Gucci in Juvie

Chapter 5

'Wherever you go, just always remember/ You're never alone, we're birds of a feather.'

-Oath, Cher Lloyd

'Shut up!'

'I.....didn't say anything.'

'You didn't?'

'No.'

'Oh.' My head lolled back unto the hard wall behind me as I let out an exasperated sigh.

'Well........you were breathing.'

'Breathing isn't the same as speaking.'

'If you're the one breathing, then yeah, it is.'

'You're so immature for a 17 year old.'

'You're a 2 year old stuck in a 12 year old body.'

'I keep on telling you, I'm 14. There's a difference, just in case you didn't know.'

'Tomato, tomahto, I don't really care.'

'I can tell.' 

We huffed in unison and folded our arms, facing opposite directions.

Isolation was festy. It had only been like.....5 hours? 6 hours? 

It felt like eternity.

We had done nothing. Absolutely nothing. I didn't think that going to jail would end up with me wasting my time and life away. I thought they would make us be productive, do chores or something, have a duty roster, exercise and workout sessions to get our bodies moving. Not lounging on the hard floor, with my butt getting extremely sore while I slowly went insane from boredom (and from the company of the ever-so-fascinating Rebecca).

'Why are we even here?' 

'Because you jumped on me, you nasty brat.'

'You started it by telling me that I was 12.'

'It still didn't mean that you had to start pulling my hair out by the roots!'

Rebecca folded her arms, a scowl painted on her lips as she looked straight ahead. I smirked. She didn't deny it.

2 hours later

'I'm bored.'

I breathed in and out slowly, trying to calm the increasing amount of frustration and annoyance inside of me. This little punk had been saying the same thing for the past 2 hours. What, did she expect me to entertain her? Tell a few jokes, make her laugh? Share funny stories like we were old friends simply hanging out on a Saturday afternoon, instead of practical strangers inside a concrete cell?

'I'm bored.'

'Rebecca, I know.'

'I'm bored.'

'Oh m-'

'I miss my mom.'

Well. That was unexpected.

I peered discreetly at her and saw that her legs were bent and her chest was flat against her thighs as her back touched the wall. Her chin was on her folded arms on top of her knees, in this sort of upright fetal position and her eyes were half-closed.

There was a little droplet of a tear on her eyelashes.

In the world that I lived in, crying was a sign of weakness. We had to look strong, chin up, back ram-rod straight and shoulders pushed back, showing no sign of any inner turmoil or emotions that could give us away. In the dog-eat-dog life of one of the biggest company owners in the beauty industry, my father had to learn to be like this, to stand in the face of uncertainty and doubt and laugh.