Page 80 of Birdy

“I wanna hate you so bad!” She punches me again, intensifying the effects I’m already feeling. “But I can’t, and that’s what makes me maddest!”

Another blow follows, this time right beneath my eye, and I take it. I take each one ‘cause I truly do deserve it.

But that’s not what Selena wants...

“Fight back, goddammit!” Another rough shove sends me flying into the wall beneath the small window. “Fucking fight me back, Benni!”

I won’t, though. Not with Lena. If it were any other bitch in here, even the others I care about fiercely, I’d already have them on the ground. But I can’t with her, and I definitely can’t when I know I’m in the wrong.I’mthe reason she was thrown in the hole.I’mthe reason she’s getting more time. Clearly, I’m a shit friend as it is. No need to add more faults and flaws to the list that makes up Benita Adriana Villanueva.

“Why the fuck won’t you fight me?” Her fingers clench around my hair, drawing a hiss between my teeth as her arm presses into my throat. “Why?”

“Because what kind of friend would I be if I did? I know I’m in the wrong, Lena, but I swear to you, I’ll fix it.”

Lena holds my stare for several moments, lip curling in a feral fashion, her breathing harsh. I’m hoping she can see the apology in my eyes, but it’s either not obvious enough despite all I’ve tried to say, or she doesn’t care.

I’m going with the latter.

In the same lithe speed as the first, she slams me three consecutive times, jamming the words down my throat as blood begins to pour from my nose. The pain is indescribable, and it’s only then that instincts kick in, alarm bells blaring for me to protect myself regardless of who she is and what she means to me. If I don’t, she’ll knock me out, and with her history…

Well, let’s just say that wouldn’t fare too well for me.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her, fisting the front of her shirt to reclaim some control. “I’m fucking sorry, but you asked for it.” And then I wail on her, over and over again, each blow harder than the last.

The arm she’d lodged against my throat slips away, and the next thing I know, I’m slamming her back into the wall beside the desk. I’ve drawn blood already, too, feel it clinging to my knuckles, splattering onto my uniform every time my fist connects with her face.

“I’m fucking sorry!” I’m yelling it like a lunatic, my voice garbled as every emotion possible races through me. “I’m so fucking sorry!”

Somewhere in the background, I can just make out the sounds of other inmates belting out about the fight, and within minutes, maybe even seconds, I’m being pulled off my best friend. My chest heaves wildly from exertion as I watch CO Jordan detain Lena without any issue. She’s bleeding from both nostrils, head bobbing as she attempts to keep it upright. I can see his mouth moving as he says something to her, but I can’t hear the words. All I can hear is the roaring in my ears, combined with my erratic breaths. I can’t even hear the chaos of the block as I’m dragged through to the gate, can barely see it behind the tears still very much flowing. But it’s who’s dragging me that’ll stick with me most once I’m alone with my thoughts in the hole.

A disappointed and thoroughly destroyed Andrés.

?lovely - Billie Eilish & Khalid

Time doesn’t existin the hole.

After the first day or two, you start to lose track. It’s impossible not to. There’s no window to clue you in like a normal cell in general population. The only tell is what type of meal you receive through the small slot in the solid metal door. I couldn’t tell you how long I’ve been in here if you paid me. Based on the swelling of my face that’s finally starting to go down, I’m gonna guess five or six, maybe even seven days.

But who knows?

All I know is I’ve barely eaten, barely slept. I have virtually zero appetite, and it’s far too cold to even think about sleeping for long stretches, the thin white sheet doing nothing to fend off the chill. The worst part of it, though, is the constant racing of my mind. It’s made it nearly impossible to completely shut down...and the random screams from other cells don’t help, either.

Yes, friends, literal screams.

Staring at the same four walls without any human interaction for twenty-four hours a day will do that to you. It’s easy to break in here, easy to go mad. I haven’t been in here too many times, but I will say that the previous times were almost a walk in the park in comparison to this fresh hell. Between my thoughts and the occasional screams, I feel like I’m losing my goddamn mind. If I have to think about Andrés or Lena or even Ryker and Kori one more time, I swear toPapá DiosI’m going to go apeshit.

I’ve been sitting on this hard-ass cot for hours, arms curled around my knees as I ping-pong from one topic to the next. Once I dissect and pick them all apart, I’m back at square one, repeating the same vicious cycle all over again.

Another round of manic screams pops off from somewhere down the hall as I’m circling back to Andrés and that devastated look on his face. “Make it stop,” I whisper to myself, scrunching my eyes tightly. “Make it fucking stop.”

I swear those screams enhance everything tenfold. The darkness of my mind does absolutely nothing to obscure what I see of Andrés. That agonized look still haunts me, the vagueness of his note, too.

We can’t do this anymore.

Why?

That very question seems to be the theme of my entire life. Why, to everything? Why was I stupid enough to trust Ángel? Why was I stupid enough to let him drag me into the Upper Echelon? Why was I stupid enough to fall for the motherfucker? Why didn’t he love me? Why did I have to go down for him? Why did Andrés have to come into my life and turn everything I’d grown accustomed to upside down with a single fucking look? Why did he end it?

“Why, why, WHY?” I bellow emotionally, my voice echoing off the stark white walls of the cell. “Why me? Why. Me?”

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