Trouble

The interrogation process was long and frenzied. No one believed my story, no matter how many times I told the exact same one. What seemed like a million times, I repeated what happened, only for the new cop to go back out to the hallway, leaving me alone in the room, my arms crossed in front of my chest, sunk down low in my seat. They’d provided me with a cup of water, since the sessions lasted such a long time, but I refused to drink any of it, afraid of what they could have spiked it with.

After I detailed the incident so many times that I knew I would be reciting it in my sleep, they put me in a holding cell to wait for Alejo’s side of the story. It was dark and dank, and it smelled like a mixture between mildew, pot, and body odor. It made my stomach turn, but I knew I was going to have to put up with it for a while.

Sighing, I sat down on a little metal bench so cold, it seeped through the seat of my jeans and pulled my knees up to my chest, resting my chin on the top. Although I hated the feeling of breathing through my mouth, I had no choice but to do so, or I was going to puke in the middle of cell. Which would just add one more unpleasant smell to the mix.

A day and a half after I was brought into the police station, during which I was in and out of the interrogation room, Alejo was cleared from the hospital and able to go through his own interrogation session. The policemen didn’t seem especially happy when Alejo’s story exactly matched mine, which he’d made up after hearing my cover story at the crime scene.

I had no idea why, but the cops seemed like they really didn’t want to arrest me. They didn’t want to send me to the local women’s prison, where I would definitely not fit in, but they couldn’t just let me go. No matter who it was, I still murdered someone.

Not that I felt guilty. I did what I had to defend Alejo, and I would have shot Cristobal again in a heartbeat. It didn’t matter if the gang turned against me, if they forever hunted me down, if they killed me for being a traitor; it would still be worth it.

Finally, the cops booked me for real, which was a painful process. While the booking part itself had been fairly uneventful, the search was absolutely horrific. As they told me to strip off my clothes and searched my naked body, I shook like crazy, but they didn’t seem especially concerned about it. Although I didn’t go into a full panic attack like I had with Liam, since the nakedness was a different kind, with no speck of lust in the woman’s eyes, I still got close.

After my torture was completed, I was dressed in a horrific jumpsuit and led to a cell, which the guard unlocked so I could step in. Right when I did so, the cage was closed behind me, the sound of a lock sliding into place, and a flash of movement caught the corner of my eye. My cell mate.

She was tall, maybe six feet, with dark mocha skin and lips so plump and beautiful that they made me, who was certainly not lacking in that department, jealous. She instantly gave me an irritated, stand-offish vibe, which made me think that we weren’t going to get along. And after spotting the rattlesnake tattoo wrapped around her neck, the symbol of a rival gang, my suspicions were confirmed.

She looked up at me and snarled just like a dog. I’d heard a lot about people making expressions like that, but it hadn’t been until that moment that I’d actually witnessed it. “Monstruo,” she hissed like the word was a naughty cuss.

I smirked at her before throwing my change of clothes onto my bed. I wasn’t in jail to make friends, and lord knew how long I’d be there, so I really didn’t want to talk to the girl.

But she had other plans. “What are you in for? Prostitution? Don’t you know how to be discreet?”

“I could say the same thing to you,” I replied slyly as I climbed onto my bed, ignoring the irritating squeaky noises. “Or did you get caught selling your weed? Rookie mistake.”

Her dark eyes narrowed. “Is that really any of your business?”

“Exactly.” I cleared my throat and went to gather my greasy hair up into a ponytail. They’d made me keep it down while they searched me to make sure that I wasn’t hiding anything in it, but once I was cleared, I didn’t see a problem with putting it up.

Girls around us were talking casually with each other, but I knew that wasn’t going to happen between my cell mate and me. What the fuck had they been thinking, putting a Monstruo with a Rascal in such close quarters?

It was possible they missed the essential tattoos on my body, since they weren’t on my neck like the girl sitting across from me, but they were still hard to miss. A Mexican flag on my shoulder blade, a gun dripping blood just above my ankle, and the word Monstruo written in script down the back of my arm, ending at my elbow. All of them had been done illegally, the flag by Alejo, the other two by a younger member of the gang named Ana.

They’d been painful, but they were essential tattoos to show my allegiance to the gang, the bare essentials. Some members when more hardcore with it, like Alejo, who was nearly covered in tattoos from his neck, all the way down his torso, and down his arms. His mother hated it, but she understood it, which was the attitude a lot of parents took.

Something told me the both of us would be regretting our permanent representations of our allegiance soon enough.

I took a deep breath, ignoring the rancid smell of the cell that I knew I’d get accustomed to, and ran a dirty, sweaty hand down my grimy face. More than anything, I wanted to shower, but the guard had told me as he walked me down here that I’d missed shower time that day. Part of me wondered if it was going to be like the movies, where everyone was shoved into a common shower room with all the other naked women.

The thought made my stomach churn, even though I knew no one would touch me, and I had to shove it away before I started to panic again.

The next few days passed by slowly. My cell mate and I wholly ignored each other, except for the occasional biting remark. No one knew that I was in there for murder or who I’d killed, but a few people inquired to make conversation.

“Let me guess,” one of them, a blonde girl with a hole in her nose where a ring used to be, “you’re innocent?”

“We’re all really innocent,” the brunette next to her chuckled, shaking her head.

“No, I’m guilty,” I responded nonchalantly as I took another bite of the disgusting soup sitting in front of me. It was gritty and slimy, but it was the only food we had. God, I could have killed to take over the kitchen and make everyone enchiladas.

The two girls exchanged looks, chewing their food thoughtfully. The blonde held the piece of bread in her hand, letting it dangle from her long, elegant fingers as she stared at me. “Did you just actually admit that you’re guilty?”

“You can’t deny the truth,” I replied honestly. “I already confessed to what I did.”

“You’re probably going to get a plea deal, then,” the brunette spoke up. “Cops love when you rat yourself out. They told me I could get a plea deal if I admitted to breaking into my neighbor’s house, but I said I was innocent, so there was nothing I could plea to. And now I’m stuck in here for two years.”

“You’re a fucking dumbass,” the blonde scolded, shaking out her long hair. “If you had done the deal, you’d never have ended up in here. You’d get away with probation.”

“Well, I didn’t think of that until I was already in here,” she argued back, rolling her light blue eyes. “Plus, what do you know about me being a dumbass, Tina? You’re the one who picked a fight with Rashonda last week and got your face smashed into the Plexiglas window in the rec room.”

Tina snorted like a horse. “Actually, she was the dumbass for thinking it was glass.”

“Tell that to the bruise on the top of your head.”

The two girls continued to bicker while I finished off my dinner and surveyed the room. I saw my cell mate, who I still didn’t know the name of, sitting with a couple of girls who had the same snake tattoo she did. Friends of hers, definitely. Too bad I didn’t have any friends, whether there were Monstruos in the jail or not.