Death Is Never Permanent

Flashbacks over the past few days but focused on as in real time, as it happened then.

I sat in a barred cell with my head buried in my knees, just waiting to be transferred somewhere else. I didn't know where I was going yet but I did however know that I wasn't getting out of this without some jail time, whatever extent it was. There was no way I wouldn't get some sort of charge against me, I was already a known fighter.

They found the dog tags around my neck and had everything else evidence-wise that they possibly needed to convict me. There wasn't any question about it... I was gonna be locked way.

I just didn't know for how long...

“Lets go.”

“Where the hell are you taking me?” I demanded as the police guy named something 'Smith', put the cuffs back on my wrists.

“I doesn't matter, does it? You're going. That's all that matters.” I shrugged his hand disgustedly off my shoulder by dodging to the side away from his hold.

“I have a fucking right to know.” I glared at him.

“No, actually you gave up your rights the moment you got into this place...”

“That's fucking bullshit.”

“Shut up or I'll charge you will resisting as well...”

“I'm already arrested what do you think I am, stupid? You can't charge me with resisting shit!” He shoved me harshly into a van at that point; slamming the door shut before also tapping on the outside with a sinister smirk.

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I ended up in a Juvenile Detention Center somewhere outside downtown New York City. A real one.

The moment I walked into the place and was lead through the crowds of other kids I knew I was about to go through hell.

I had a hearing 4 days from that point (or so the lady said at the desk.) I was stripped of all my clothes against my will, washed with the coldest water known to man, given a uniform consisting of basic cheap clothes and then thrown directly into the main part of the recreational hall (or whatever they want to call it) minutes later.

Right now I stood tore up with a brand new display of additional cuts and bruises, in super baggy pants and a tank top (with a built in bra.) Evidently I could “use the wire in my own bra to kill someone or myself?” I mean come on! Kill someone with that little itsy bitty piece of random wire?! I'm a fighter not a murder. I would never go that far for no reason. The one time I actually beat someone bad was Matt...and right about now I hated him, I hated them all. The one time I need them and they weren't there. They completely abandoned me.

Well payback's a bitch boys.

“Hey you!” I turned around to looked behind me and was met with a guy roughly around 5' 11”. “Hey baby...” He cooed and I rolled my eyes at him. I began walking away but he wrapped his arms around me. I couldn't stand the fucking kid. I turned and punched him in the eye and then kicked him really hard in the stomach.

I got ganged up on after doing this, yet I fought them all as they came towards me. None of them were apparently fighters, it didn't take a genius to tell that. They all sucked, majorly. It didn't look as though they fought much in general. Pussy's. I kicked the guys ass easily, punching and kicking over and over again...

That first guy had no clue what to do. For a brief moment I felt a twinge of guilt for fighting such an innocent guy knowing he had absolutely no clue what I was actually capable of...what I have done in the past. But then again, like all the times before now, those guilt ridden thoughts and feelings only lasted about a second. Thefight or more like the “beat up” ended as a guard ripped me off the kid I was on top off, punching.

I spent the night in confinement...it actually wasn't that bad. Its nothing like on TV or in the movies. It was peaceful and I didn't have to deal with the shit going on outside the room. The fight in that way was like a blessing almost. I couldn't deal with it all at this point in time.

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In those first four days I got into numerous fights. However, I beat all the opposition to a bloody pulp. Granted its nothing to be proud about, I mean who wants to go around boasting 'oh, hey I beat up blank number of people today, isn't that awesome dude!?'.... please. Especially when the people were twice your size. I hated every moment... Still I felt a small amount of accomplishment with “winning” if you will. Mostly because all the guys in the place thought I was easy prey; being the white, emo, skinny girl or some shit like that. But man to see their faces after as the guards pulled me off them- priceless.

It instilled a sense of fear.

The past few days however, I've also gradually started to become more and more reclusive, staying away, not talking to anyone. When I do its mostly cursing someone out. I hated everyone around me although it was ultimately my fault I was this way. If only I let it go, if only I didn't let Sameer's words get to me...if I listened to the people who supposedly cared I wouldn't be in here, right now. That's what my counselor physiologist lady keeps telling me anyways. Over and over again. Every meeting. Every. Single. Fucking. Day. I am reminded of this fact.

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I slammed my fist against the cement block wall directly besides me, causing the rough -looking scabs to come open once more and also, blood to slowly start flowing. See, it wouldn't usually be a problem, this randomly punching a wall. But I was currently attending my trial. At this very moment, the judge lady is in the process of telling me what I'm gonna do...where I'm going to go. (Just as a extra thing, a heads up. NEVER, I repeat, never punch a wall when getting a sentence. Especially as the judge is making his or her final decision. It is a very, very, very bad idea. Trust me.)

“MISS BLAIRE!” She scolded in an almost surprised yet mortified tone.

“I'm sorry...” I mumbled. I knew she heard because of the pause.

“I will not take your childish antics. After seeing this- this... display of aggression, I am changing your sentence. You need to learn to take some responsibility for your actions; realize life isn't handed to you and you have to work for things. You need to realize that...underground street fighting is NOT a realistic job...” She spoke those words directed at only me, with total and utter disgust lacing them. But she had no clue. She didn't know why I fought. Hell, who the fuck is she tell me to learn responsibility?I think the moment I turned 13 I was more responsible than a majority of the teenagers older than me. She has no idea...

I looked down at my hands in cuffs laying limply on my lap, where I had no choice but to place them since they were also strapped to my waist at the same time via a leather belt/ strap with a single metal ring in the middle where the chain in between the two cuffs, went.

“So here's the deal... I'm not going to be easy on you. I think you need some straightening up Miss. Blaire. This fighting of yours has got to stop... So because of that, I am sending you back to Los Angeles for further, harsher, sentencing. Though I will be giving a report and my thoughts on your case in the mean time...” I swear my jaw dropped. She picked up the gavel before speak ing her final words and hitting it against the little wooden plate. “Your plane is leaving tomorrow and you will be escorted back to LA by one policeman minimum, you may take her into custody.” 'Bang' and then chatter was heard and I was ripped up from my seat with a large hand suffocating my upper arm.

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I was escorted back to LA the following day like was said. I apparently was all over the news... Well not me specifically, the club was and others were. Major news that the fight club was busted, huh? No, not really. The idiots couldn't release any information on me because I'm a minor but that still doesn't stop the talk that more than one were prosecuted. All the others I didn't recognize but those were the few people caught who's names were released to the public. I was just the unnamed minor involved... Pft. please

Once in LA I was immediately taken to the California Correctional Center until my hearing. It was in the mountains and oddly enough wasn't anywhere near LA which confused me... I was supposed to be placed in LA, not this place miles away from Los Angeles. Plus it was also an adult facility. I didn't mind that last probability at all, it was just awkward to be like the only 17 year old amongst 40 year olds.

It had three different levels of security; basically you can put them into categories of low, medium and high security. High having the cells, medium having open doors that were locked at night and at lock-down times, and low with dorm-style rooms where “inmates” came and went out at their pleasure.

I went towards the cells. The guard told me it was for safety reasons, that I would get my own cell so they could keep me away from the other inmates; but you wanna know what I think? That by them putting me in this place with the murders and rapists, it just gives them more initiative to try and escape from their cells around me and all of them to try and get to me.

I was escorted inside, walking down the slab of concrete with a railing to my right, past all of the people in the cells. Each one of them made some kind of remark or noise and came to the front near the metal bars, as I passed. The whole time, the guard was holding onto my arm ushering me forward. It reminded me of Prison Break in more way than one. (As a side point. Great show, not liking the reality of it actually happening to me right now though.)

The people in charge did however give me my I-pod to drown out the nasty, perverse remarks- always a plus in my book.

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-Ale's POV-

I sat on Blaire's bed at the house on Long Beach, in the Hampton's somewhere. My head lay in my hands as I continued running them slowly over my face, like I had been doing for the past 4 days.

“Where the hell is she?” I whispered to myself. Sure I was pissed that night with her even attempting to fight when she knows damn well she wouldn't be able to do it. But at the same time, its been 5 days almost 6 and no one has heard from her. Not even a call or text saying “Fuck You.” like she usually sends to the person shes pissed at, I've gotten numerous of those over the years despite her being my best friend and vice versa.

I can't find her.

She isn't anywhere.

I tried calling the police for a missing persons alert, a fucking amber alert, anything! Yet they wont even give me the time of day!

Isn't that what its for? A child, under 18 goes missing even 20 minutes before, you can issue an Amber Alert... This has been almost 5 fucking days! And they wont even listen to me explain it?

I couldn't take it anymore.

Any of this shit.

Matt hates her right now, Zacky is depressed for some reason or another, and the other guys are just well themselves. They all seem to care less about her missing though.

They all think she ran away somewhere, not wanting to be found...
But I don't think she would do that...
She may think about it but wouldn't she wouldn't just disappear because of what happened.
She may be stupid, trying to fight, although that doesn't mean she is upset nor angry enough to leave without any second thoughts or without telling anyone.