❤️FROM
https://archiveofourown.org/works/14750126/chapters/34104005#main
Inmate dan and Phil (ft.youtubers)
Tw:
rape, graphic violence, drugs, major character death, domestic violence, choking
Words:6485
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Part I : Pride
'What the hell is this?'' Dad asks with a raised voice while looking through the monthly bills, eyes narrowed. Mom looks up from the ironing board in front of her. Dad is as usual seated in his armchair by the old television, resting his tired legs on the footstool, his cane by his side. Phil and Martyn are sitting beside him on the grey carpet, eyes fixated on the cartoon playing in the television. Phil keeps quiet. Martyn has taught him to.
Mom places the iron back on the ironing board and takes place beside Dad, who points at something on the paper with a stiff finger. She bends down to get a closer look, takes a step back as she finds out what he's referring to. ''The oven broke,'' She explains with a weak voice, folding her hands in front of her. ''I had our landlord come fix it.'' Dad grabs the remote, turns off the TV.
''Hands on the wall.'' Mom doesn't cry as she obeys, she never does. Phil clenches his small fists and looks to his big brother. They both know what comes next. Dad arises from his chair, grabbing his cane. Martyn covers Phil's eyes with a hand, but he can still hear the well known sound of wood against flesh, the screams of pain that follows.
-x-x-x-
''Howell,'' A female guard commands Dan to step out from the line of newly arrived inmates, voice monotone and eyes fixated on the clipboard in her hands. She hands Dan a small paperclip and an identification card as he approaches her with stiff steps, signals for him to tag along with a quick, impatient hand gesture. Dan attaches the card to the pocket of his orange jumpsuit and follows her hasty steps. The obnoxious colour makes him stick out among the grey sweatshirts, white tank tops and jogging pants adorning the other inmates, signals his status as a newcomer, a newborn to the hierarchy behind bars.
''Breakfast starts at six, lunch at one, dinner at five,'' The guard informs him as she leads him past the dining hall and activity rooms, quiet criminals staring him down, calculating his every move. There's no hoard of dehumanized animals awaiting him, no wordstream of profanities and dirty promises flowing his way; just an agonizing, straining silence, making his ears ring and blood boil. A lot of them are covered in tattoos, steroid muscles prominent through their shirts. Dan has neither, got nothing but his pride. ''Work hours are between breakfast and lunch, phone and shower hours between lunch and dinner.''
Dan walks with his chin raised, face stripped from every emotion. He won't show them any sign of weakness. ''Got it,'' He responds and fixates his eyes on the prison's concrete walls, painted in a mocking pattern of blue and white, symbolizing qualities none of the men within these walls posses; hope and innocence. The entire interior seems cynical and impersonal, every single furniture Dan passes is made of steel and bolted to the floor beneath his white canvas shoes.
The guard guides him up a staircase leading him to an elongated corridor filled with claustrophobic cells, only segregated by metal bars. When he'd awaited his trial back at county he'd been isolated twenty three hours a day, but at least his concrete cell had provided him with an illusion of privacy and space. ''We lock down at nine, all lights are out at ten.'' The guard stops in front of a cell and scribbles something on her clipboard with the pen in her hand. The cell contains two steel beds bolted to the floor, two small steel cabinets mounted on each side of the wall, a small window in the middle and a steel toilet underneath it. No sink. ''Your cellmate is inmate Liguori, he'll fill you in on the rest.''
