The lid of the toilet situated in the cell was chipped. Noticing this, she formulated a plan.

Cautiously, Amanda walked over to the toilet, and removed its porcelain lid. The minute she did so, a bit of toilet water squirted on to her shirt. Apparently there was some kind of pipe leakage in the system which caused a spritz of water to make contact with her clothes. Disregarding the stain, Amanda stared down at the lid. It was rather heavy and was made of a very cheap type of porcelain; the type that breaks easily.

With one movement, the toilet lid had shattered into a thousand pieces. Amanda heard some cell mates scream from the sound, and some just jumped and stared at the scene in awe. Amanda paid no attention to the convict's comments. With her boot, she shoved all the pieces to the left side of the toilet, up against a wall. She knelt before them and picked through several of the shards, in attempt to locate the sharpest. She wound up picking a very long shard that had a dagger-like appearance and a shockingly sharp point.

Hands shaking, she rose from the floor with the shard clasped tightly in her hand. She walked to her bed, and fell upon it. Instantly she brought the shard to her previously uncut wrist, cutting her flesh with it innumerable times. Her breath was scattered, and often incomplete. The blood flowed freely onto her sheets, and the mere sight of the gore was enough to settle her stomach. Amanda began to recall all the good memories she has had as she succumbed to the feeling of release. She took a deep breath as she observed the scene.

The porcelain shard stood alone on her pillow, its ends covered in the sticky red substance. Amanda shook her pillow out of her pillow case expeditiously, down feathers floating above her head. Amid the mostly white feathers, there were some tarnished with Amanda's blood. As soon as the pillowcase was free, she wrapped her wrist in it several times, and tied a knot to secure it in place. She made the knot tight. If she had made the dressing loose on her skin, blood would pour out in gracious amounts.

The tighter the bondage, the better the circulation is cut off, restricting the blood from coming through. Usually Amanda would not care at all if she bled everywhere, but she felt bad that Peter had been constantly cleaning up her messes and mopping her cell's sodden floors. This little gesture might save Peter time cleaning up.

Ruefully, Amanda took glanced back at her bed. The covers were half torn off; the top sheet sat limp and lifeless on the floor. The pillow was off to the side, covered abundantly in red and white feathers. The cot's makeshift mattress was askew on the bed's frame, jutting away from the wall. Amanda started to shake and cry uncontrollably as she recounted the moments that had taken place before. All of a sudden Amanda heard patterned footsteps. She recognized them instantly.

"You look rather…unstable."

"Unstable" was too broad of a word for her current emotional health, as Amanda described to Peter with the look in her eyes. Tear-soaked, Amanda ran to the cage and slipped her hands through the bars, grasping towards Peter.

"Help…Me…"

Amanda fell to her knees sobbing. Taking pity on her, Peter sighed as he fished his keys out of his pocket. Amanda's cries grew louder with every second Peter took trying to find the right key and wiggling it in the lock. Finally with a large metallic sounding click, the jail door swung open. Peter stumbled in; Amanda was still on the floor, her shirt wet with a mix of blood and tears. Peter rushed to Amanda's side and swept her up into his arms. Her small frame and emotional status lead Peter to mistake her for a young child, his young child. The others in the jail looked on the scene as they scowled in jealousy of Peter's attention towards Amanda. Peter brushed back the hair from Amanda's face and wiped her tears away. Then a conversation began.

"Don't cry…"

"I'm not trying to…"

"Okay…well don't fret, your almost through."

"I-I-I'm sorry…Peter."

"Sorry for what?"

Amanda heaved in a huge sigh, sniffled a bit and tried to catch her breath. She looked into Peter's iridescent blue eyes. They were fixated on her, and they conveyed a sense of worry. That just killed her.

"For making this mess…for making you clean up after me…I'm sorry for…everything. I don't think I'm strong enough for this…"

Peter stared at Amanda, eyes wide and full of concern as he shifted his weight, getting a better hold on Amanda. Then he looked around, and saw the rest of the jail's population glaring at him mockingly.

It was then he realized how much he had favored her. He walked over to the cot, laid Amanda down, and sat himself down at the bed's foot.

"You can make it…Amanda I know it…its only one more day…you may not realize it, but it's already night."

With that sentence, Amanda stopped breathing again. He was right…Amanda had really lost track of time. Tomorrow, October the 25th, her trial would begin.

"You're right…but…"

"But what?"

"I just…can't do this!"

"Yes you can!"

Amanda broke out into tears again. The mere realization that freedom was in the hands of some judge wielding a gavel restrained her good feelings. The judge would never know what she went through even with the most sincere testimony.

Peter's hand inched towards Amanda on the bed. His pinky finger came within close proximity of hers; Amanda could feel the warmth of his body radiating from his hands. Peter wasn't seeking out any kind of relationship from Amanda, but he believed that having his hand next to hers would comfort her, and make her feel like he would be there to help her through the last month.

However Peter had judged incorrectly. As soon as Amanda noticed Peter's gesture, she retracted her hand quickly. She wasn't sure what he was trying to put forth.

There was also something in Amanda that was changing. She had some form of kind, loving property that vanished the minute she walked inside her cell. Peter sighed contemplatively as Amanda fidgeted with her sheets in silence.

"I have other matters to attend to…I'll be back to help you clean up…But do you think you'll be okay for now?"

Amanda nodded in agreement as she fought back more tears. Peter rose from the bed and excused himself from her cell, the other female jail-mates taking a jab at him with each step he took. Amanda watched him leave. As soon as she heard the jail house door close, Amanda turned on her side, and after awhile fell asleep.

She seemed to awake in a trance like state, on a cot, in a red corner room. Rising, she began to observe the walls. A crude magazine cut out of a woman was plastered in the middle of the wall against the bed. Draped upon hooks and shelves were white beads and various religious idols and symbols. A small silver lock box sat at the foot of the bed, a red sticky substance she knew all too well coating its lid. This strong imagery confused Amanda, so she went out looking for answers. She walked out pensively, trying to locate clues. Rustic cogs and crude implements littered the entire room; it resembled an old abandoned factory.

Eventually Amanda reached a room with white tiled walls. Rudimentary medical equipment laid scattered everywhere, coated in a thin vale of blood. A buzz saw precariously hung off the edge of one table, its blades also dipped in the dark red liquid. Amanda moved slowly, taking in every shocking implement from the room in moderation. A man dressed in a yellowed cotton shirt laid on an old hospital bed, his neck slit, blood pouring out in every direction. This shocked Amanda. Then she looked to the floor…

A large puddle of blood seemed to be leaking out of thin air, in the middle of the floor beside the man in the bed. The liquid pooled up by her boots—leaving a thin rim of red on the soles of her shoes. Amanda for reasons unknown reached her hand into the pool, playing with it in her hands…then all of a sudden, she was sucked into it like a black hole.

Amanda arose from her bed, beads of sweat cascading down her sticky forehead. She felt a stream of blood trickling from her lip. Amanda often bit her lip as a substitute for cutting. As she collected the blood with her fingers and felt its texture, she looked around her cell. Peter had thoughtfully removed all of the shards from the room, and replaced her sheets. Her orange sweat and blood soaked jail wear had also been exchanged yet again. Peter was simply too good to her. She looked to her right. No new toilet cover stood in the old one's place. Heaving a heavy sigh, she sat up and used the makeshift jail blanket to wipe away the sweat. A thin layer of sweat now covered her entire body, the perspiration making her clothes cling uncomfortably.

Sitting in the light, she wondered what to make of that dream. The man hadn't resembled anyone she has affection for, yet she began crying during that point of the dream. A feeling of deep sorrow overcame her for that man's death, and his identity was in no way recognizable to Amanda. But what confused her most of all was the puddle, that morphed into a vicious black hole.

It was just a dream, just a twisted, sadistic dream…

Amanda repeated this to herself over and over again; trying to reassure her mind nothing was wrong. Dreams usually mean nothing to Amanda. Normally, Amanda's dreams were too flighty and inconsistent to make sense, never mind hold any sort of meaning. But what she feared was this dream was to break the chain, and actually contain a moral deep within. The fact this could be "the" dream irked her in a very emotional way. She had a cousin she was once close to; they shared similar upbringings, and could commiserate with each other. This cousin happened to have this gift to have a meaningful dream in times of extreme stress. Stress was just one of the many ways to describe Amanda's situation, so it would be fitting.

Just then, a pale ray of sunshine escaped onto her sheets, illuminating her orange clothes and her sweaty skin. Amanda chased the ray with her eyes, all the way out of her cell. The source of the light came from the jail house door on the other side, propped open. A man walked in. As he came closer, she saw it was peter.

"It's time Amanda."

With that simple sentence, Peter walked up to her cell, unlocked her and escorted her out. She was taken through numerous corridors, and then shuffled into a car. Peter climbed in, taking the wheel. The drive to the courthouse was quiet and tranquil. Both of them sat in complete silence, Amanda's mind captivated by what could happen at the trial.

Before the two of them knew it, they had arrived at the courthouse. It really was time, time for Amanda's fate to be decided.

Authors Note: Sorry I haven't updated in awhile...school has gotten busy lately, and I just haven't had the time. I've been busy a lot, with a bunch of different things..including a little event called sawmania! I went and met Shawnee Smith (the actress who plays Amanda) there, it was really fun. But anyway, the thanksgiving day weekend really gave me a good amount of time to wor k on the story again, so I did. I hope you enjoy the chapter, and please leave reviews!