The prison guard kicked Nathan in the back of the heels when he dragged his feet, and he cursed under his breath as they headed into the back door of the police station. The front was likely too good for trash like him, and he kept his head down as the navigated the winding corridors of the back offices. The yellow and brown tiles reminded him of the dirty teeth of the inmates who'd jeered at him on his way out of the holding jail.

"Thank you for escorting him." An officer jumped up from his desk in the office ahead, near skidding on the tile as he huffed it to Nathan's front.

There was a strange warmth in the man's brown eyes as they connected with Nathan's, and he swallowed the lump in his throat as he planted his eyes at his feet. Shackled, labeled with an orange jump suit, and passed around like a rabid animal that they'd rather put down, Nathan was doing his utmost to keep it together. Any small kindness could break him.

The officer accepted a bag of Nathan's things from the prison guard, and a pen scratching on paper signed Nathan over to yet another cage. With his eyes following the threads on the officer's fancy shoes, he was spared one last dirty look from the guard as he turned about face and headed for the hills. The fear of seeing the similar disgust on the officer's face had his legs trembling, and he tightened his fists in the cuffs that locked them together.

"Jesus, you're barely standing. Come this way."

A touch on Nathan's shoulder had him jerking back, and he lifted his chin out of self-preservation more than anything. Men had been pushing him around for days, in the cells, out of the cells, through the airport, on the plane, off the plane, and into the car here. The last piece of shit guard had smacked his head on the top of the car on purpose before shoving him down onto the back seat. His head still throbbed, and when he found this officer's eyes open wide with concern, it tightened his lips and tears lined his eyes.

"There is a couch in my office." The officer took a step back with a gesture of his hand.

Nathan didn't wait another second before he dashed past him and planted himself of the cushions. The door closing with the blinds clacking against the glass had his head sinking lower to his shoulders in fear of what was to come next. The guard had been an asshole, but he was predictable. The unknown was worse.

"Let me get those," the man said with a small sigh. Perhaps he'd tired of his skittish behavior.

Nathan offered his cuffed hands as the man fished the key from the ring, and the officer's chestnut hair shaded his eyes as he undid his restraints. It was a little long for a police officer and though the man had a youthful energy about him, the age-worn hands unlocking Nathan's handcuffs told the tale of his experience. This was no rookie who treated inmates more gently, yet he whistled an upbeat tune as he twirled the keys on his finger before dropping them in a drawer of his desk.

"Do you need a private room to change?" the man asked, setting Nathan's street clothes next to him on the cushioned bench with a careful smile—like he was petting a stray and unsure if it might bite him. It was acknowledgement though. No one had looked at him like he was a human being in months.

So many guards had seen him change by now that Nathan had no dignity left to lose as he stripped to his boxers. Getting rid of the cursed orange jump suit felt like shedding a hundred pounds, and he slipped into his faded blue jeans with tears dripping on the floor that he couldn't stop. They continued as he threw a plain white T-shirt over his head and tucked himself away in a hoody that he hadn't seen since the day they'd arrested him. The layers made him feel safer even though they made no real difference, and he huddled against the arm rest as he settled back on the couch.

"Fucking Christ, no one said you were a kid." The rolling chair behind the desk creaked as the officer fell on it with a groan and ran both hands up his face.

Nathan ground his teeth as he swallowed the word. Kid. While Nathan was by no definition a kid at nineteen, he understood the man's frustration. Crying wasn't common place among criminals and would likely get him beat up at the new private penitentiary he was headed for. This man must also be a part of that place, and Nathan scanned his desk for any indication of his demeanor.

Nothing but pens, paper, and a silver name plate that read Allen Miller topped the sturdy wooden structure. No family picture to remember his loved ones fondly nor hobbies he cared enough about to share with the world in pictures. This man's job was his life, and Nathan fidgeted as Allen sat up straight to look at him. There wasn't much to see but hollowed eyes, short hair as dark as dirt, and the pasty skin of a kid barely keeping himself from hurling on the floor.

Allen stood, and Nathan hunched closer to the couch as he ran his eyes over the officer's uniform. Marks of commendation and rank hung from his shoulders that Nathan could never hope to understand, but Allen was set up like a beat cop more than a man in charge. A gun sat holstered on his hip with a radio attached to his chest, but no body cam. Perhaps they only wore them when they left the station?

Or things were really under the table here.

"Do you speak?" Allen asked with a light voice that touched too heavily on consideration, and Nathan willed his eyes to stop leaking. Why couldn't this guy treat him like garbage like all the rest?

"Is the penitentiary bad?" Nathan croaked just to prove he had a voice, further disgusting himself with his lack of fortitude.

"I'm not sure how to answer that." Allen rubbed the back of his neck less than reassuringly. "It's a little challenging in there, but you can escape from them during the day if you want. That's why you took the plea deal, right? For the freedom this place affords you?"

It was.

The alternative penitentiary was a testing facility that sounded too good to be true, and he was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. While he was restricted to the confines of the city, he would be allowed to leave the facility as long as he adhered to the curfews. There were no jump suits or ankle monitors as long as he behaved, but there had also been no mention of anyone watching him, nor had the security of the place been detailed. Some shady stuff was going on here, but it was better than being passed around as a toy for sick men while the guards laughed at his plight.

"They are expecting you at the penitentiary shortly. Are you okay to go?" Allen's question was pointless, as much as Nathan answering. His destination was carved in stone, and he couldn't hide in a closet at the police station forever. Delaying would only give him more time to break down, and he needed to put himself together before he arrived.

Peace and quiet meant thinking.

Flashes of crimson flickered over the yellow tile, seeping from a boy's body as he lay still at the bottom of a stairwell. Worse was the deafening silence that had his ears ringing every time the memory forced its way up his throat. Nathan wanted to throw up, but he swallowed and held it down. He hadn't meant to hurt Randy Emerson. Only make it stop. All the shit every day, the ridicule, having his face shoved into his locker door, and that fucking laugh.

No one was laughing now.

Maybe he belonged in prison.

Taking deep breaths, Nathan buried everything and followed Allen out to an unmarked car, processing very little on it. Buildings flew by, wind ruffled his russet hair, kids yelled in the park as they passed, and Allen hummed to some song on the radio as he tapped on the steering wheel. Perhaps the man had picked up that Nathan didn't want to say much or he just didn't care. No one had cared about him since they'd laid down his sentence.

They'd gifted him the torment of sitting in a cell for hours while his mother cried on the other side of those bars. A decade was a long time, and she might never see her son whole again. Not with the stress of her only child and family going to prison and the possibility that he might take a knife to the gut any day. Kids like him didn't last long in medium security prisons, and if they did, they didn't come out the same.

Then they'd come to him with an offer that they called a plea deal, but he was pretty sure those were for before conviction and sentencing. Under the words of the document that said he would see the sun again, he knew this facility had to have unwritten drawbacks. Otherwise, why offer it to some failure of a human like him with no future, too old to go to juvie and too poor to afford a real lawyer and avoid prison time.

The penitentiary didn't look like hell as they pulled up to the curb in front of a gigantic house. Three stories climbed into the sky, and the trees has been cleared from the yard, leaving monotone golf course grass and small shrubs as the only greenery running its length. A mass of vines had taken hold of the west wall like they were trying to eat the place whole, but aside from that, the beige siding was pristine. Ocean-blue trimmed the windows and doors, and a neat overhang shaded a wide concrete slab of a porch at the entryway. There weren't even any bars on the windows, trash in the yard, or a stray broken bottle.

"Home sweet home." A waver in Allen's voice sent goosebumps down Nathan's neck as the officer used the adjacent headrest to turn and face him. Though Allen's eyes held the same compassion, his skin pallor looked a shade greyer as his lips crunched with displeasure. "If you need a guy to talk to, give me a ring any time, Nathan. The facility manager, Mags, has my number. You can ask for it if things get too rough, and I'll help as best I can."

The offer rang with genuine feeling that had Nathan opening the door and stepping out to avoid any more tears. Allen was out and around the car almost as soon as his feet hit pavement, and Nathan shuffled to the side as Allen closed the door.

Unable to look Allen in the eyes without crying still, Nathan strode down the sidewalk toward his new home. It wasn't a long walk to the door, and the knowledge of the hell he was walking into made it shorter as he stopped in front of a welcome mat. The scratchy garden atrocity had "welcome" scrawled on it in blue letters surrounded by flowers of all things.

Welcome to what? Welcome to hell, where we don't have locks on the doors only because you'd want them. Enjoy the outside world as the clock ticks down to your return to nightly torture, and if you have the privilege of a shower, don't drop the soap.

His lips fought between a smile of hysteria and a grimace of coming horror as he reached for the door knocker. It was a simple thing, just a metal loop, but when he tapped it on the door, the thing pushed off the latch with a creak. Beyond the threshold, only dim lights glowed further in, and this felt eerily reminiscent of the opening scene in a crime show.

Please don't let there be a dead body on the other side.

A shaky breath pushed past his lips as he cast one last glance at Allen, who had already started the car and was preparing to hop in as soon as Nathan disappeared into this dungeon. Nice guy. With no other choice, Nathan stepped in and closed the door behind him.

Past the tile entryway, his feet sank into plush carpet that had him pausing and removing his shoes, setting them next to others in a little cubby. He then headed toward the light at the end of the hall in search of an office or admittance desk. White walls boxed him in close enough that he was happy to step out into an open living room, but he paused when he encountered another living human.

Stretched back on a recliner, a man sat with a newspaper on his lap and a cigarette between his lips. He blew a small puff of smoke into the air that had Nathan's throat tightening, and when the guy flipped a page, Nathan got a glance of who he was facing. Muscles stacked the guy's arms that peeked out of his short-sleeved, collared shirt, and the cut of his ruffled pitch hair did not scream employee. The man struck him as more of a bouncer or hired muscle for thugs.

Nathan tried to back away, but the smoke got to him, and he damned himself with a cough. The paper dropped, the man jumped to his feet, and Nathan's stomach plummeted to his feet.

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Word Count: 2308