ASSUMPTIONS [H.S.]

chapter 21

Amber Easton

I had a dream.

For the first time in days, I had a dream. Not a nightmare.

Though, if I'd tell anyone what it was, they'd laugh.

Because, honestly, I dreamt about a color; the most beautiful hue of orange. It was the kind of shade you'd see in the prettiest sunset or the core of drops of honey.

It got me thinking why I actually lost my love for the color. It actually used to be my favorite one.

So here I am. Standing in front of the stack of rainbow-coordinated sunglasses once again, and playing with my odds.

Temptation fills my veins, and before I know it, the orange shades end up on the bridge of my nose with a few specks of dust flying around.

My vision becomes wobbly again with hundreds of dreadful images flashing before my eyes. They don't stop until I'm taken back about 4 years ago when I had just turned 18.

Here we go.

Orange.

So tempting, yet sly. So pretty, yet fatal.

Orange; the color of the jumpsuit I'm wearing right now.

And I'm laughing. Almost like a burst of panicky or hysterical laughter.

Never in my life did I think I'd ever be in this position. Really, whenever I watched 'Orange is the new black' or 'Prison Break', I didn't think the information would be useful at any point in my life. Guess I was wrong.

Did you know that there's a huge difference between jail and prison?

Watching all those shows a long time ago, I've gathered multiple tips and rules that could come in handy. So far, I've yet to put any of them to use, because, frankly, nothing extraordinary's really happened.

I mean, apart from the fact I'm in a room full of criminals. Half of them have just been taken in, so many are still high and hungover.

Or that it's freakishly and hauntingly cold here, so there are women literally using layers of toilet paper as a blanket.

Or that in this small room, there's just one toilet and a block of cement used as a chair. I'm leaning against the freezing wall because there's not much space on the slab.

Or that there's this one woman in a different room banging at least 12 times on the metal door and screaming 'when am I going to get my call?'

Her voice echoing in this confined space keeps reminding me that my call didn't go so well. I didn't know who to call, and my mom's number was the only one I could remember with my foggy mind. Turns out, somebody already reached out to her, and she couldn't care less. At least I made her promise she'd send me some money. But now I'm stuck with some public defender.

Or that I got offered a deal.

It was quite simple, really; I plead no contest, get the chance to post bail, pay for Brandon's hospital bills, and get out of here freely. Of course, I'd have to keep quiet about this whole situation because Brandon's this well-known actor, and his reputation wouldn't survive like he did.

I couldn't decide if I should take the deal or not, so they gave me time to think about it until court. Until then, I'm obligated to stay in jail. The soul-piercing thing about all of this is the fact I have no idea when the court is happening. I could be staying here for a day, or maybe a week or two. I mean, it could take months.