[Ridge's POV]

    The bloody knife slipped out of my hands, landing onto the dirty kitchen floor with a loud clang. Adrenaline was pumping through my veins, my lungs heaving out my breaths as my body trembled. The realization to what I had just done was like a bullet to the head—frightening.

Horrific.

But yet, the realization was satisfying as well. If I were wanting to kill myself, a bullet to the head would be satisfying . . . and I, was like that.

The situation was as relaxing as killing myself.

My clothes were covered in blood. I avoided stepping into the same crimson liquid that pooled all over the tile floor as my parents' bodies laid lifeless, and loss of colour. The food on the table had been abandoned due to my father's outburst on me, and my ability to shut him up by slicing his neck open before he could take it to the next level. My mom, wasn't quick enough to reach the phone because I had done the exact same thing to her for the exact same reasons. Both of them . . . were pure evil.

And yet, no one could fucking see it.

Despite my constant cries for help when my father crept into my room at night, I had to take matters into my own hands because no one would help me.

Picking the knife back up, I scrubbed it off with alcohol and sterilized it with a lighter. My eyes widened to the sounds of police sirens and I did the one thing I could do—I grabbed a cloth to protect my fingerprints from the handle of the blade, and stabbed the knife into the left side of my abdomen.

"FUCK!" I screamed, dropping to the floor as the knife fell from my grip once more. I clutched my bleeding wound, letting out a sob and a curse just as the door was kicked open. Police rushed into my house, three entering the kitchen while two more when to investigate upstairs and outside.

Blood was slipping out of the wound. The pain was so much I had my nails scraping against the floor as tears rolled down my cheeks. I heard an officer speak into an intercom of some sort, and before I knew it paramedics were in my home as well. I was lifted onto a gurney while my parents' bodies were covered in a blanket. They rolled me out of the house and to the ambulance. I knew I was going to get questioned so I had to be sly and come up with an explanation.

There were neighbours crowding around outside just as I was lifted into the ambulance. The last thing I saw before the doors closed and I was sent off to the hospital, was my parents' bodies being carried out, and the shocked faces of everyone surrounding.

This . . .  was the start of a new beginning.

Two Months Later

    "Ridge? Come downstairs sweetie and help me with my groceries," My aunt Nevaeh called out from downstairs. Groaning, I paused my video game and exited my bedroom. Heading down the stairs I noticed her carrying a few bags of groceries inside, so I slipped on my converse and went outside to fetch the rest.

Once all the groceries were on the kitchen counter, I helped her put everything away into the cupboards. Ever since I had killed my parents (or . . . Died so to speak considering no one knew that I had killed them), my aunt had taken me in to live with her despite me being 20 years old. I didn't have a job, therefore I wouldn't have survived on my own anyways.

"Gunner should be on his way home from work. Did you want to help us make cupcakes for your cousin Bailey's birthday tomorrow?" Nevaeh had asked once we were done.

"Uhm, I'll have to pass," I shrugged, brushing my fingers through my blond hair.

"Are you sure? You can't just be cooped up in your room all day sweetie."

"I'm fine, Auntie."

She sighed, nodding her head anyways. We both knew that I wasn't fine though. She thought I was fucked up because of my parents' death, when really I was messed up because of what they did to me.

There was a jingling of keys by the door, before it opened and my uncle Gunner's voice sounded, "Nevaeh? Ridge?"

My aunt and I looked at each other, before stepping out of the kitchen to the front door. My body tensed up, and my eyes widened as two police men were with him, but my uncle looked just as confused as my aunt and I were.

"Gunner? Why are these police men here?" My aunt asked.

"They just pulled up into the driveway when I got out of my car. They wanted to talk about something," Uncle Gunner shrugged, glancing to me briefly as I shoved my hands into my pockets.

"Indeed . . ." One of the police officers said, "It's about the death of Mr. And Mrs. Colton."

My aunt and uncle had tensed up, just like I was.

"What about it?" My aunt hesitated.

"Well . . . " The other officer trailed off, then looked to me, "Ridge . . . You've just became a prime suspect."

My heart dropped.

[Ridge's POV]

        "Ridge Colton will be sentenced 25 years in prison, for first degree murder on his parents."

That's when my whole life had changed. In that court room, looking amongst my aunt Nevaeh and uncle Gunner, seeing the shocked and hurt expressions on their faces. Their expressions made me feel guilty to what I had did, but at the same time at least I could just rot away in a prison cell rather than reliving a daily torture caused by my own parents.

A dusty old prison cell, with metal bars and being surrounded by nothing but other men who had fallen into the same trap I did. Out smarted by the police, and whisked away into crammed rooms while being forced to do daily jobs, and eat disgusting food for their entire sentence.

It was nothing new to me though, because my life was a living prison anyways . . . And I couldn't get out of it.

My aunt Nevaeh was crying. She wept in my uncle's arms and clutched his shirt as he held her tightly and whispered that everything would be okay. That was complete bullshit though, and my aunt knew that because she screamed and smacked my uncle Gunner in the chest.

"Nothing will be okay Gunner! My fucking nephew murdered my sister and her husband! HIS parents! It's not going to be okay because we have a fucking betrayer in the family! I can't believe that I let this man live in my own house! I can't believe he would do such a thing! He's psychotic!"

My two best friends Nero and Skye were silent, staring at each other and then back at me in disbelief. Everyone I knew had no words to speak because this was something they had least expected.

When I was whisked away out of that court room, I knew that I would never see the light of freedom that I never had in the first place, and only had for two whole months of my life. I knew that would have been the very last time I would see my family and friends, because I knew that they would not visit me for what I had did. I knew . . . That I would be alone for the rest of my life.

But I guess . . . I was okay with that.

    Cuffs clutched my wrists behind my back, loud sneers and hollers sounded from the other cells by other prisoners as I was led down the long corridor by two guards. I was in that usual bright orange jumpsuit just like in the movies I used to watch on television. And when I was watching those movies, in my mind I thought that I would never get to that low point of my life...Not one time did I ever think I would end up in a prison cell, surrounded by other killers, psychopaths, or gangsters. All of these men were in here because they were dangerous. Fucked up in the head like I was. If I were to keep myself unharmed and alive, I would have to keep my distance.

"Oi, that's a fine-looking ass you have there."

"I'd bend you over these concrete walls and pound into your tight hole any day."

"Your petty little fucking ass don't belong in this prison boy."

"He got muscle, but I could beat his ass if I really wanted to."

"GET OUTTA HERE SHORTIE."

"He's got a pretty hot body; Ay new boy! You got yourself a pretty lil' lady? Or are you into some rigid men who can tear Yo' ass up?"

I grunted, ignoring all the catcalling and curses that were shouted at me. Ten minutes into this hell hole and I was already being sexually harassed by old fuckers. If my time here was already starting to turn out to shit, then it was going to be a long twenty-five years living in a small and uncomfortable cell.

Especially if I had a cellmate.

If I had a cellmate he would probably kill me within the first week, because who liked to share a room with someone you didn't know? And especially a killer, someone who was violent and could easily choke you to death in your sleep.

The two guards stopped at a cell, the shouts of other prisoners incoherent in my mind as they fogged away, my attention focused solely on the man laid on the top bunk of the bed. His eyes were closed, his hands resting behind his head. He had dark dirty blond hair that was neatly tousled and fell just below his ears—his orange jumper only brought up to his waist showing off his taut muscles and tattoos along his hip and collarbone. His prominent jawline and slightly tanned skin added along to his dominant features, along with sporting a single earring on his ear and cartilage.

"Graham!" One of the guards shouted, banging against the cell which startled the man into opening his eyes and sat up. He only looked a few years older than me, "quit your sleeping and meet your new roommate."

"What roommate?" The male snorted, his piercing blue eyes snapping towards me before jumping off of the bunk. His muscles were bigger than my own, and he was taller than me by a good few inches, "I never asked for a cellmate, nor do I want one."

"We don't go by what you want princess, you're getting one whether you like it or not," The guard deadpanned, unlocking the cell and I gasped as they took off my handcuffs and shoved me into the cell, nearly bumping right into the guy—or, my cellmate. Luckily, I didn't though, flinching a bit as the bar door slammed shut behind me and locked.

I stared up at the man, intimidated by those striking blue irises that looked down at me so intensely, that goosebumps littered my skin along with shivers. He looked daring, the menacing expression on his face telling me that if I fucked up I was as good as dead.

He was hot not going to lie, with his charming features but it only added onto his sexy and dangerous demeanour. Even if he didn't spit a word out to me it was as clear as a sunny day that he wasn't afraid to strangle me if I annoyed him in some kind of way. That talking to him would probably lend me into the depths of hell that I didn't wish to fall into. I was already dug down into a hole so deep, that I was on the brink of just disappearing completely and destroying myself. This guy. . . Was in here for a reason—and it was what I was assuming for lack of sympathy towards others, and raging anger issues.

Blinking out of my short daze, the man pointed to the bottom bunk, "that's your bed. And you stay in that bed. Try touching my bunk and I'll kill you."

My mouth gapped open, and I jumbled my words a bit before I ended up just nodding my head silently. The man gave me a bored look, rolling his eyes with a heavy sigh.

"What's your name, boy?"

"Ridge Colton, and I'm not a boy thank you very much," I grumbled, instantly regretting my words as he glared at me.

"Don't sass back at me, Ridge. This was my cell first and you will obey everything I say or I will kill you. Understand?" He snarled, and I nodded my head quickly.

"Uh . . . Yea . . . "

"Graham Kassis," He spoke. I glanced down at his hand warily as he held it out, before shaking it, "your new cellmate, welcome to your new life in prison. Hope you can last here."

I didn't say anything after that, and neither did he. Instead, he turned his back to me, revealing more tattoos before he jumped back onto his bunk and laid back down. I merely stared at him as he draped his arm over his eyes, not moving an inch from where I was standing before I slowly walked over to my own bed on the bottom, climbing onto it. It was almost time for lights out anyways so there wasn't much I could do. Tomorrow I would be given my jobs and all that jazz. It was going to be my first day actually living the prison life.

The bed was somewhat comfy, but right away I knew it would be difficult to sleep on it. The only blanket was a thin sheet, not nearly close enough to keep me warm if I ever got cold. The cell itself was all dead looking, with the grey walls and flooring. I almost felt like I had lack of privacy with the thick bar doors that let you see into the cell. It was small, and lonely. I was already uncomfortable and uneasy and I haven't been in this cell for 10 minutes. It was just . . . Lifeless with death laying above me on the top bunk.

Let's just hope twenty-five years passed by quickly.

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The guards had taken me to the kitchen after eating breakfast and roll call where I would be working for the next few hours; the food wasn't all that bad, for being a prison. It wasn't like I wanted to throw it up, but I almost did considering I was in a room full of criminals and I managed to sit alone, and the scenario of being in a room surrounded by killers had me uneasy. The room was filled with chefs, both men and women cooking away while other inmates where there as well, assisting with either clean up or handled the ingredients. I almost felt out of place, mostly because I was standing there lost and unknowing of what I was supposed to do—the guards had just dropped me off and abandoned me.

"Ridge Colton?" A female chef approached me, and I nodded hesitantly before gesturing me to follow her. I complied and followed behind her as she led me over to the counter with food splayed across it, as well as some spices and a large pot, "you are to help me cook the food today for all the prisoners."

"Oh . . . alright," I mumbled. We got to work on making the food, and frankly the job wasn't all too difficult. It wasn't like I was tugging at my hair for hours going completely insane. I handed her the ingredients while she cooked, and the good part was that she was nice enough to actually let me taste it to see how good it was. I even got to know her name—Emilia. After about two hours or so of working, I cleaned up the mess before the guards came back and gave me a brief check over before the handcuffed me again.

They roughly hauled me out of the kitchen and down a long corridor with a grunt. I ignored the slight anger that bubbled up inside me as my wrist cracked a bit by the rough force, because I wasn't about to get in trouble when I had just arrived. But at the same time their harshness made me nervous, the feeling of being tugged bringing back brief horrid memories, and it took some self-control to resist that tug of anxiety that corrupted me for a few seconds.

I was brought to the yard. They took off my restraints and I could roam freely for the next while. Inmates littered around the outdoor area, separated into groups. Many of the men that surrounded the area were large, scary looking and bulged in muscle. As I scanned the yard, seemingly out of place considering everyone had some sort of click, or crew while I was just standing like a loner, and a complete noob.

"Looking a little lonely aren't cha new boy?"

Startled, I turned around to see a guy standing there, dark hair slicked back with a nose ring much like I had. He was taller, more muscular, and was looking at me with emerald green eyes that were full of amusement and curiosity. His jumper was unbuttoned halfway to show off his hard chest, but it didn't faze me.

"Uhm . . . I guess," I shrugged, earning a perfectly raised and arched brow.

"Listen . . . kid," The man started, "do you need the heads up or have you prepared yourself?"

It was my turn to raise a brow.

"Heads up on what . . .?" I asked him confused. The guy let out a laugh, causing me to stumble a bit as he smacked me hard in the back.

"My name is Giovanni, but people call me Gio for short so just stick with the nickname," He started, and once I nodded my head he continued, "secondly, this prison is full of perverts and dangerous men with anger problems. Behave yourself and you won't get yourself killed."

"Right . . . I've given myself a brief pep talk," I murmured, "I just didn't know how bad it would get until guys started shouting things about fucking me."

"Yea, they'll do anything to get some ass," Gio chuckled, "and since your new they might want to go after the fresh meat."

"I don't need to get my ass fucked by some crazy bimbos . . . I already have a lot of problems."

The mere fact of a guy laying their hand on me or touching me in that sort of way disgusted me beyond degree. Already thinking about it had me cringing internally and I was trying my best to keep the bile down my throat. My heart beated unsteadily, and now I was trying desperately to think of something else to get rid of the painful thoughts and reoccurring events rambling through my head, bringing a physical 
and painful ache to my thighs.

Not in a good way, more in a traumatized way.

"We all got problems . . . I didn't quite catch your name?"

"It's Ridge," I said once I had the chance to, swallowing nervously.

"Ridge . . . hm, I like that name. Would you like to hang out with my friends and I?" Gio asked casually, and by the way he smirked it was obvious that I had looked at him in surprise.

Well I mean, yea I was surprised. An inmate was telling me that he wanted me to hang out with him...where in my mind I was pretty sure everyone wanted to kill each other. But Gio . . . he wasn't all that bad.

"Seriously?" I asked hesitantly.

"I'm asking, aren't I?" Gio laughed. I felt myself blush lightly at that, and quickly cleared my throat.

"Oh . . . right, uh . . . okay . . ." I scratched the back of my head. In the corner of my eye I noticed Graham, and when I fully turned my head my eyes widened as I saw him staring at me with a hard expression, before his attention turned elsewhere and he was talking to his friend group.

Gio squeezed my shoulder to grasp my attention again. He gestured me to follow, and once I did he led me further into the yard and to a group of men who were sitting lazily. There were five of them, all taller than me but one who seemed to be around the same height as I was, which reassured me knowing that I wouldn't be towered over by all of them. They all glanced over just as Gio and I approached, and right away their stares had me nervous, but I made sure to discard the emotions on my face so that they didn't see how scared I was at that moment.

"Who'd you bring over Gio?" A male with long hair asked. His eyes were like emeralds, and his hair was tied up in a ponytail that fell to his mid back.

"This is Ridge, thought he could hang out with us."

"Tsk . . . he's got muscle, but not enough," A redheaded--more like auburn—male spoke up.

Gio had ignored the simple statement, and started pointing out to each male as he spoke names, "That's Noah, the blondie with the lip ring, then there's Ekon, Neron with the long hair, Caiden with his purple hair and dark roots, and Thanatos with the dark red hair."

"What'd you get in for Ridge?" Noah had asked casually, Gio sitting down onto the ground after the brief introduction and I followed suit.

"Uhm . . . murder," I mumbled, ringing my fingers together as he cocked a perfectly arched brow at me.

"Murder? You don't seem like a killer—more like a juvenile."

"Who'd ya kill?" Ekon was the next to speak, his hair a beach brown colour. I hesitated, reliving the moment in my head as I shut my eyes tightly. Last night was brutal. I had a nightmare about that evening in the kitchen, with my parents' dead on floor, blood everywhere and the smell of death.

". . . My parents . . ." I spoke reluctant. No one said a peep before there was a scoff from Neron, his long blond hair was tied up with what looked like a ripped-up piece of fabric, his ponytail stopping at his mid back.

"Killed your own family? I don't believe that," Neron grumbled.

"Don't be a dick Neron," Ekon scolded him, flicking his forehead to which Neron responded with a scowl.

"Can't tell me what do to."

"I'm just telling you quit being a dick to people, you always act like you have a thorn up your ass."

I bit my lip as the two of them bickered back and forth with each other, wondering if I said something wrong to get Neron on my bad side. Geez, first day and I just made 2 enemies, my cellmate and a guy I just met 2 minutes ago. Gio had rolled his eyes at the two of them, getting them to shut up by pinching their cheeks before he turned to me and smiled.

"Killed your parents huh? Interesting. How long is your sentence?"

"Uh . . . Twenty-five years," I responded, and he whistled.

"That's a pretty big sentence you got, just like mine," Caiden was the next to speak up. I was quite fond of the lilac hair colour he was sporting, along with a dangling earring on one side. He had almost a soft feature to his face—it wasn't sharp nor dominant. It made me wonder how he himself ended up in such a cruel and isolated place.

"Uh, yea . . . It was because I killed two people."

"I understand," Caiden smiled at me sympathetically, which made me raise a brow at him, curiosity written all over my face. I wanted to ask him what he meant, but he was quick to turn to Noah and start talking.

What have I gotten myself into?

[Graham's POV]

           I glanced around the open yard, scanning the area while watching the other prisoners. I sat carelessly on one of the benches next to my best friend Acer, and the rest of my crew sitting around us on the grass as they all chatted to one another—something about Jason having a thing for this new security guard who's been around for at least an entire month. But . . . I wasn't paying attention to the discussion they were having, or the little jokes and banter they threw at him. I did notice however, that Ridge, my new cellmate, was making buddy buddy with Giovanni and his crew.

Ever since I was sent here, never was I given a cellmate. They weren't supposed to give me a cellmate in the first place—so why now? They knew that throwing someone else in with me would cause potential death. I wasn't fond of sharing such a small space with another person, especially with someone who barely looked like they could even kill a goldfish, let alone a person.

It pissed me off.

"Are you even listening Graham?" Acer placed a hand on my shoulder, disturbing me from my thoughts as I turned to look at him.

"No, I wasn't," I replied bluntly. A sigh escaped from Acer's lips then. His dark hair fell in front of his face before he brushed his fingers through his hair to push it back.

"Heston's crew . . . one of their members committed suicide last night. Did you hear already?"

"Who?" I raised a brow, not like I really cared with what happened outside of our own group, yet I couldn't help my curiosity.

"Mason. They found him in the library. He lynched himself. No one knows when he did it or why," Acer explained to me, his voice not showing much emotion.

"Tsk...that's just one less person to worry about here."

"They weren't much of a threat in the first place," Acer shrugged, rolling the sleeves of his jumper higher up his arms, revealing the few tattoos that he had.

"No one is a threat—Jason, did you get the information I asked for?" I directed the conversation, gaining my whole crew's attention as all eyes were on mine now.

"Getting there. The guard said he would get me the info by tonight."

"Then I want to know by the morning," I gave Jason a look, and he nodded in understanding.

The rest of the day flew by quickly after that. A guard sent me to my job which I worked for the next few hours. Once it was dinner, I sat in the canteen along with my group at our regular table. Prisoners flooded the room and filled up each table, and as dinner flew by I was surprised that no fights had gone down. Usually this time was prone to fighting. After eating the bland food, we only had half an hour before he had to head up to our cells at 10 o'clock for lock up and roll call.

With that time I decided to shower. I said goodbye to my group and headed down to my cell to grab my stuff before walking to the shower room. There were already a few prisoners in some of the stalls showering. One thing that you learned here...was don't drop the soap, before you would regret it.

I stripped off my jumper as I stepped into an empty stall, turning on the shower head and let the cold water turn warm. Picking up the bottle of shampoo, I began lathering my hair in the soapy substance before washing it off. I never liked to shower long—I never went over 20 minutes. Once I was rubbing the soap over my body, the chatter that was nonexistent for the passed few minutes had gotten louder, much to my annoyance.

I wanted to yell at them to shut up, as it was ruining my thought process, but when I heard their pathetic little cat calling and whistling I turned around to see none other than my cell mate Ridge step into the shower room. The guys in the room were either calling out to him to join their shower sesh, or were simply staring him down like a predator to its prey.

Didn't they have anything better to do rather than think about sex all the fucking time?

"Yo new guy! If you join me in the shower I'll show you a really good time."

"Get naked and bend over for me."

I rolled my eyes with a scoff. I even noticed one of the guys grab onto his dick to jerk off. I averted my gaze from the explicit view. To my surprise Ridge was ignoring them, and instead moved into the shower stall that was beside mine. I don't even think he noticed me until afterwards, and I noticed his body stiffen.

"Oh shit . . . sorry. I'll move into another stall—"

"Relax would you? This isn't high-school. Just shut up and shower," I grumbled agitatedly, thankful that he said nothing else and just began taking off his clothes before showering.

I gave him a once over—noticing that he was thinner than a lot of us prisoners. He was probably one of the conceivers, more feminine build but still muscular, which drove all the men here crazy. The queen tattoo on Ridge's wrist just proved my assumption.

I quickly finished my shower before turning off the water and dried myself off with the towel I brought down. I grabbed my jumper and tugged it on before wrapping the sleeves around my torso. I made sure to collect my toiletries before heading out of the room as quick as I came, heading back to my cell with 15 minutes to spare.

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Once roll call was over and we were locked into our cells for the night, it got quiet.

Not the dead silence, but it was as quiet Block C got with its occasional clangs or whispering from the other prisoners and their buddies. Sometimes if people were desperate enough, there would be sounds of pleasure and the squeaking of beds. Luckily there was none of it, and my ears weren't harmed from the grotesques of sexual intercourse from inmates. Trust me, prison wasn't ideal for these things and even if my world outside of this place was far from perfect or safe and harmonized, and instead a visionary of violence, death, and guns, I was grossed out.

Even I, wouldn't stoop this low. I had enough self control to keep my dick in my pants, and not risk impregnating another male/female  conceiver as well as get any sort of STD.

Closing my eyes, I listened to the slight shuffle on the bottom bunk, assuming that Ridge was tossing and turning trying to get comfortable. He did the same exact thing the other night as well, and it followed up with silent sobs but I chose to ignore it. It wasn't my business nor did I care.

I was surprised when there was no follow up on the sobs, and instead it was just quiet. Afterwards—despite me telling him to shut up the day before—his words shattered the silence that was once condoned.

" . . . Hey, Graham?"

Ignoring my agitation, I sighed heavily and opened my eyes to stare up into the darkness, "what?"

There was a long pause.

"How do you retreat from going insane in this confined space?"

After he said it, I had to think long about it, because even I didn't know the answer to that. How could one live in this place and not lose their state of mind to madness? How could someone cope with possibly living in a small space with killers for the years and perhaps the rest of their life?

They didn't.

" . . . you don't. Perhaps maybe it's because I've already lost it, or I just haven't gotten so low yet."

There was a soft spoken okay, before Ridge had stopped talking all together.

A total of three years I've been here, and even if I hadn't gone mad in this place, didn't mean that it wasn't going to happen eventually. Sure, call me a psychopath already since I was thrown in here for the murder of many others who deserved to be brought to hell, but I wasn't insane.

In this place, there was no sorrow. Everyone cared about themselves and themselves only. That's how you survived here. You couldn't trust anyone outside of your crew and if you didn't have one . . . You trusted no one. This place was overfilled with psychopaths, people who didn't care who died, when and how.

They could kill you in your sleep; backstab you at your weakest moments. Once you were sent into this place, there was nothing protecting you from another prisoner strangling you to death. No one dared to come at me or my crew. They knew not to mess with us. Not if they had some sort of death wish.

Acer, was my best friend. The only person who I could trust in this place. We got into this place together, and we stuck through it together. I trusted him to where I could have my back turned knowing he wouldn't stab me in the back—I was wary about other people.

My crew I could trust, only because we were loyal to one another but that didn't mean someone wouldn't suddenly turn their backs on us and change their minds. Even before I was sent into this confined space full of other crazy and fucked up minds, my world was constant danger and trust was a huge issue. There was no remorse in the society I grew up in—I killed to win, but to save lives. I kept my men together, and we didn't savour the lives of other people if they got in our way.

I closed my eyes again, and went to sleep.

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"Jorin's in the infirmary, he's been coming down with the flu and is vomiting non-stop in our cell," Seymour sighed from beside me as we waited in line to use the phones.

"Sucks for him."

"Sucks for me too—he was stinking up the cell and I couldn't sleep with his loud heaving," He grumbled, but shook his head afterwards, "but I mean, I hope he gets better."

"If it's the flu he'll be fine with a week's worth of rest. Nothing to worry about," I shrugged nonchalantly.

Seymour nodded his head before stepping up to the phone booth next, pressing the handset to his ear while he dialed a number on the dial pad. I knew who he was calling—his sister. That was only person he ever called since he was thrown into prison 10 months ago. Evicted for assisted suicide. His best friend was at his worst stages of cancer and wanted to die, and Seymour—with reluctance—helped him.

But unfortunately, he was caught for second degree murder and a sentence of 10 years.

I knew he was a wreck, with his family dissing him with only his older sister to talk to. He had therapy every 2 weeks for the passed few months, and I was just hoping that it was helping him out. I didn't want to see him end up like that Mason guy.

His long black hair was tied up with a piece of cloth. His skin was pale and on the side of porcelain, but his eyes were an accentuating shade of blue. He had one of the nicer jobs in the prison, managing to be one of the hairdressers.

Sighing, I stepped up to the phone beside his and pressed the handset to my ear once it began ringing.

"Hello?" Was the response I got after the second ring.

"It's Graham," I answered to his possible confusion, and I noticed that his tone of voice changed immediately.

"Graham, hey! How have you been? Doing alright?" Salem responded on the other side of the call, and I couldn't help the subtle smile.

"I'm hanging on...I guess. Nothing new here. What about you? Last time I called you went into labour," I chuckled with a subtle smirk dancing on my features.

"Haha, yea—I got home a few days ago. I had a boy," Salem laughed, "his name is Toby. He's the cutest little thing."

"Toby...hm. I wish I could see my little nephew. Were you alone during birth?"

"No, Reagan was there and has been staying with me. She's been really helpful," Salem chuckled, "I wish you were there."

"Yea well...I'm going to find a way out of here, don't worry," I reassured, my younger brother letting out a heavy sigh.

"Anyways. No love interest?"

"Pfft, in prison? Are you nuts?"

"What? No! I'm just asking," Salem laughed.

We talked for another few minutes before saying goodbye to each other, as I wasn't able to hold up the other inmates waiting to use the phone. Salem, was my younger brother at the age of twenty—a 5 year difference. The only family I had, and the family I cherished in my violent culture. He had gotten pregnant on accident while I was in prison and ended up having to go through the pregnancy by himself and become a single parent, because the father was a douche and wanted nothing to do with it.

Salem was fine with it though...he couldn't force the guy into anything, and he would have preferred to have the baby by himself anyways. But I was glad that Reagan, his best friend was helping him out.

It turns out, that when you're locked away from the world for so long, you miss out on everything.

And even if I didn't regret the job that I did, I regret for getting caught.