𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥'𝐬 𝐒𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭 | 𝟏𝟖+

26

"Inmate! Let's go!" A harsh woman's voice barks out. I flinch but my name is called again, more impatiently this time. "Jessop! Catherine Jessop!"

With a deep inhale, I shuffle through the mass of taunting faces crowded into the holding cell. The guard - a stern-faced woman with a DOC officer's uniform - waits with obvious annoyance as I walk towards her.

"Time to get processed, inmate," she informs me sharply. "Strip search, uniform issue. Let's move."

My cheeks burn with humiliation, but I keep my mouth shut, simply nodding and falling into line with the other women being herded alongside me like cattle.

We get shuffled down a maze of concrete corridors that all look the same, the rancid smell of body odor growing thicker with each turn.

Finally, we're put into some kind of processing room. One by one, we're commanded to strip butt naked and endure a thorough cavity search by the gloved, expressionless COs as we go through intake.

"Spread 'em and cough," the sour-faced officer barks at me, mere inches from my mortified face.

I choke back a sob of shame and humiliation, but I obey. What other choice do I have at this point?

Once I've been violated from every angle, I'm issued my new uniform - a baggy orange jumpsuit that practically swallows me. A buff female guard with a shaved head shoves a toiletries kit and a single thin mat into my arms.

We're herded out again, taken through more corridors and checkpoints with a series of barked orders and clanging metal doors. Finally, we reach an open area tinged with artificial light - the inmate Pod.

It's a vast room lined with rows and rows of double-stacked cells constructed from steel and concrete. Walkways crisscross every few feet, allowing the guards to walk between levels, tracking every movement.

My sandaled feet slap loudly on the floor as we make our way in. I look around, taking in the sea of hostile faces peering out from the cells. A cold sweat breaks out on the back of my neck.

"Jessop, you're up in cell 3-B with Alvarez!" The officer escorting us suddenly yells, jerking her thumb towards one of the mid-level cells. "Get your bunk made and stay the fuck outta trouble!"

With a rough shove, she steers me off towards the cell. My shaking legs carry me closer until I'm staring at a middle-aged Latina woman lounging on one of the stained bunks, an unlit cigarette dangling from her lips.

She gives me a dismissive look as I shuffle inside, clearly unfazed by me.

"Fuck's sake," Alvarez mutters around her cigarette, heaving her stocky frame up into a sitting position. "Don't tell me they're sticking me with a first timer!"

I just stand there frozen, too intimidated to speak. The woman - Alvarez, I guess - squints at me.

"Well shit, Pawg. You got anything to say for yourself? What'd they toss your scrawny ass in this shithole for?"

My voice comes out in a pathetic croak. "I...I got stopped for a DWI and reckless driving...earlier."

At this, Alvarez lets out a harsh laugh, knocking off flakes of ash from the tip of her unlit cig.

"You're shitting me, right?" She wheezes. "Drinking and driving is what landed your little suburbanite ass in the big house? Shiiit, we see that type of thing every other day around here, Princesa. That ain't nothin' to be crying about, fuck."

I grit out, my spine stiffening slightly. "Give me a break."

Alvarez just snorts, shaking her head as she reclines back on her bunk. "Whatever, you do your little pity party. Just stay on your side of the damn cell, got it?"