#got double shifted in overtime so maybe he's been a little fucked this whole time. tyson is going to have a field day with this revalation.

[scoringeffects]

.

[seventeenpins]

just like heaven

pairing: best friend's mom!Tess x stoner!reader word count: 5k summary: Your best friend's mom catches you smoking in her living room. She teaches you a lesson. content/warnings: dubcon, intoxication, Tess is predatory, age gap, an exceptional amount of weed smoking, virgin!reader, smut smut smut, mommy kink, a lil bit of softness because I’m the one writing it 🤷, Tess gets you high and fucks you a/n: okay this is literally just a porn scenario, with the express purpose of celebrating morally grey predatory lesbians, working on pushing my own boundaries as I write, and an ode to Tess Servopoulos, who I would be honoured to have step on me. Shoutout to @ozarkthedog for the title, for being my whole heart and for allowing me to scream horny Tess thoughts at you every minute of the day, and to @ems-chaos-corner whose feedback and beautiful reactions are deeply appreciated, truly cherished, and an absolute fucking joy! 🥹

It's Friday night and the week's been a shit show. The week kicked off with a work catastrophe, and the second the fires had been put out, up started the roommate drama.  You had just picked up fresh bud, but you'd left your bong at the home of your friend. Or rather, his mom's home, in whose basement he resides.

You and Charlie have known each other most of your lives, but his mother had been a workaholic, rarely at home, and memorable only from birthdays and holidays. Near the end of her marriage, she discovered her husband had been having an affair. To settle the score, she fucked his mistress.

It was the most enduring of the neighborhood gossip, and though you knew Tess, at least a little bit, you found yourself almost mythologizing her.

Since the divorce, Tess became much more present as a mother. She worked a few less hours and invited her son to live in her lavish, post-divorce home, rent free, as he made his way through college.

You didn’t see her often, but you liked her. And, she thought of you as one of Charlie’s “good” friends, as the two of you had never gotten into any legal trouble, and you always felt a little special, knowing she was cool with you. You’d seen her glare down Charlie’s other friends, but you swear, she even winked at you once.

So now, the plan–

Charlie was gonna meet you here, and then you were gonna hang out and smoke together. He assured you his mom wouldn't be home for hours–she’s got a big press conference tonight. 

But you'd just gotten a call from him; one of your coworkers called out, and he's already there, so he's gonna pull a double and get that sweet, sweet overtime pay.

(He did ask if you wanted the shift. You told him absolutely not, but appreciated the consideration.)

He texts you when he's on his break. Sorry I bailed! Will make it up to you! You can chill at mine as long as you like. You can crash too. I know you hate the basement, so go smoke in the living room. Mom won't be home till late, and the fan works great. I do it all the time.

It's a relief, not feeling relegated to his room. It was a fine room, you supposed, but stumbling upon crispy socks twice has been two times too many. And, maybe, you’d have a chance to snoop.

It's eight pm. You've been at Charlie's for an hour, and you're finally starting to feel the stress of the day ebb away. You let your eyes flutter closed as you clear the chamber and hold in the smoke. You start to let it out, but reel back coughing when the lights are suddenly switched on, startling you badly enough you jump a foot into the air.

"Didn't your mother teach you any manners?" says a cool voice, and you feel your stomach flip with sudden terror, eyes flying open.

Tess stands in the doorway, glowering.

It takes you a minute, a mortifyingly long minute, for the coughing to subside. The more you try to suppress it, the worse it gets, and the whole time, she’s glaring at you.

"I'm not really close to my mom." You tell her. She stares at you blankly.

"Not the fucking point." She says, but now she looks like she's holding back a laugh.

"Sorry," you try to explain, "I didn't know anyone would be home, I thought you had a work thing–"

She rolls her eyes before turning and making a show of opening all of the windows.

"Remember, this is my fuckin house, kid," she snaps at you, "Press conference was cancelled.”

“Oh,” you frown, “That sucks.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Tess rolls her eyes. "Yeah. It fucking sucks. The production’s truck got broken into at the last fucking second and we lost half our gear.”

“Well, shit.” You're not quite sure where to go with this, what to say.

You look away for a moment, awkward and uncomfortable, but she makes no move to go anywhere. When you look back, you realize she's still looking at you, eyes sweeping you up and down before landing on your emptied water glass, still damp with condensation, sitting next to a coaster. Quickly, you scramble to correct it.

"We gotta work on your manners," she says and nods, decision made.

“Hey, I’m– I’m sorry. I should go. I shouldn’t be here, didn't mean to be in your way- And I’m sorry, again—"

She ignores you, your rambling falling on deaf ears. She strides across the room and seats herself down on the sofa opposite you. You envy the way she carries herself, the way she seems to swagger pussy-first, sits down with her legs spread, commands the entire space. She's kind of... magnetic. There's something about her that makes your stomach do flips.

"Aren't you gonna offer me a hit?"

"Oh." You weren't expecting this. "I– Yeah, do you want–"

"Why don't you come over here. Sit with me."

"Um, sure-" you say, and you pick up the bong and lighter and start to sit down next to her, nearly trying to budge up next to her outspread legs.

But she stops you before you can touch her and grabs you by the wrist, patting her knee.

"Right here, sweetheart," she smirks.

Your stomach flips. "Oh no, I don't think that-"

"It's alright, honey, I don't bite."

It's less of a request and more of a command. Your heart, which had only been a little settled for a moment, started to race again.

"Oh- okay."

You lower yourself down.

"Face me," she corrects you. You'd been going to sit on her knee with your own knees pressed together. You redirect your limbs and swing a leg over her, so you're straddling her thigh.

"Good girl," she tells you, and as if you don't need a whole moment to reevaluate your entire life, she continues, seemingly oblivious. It's a casual, almost disinterested, "So, what is it we're smoking?"

"Um, it's... it's weed-"

She barks a laugh and it nearly startles you. It doesn't mean anything, the way you feel yourself bounce on her leg, the pressure at the inseam- "Yeah, kid," she snorts, "I figured that bit out myself."

"Of course," you mumble, humiliated, "Sorry, being stupid-"

She cuts you off. "When I was your age- well actually, how old are you? You even old enough to buy this shit?"

"Twenty-one," you admit with a wince, suddenly wishing you had at least a decade on your actual age.

"You're killin' me, kid," she huffs out a long breath and shakes her head.

It only derails her for a moment.

"Well, when I was your age, this shit wasn’t even close to making it onto the ballot, let alone get legalized. We didn't know anything about strains. We'd get a dry little dime bag for ten bucks. It usually turned out to be mostly shake and seeds, but that's all we could get, so we'd pay the creep who lived down the street and tried not to piss him off cause he was the only weed guy we knew."

"Well." You're not quite sure what to say. "That sounds like it sucked. I guess times aren’t so different though. There’s a really creepy budtender at the shop this side of town. But there’s also a cute girl who works there. It’s overpriced and looks like a fuckin’ Apple Store. Whenever she’s working, though, she slips me a couple extra pre-rolls. So it’s kinda worth it."

You see something in her eyes flash and then return to her steady gaze.

"It's been years since I've smoked," she admits. "Well, weed at least. Still smoke the occasional cig.”

"Oh really, why’d you stop?

"Well, I don't think I've smoked regularly since my early twenties. We lost our dealer and it just didn't seem worth it to find another. It was really just word of mouth, where I was living.”

"Your dealer get caught or something?"

"Not exactly. See, he'd tried to slip his hand up a girls' skirt and the girl was decidedly not into it. The asshole ended up with a shattered nose. I've always loved how they described it. Shattered. Served him right."

You nod.

"He decided it maybe wasn't worth it." She pauses. "So. I guess your generation has fancy fuckin dispensaries, and my generation had the weed guy. Your generation has such dumbass names for strains and, and mine crossed our fingers hoping we weren’t just gettin’ stems and seeds."

You're silent for a moment.

Then, stumbling and foolish, you ask her a question.

"How old are you?"

"Old enough to be your mother." She smirks and your stomach flips. “Now, let's see what it's like these days, shall we?"

From her jeans pocket she withdraws a flint-wheel lighter. It’s old, but it's nice. The initials TS are engraved on the case.

She opens it and flicks it a couple of times with practiced ease. It doesn't take at first, and she mutters something about dammit–! need to refill it–, but on the third spark it lights.

You start to pass her the bong, but she lights the bowl and pushes it back towards you.

"Fill the chamber for me? It's been a while-"

You do. Smoke swirls through it, thick as soup and glossy. You pass it back to her.

Tess doesn't break eye contact with you as she almost clears it, only a thin whisper left circling the chamber.

It's a lot of smoke, and either she's lying about not having smoked, or she's insane, because that's a lot of smoke.

When she clears the chamber, she only holds it for a moment, places the bong on the floor next to her and, to your surprise, pulls you in.

It's not quite a kiss but she's holding the back of your head so you lean in, open mouthed, as if it were. Instead of kissing you properly, she exhales the smoke into your mouth, floods you with it, and when she's done breathing out, she places a palm over your mouth and blocks any breath from escaping.

"Hold it, honey, that's right-" she praises.

You can feel your eyes start to water, the way you're not quite coughing yet but you're pretty sure the second you try to breathe any of it out, you'll be lost.

With her pinky knuckle, she prods into the bowl of the bong again and moves the bud around, so the most charred bit is discarded and fresh bud is at the top.

"You can let go now," Tess tells you, finally pulling her hand away.

You let out the smoke and, as you predicted, fold over yourself starting to cough. Tess just smiles, and fills the chamber again.

By the third time she has you clear the chamber, not even using her lungs as proxy anymore, you can taste your heartbeat and the room isn't fading, exactly, it's more dotting. The world around you is a pointillism piece that's unfinished in inexplicable spots.

Your skin feels like it's dancing, and there are hands gliding along your hips, up your waist, grazing your breast-

"How’re you feeling, kid?" a voice asks, and you know where you are.

"Mmmm- Good." you sigh, "I feel good. You feel good."

"Oh, do I?" she asks. The hands continue to trace paths all over your body.

"Your hands. Real nice. You feel real nice."

Her eyebrows raise. Her head tilts. She's examining you.

Tess's hands settle on your waist. You barely notice the way she's rocking you gently towards her, and back again. Forwards, and backwards.

You hear a moan, desperate and raw, and you don't realize you're the source of it until you watch the way her eyes darken.

"Have you been with a woman before?" Tess asks.

You grin, sheepish. "Not really-"

Her eyebrows shoot up. "What does ‘not really’ mean?"

“I…” you chew your lip. “I guess I haven’t technically done… much. With anyone.”

Tess’s eyes widen.

You try to backpedal, worried it sounds too silly, too immature, that it's a turn-off for her. That wherever this was going, it's about to make a swift one-eighty. Suddenly sobered, you stammer on. “I mean, I’ve kissed girls before. And, like, played with their tits, you know?”

"Shit," Tess's voice is close to a growl, and for one awful moment you're certain she's about to call the whole thing off and tell you to get off her lap.

You know where you've found yourself. On the lap of someone far too old for you, rocking you against her thigh, letting her hands grope you however she pleases-

Her hands still, and you’re shocked at how immediately you feel bereft.

“And you want me to be your first woman?” She asks, voice velvety and dangerous.

“Yes,” you say, not even thinking about it. “I want you to be my first.”

Tess breathes out slowly, and only then do you realize exactly what you’ve said. The silence is terrifying, and with every microsecond that passes, you’re more sure she’s going to throw you out.

Then she starts bouncing her thigh, the motion creating the most unexpected and desperately needed friction. It’s gentle, but you can feel the way her muscles tense and relax, and every part of it might drive you insane.

You stifle a moan, needing her to say something, but not wanting to jeopardize the position you’ve found yourself in. Maybe if she thinks about it, she’ll stop, and that’s a risk you’re not willing to take.

"I bet I can teach you a thing or two."

Your jaw drops comically.

"Teach me?" you ask.

"Teach you how to make a woman feel good. How to use your fingers, put that pretty mouth to use-"

You feel yourself heat at her praise, and she grins, brushing a thumb against your lower lip.

"I think-" you know your voice sounds pathetic and worn and woozy from the harshness of the hits you took, "I think I maybe.. I think I have a lot to learn."

“But first,” her grin becomes truly wicked and you feel the tension that's been building in you start to twist, get hot and slick and desperate. Her hand trails down to your neck, her thumb resting over your pulse point. “You seem nervous, honey. Let’s help you relax a little more.”

She picks the bong back up. “Pack us a fresh bowl, will you?”

“More?” you ask. You can already feel the redness of your eyes, and know that any more will make you stupid.

“More.” Tess agrees.

“We could just, like, start by making out?” you suggest.

Tess doesn’t even try to hide her smirk.

“You wanna make out?” she taunts, lip curled.

“Fuck, Tess, I’m high–” you whine, “I didn’t mean that to sound so high school.”

“God,” she sighs, shaking her head, “You’re so damn young.”

And after a moment elapses.

“Go on,” she nods to the bong, and you remember what you were meant to be doing.

You stand up, immediately aching, missing the way her strong thigh had rubbed between your legs. It occurs to you that you may have left a wet spot on her pants.

You make quick work of it, emptying out the ash and packing a fresh bowl.

“You wanna kiss me, pretty girl?” she asks.

“Yes-” you sigh, and you all but dive forward, only to receive a gentle hand to your shoulder, holding you back.

“Here’s the deal, sweetheart. Every hit you take, you get a kiss.”

“I– Tess I can’t– I’ll be so high I’ll be stupid–”

“No, baby,” Tess croons, “You’ll be nice and relaxed. You’ll get to feel my hands all over that beautiful body of yours. You’ll be my good girl.”

She grins when you let out an involuntary whine.

“You wanna be a good girl for me, don’t you? And when you really need to tap out, I’m sure we can find another way to make sure you get all the kisses you need. Okay?”

You nod, suddenly desperate to please. Of course you can take it. You’ll be so, so good for her. And you’ll get to feel her lips on yours, feel her hands explore you, touch you, take–

The first hit is dizzying, but it mellows out quickly.

Emboldened, you grin at her. “Fair’s fair,” you declare.

Tess rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling, too. “C’mon up, honey.”

You put the pipe down and straddle her. You give yourself just a moment to feel her here, hot and soft and lovely between your thighs. You love the way you can feel her abdomen rise and fall with her breath, and smell her hair.

Slowly, carefully, you lean in. Soft, firm lips press against yours, and you feel a heat inside you immediately combust, roar to life. You’re filled with such unadulterated need, you think you might die.

Then, she pulls away, and you reel.

“No-“ you whimper, and she lifts the bong back up to you.

You don’t know how many hits you take, each punctuated with another press of her lips to yours. You’ve never smoked like this, never this much. The world is dizzy and foggy, but her hands are grounding. They rub broad circles into your aching shoulders, tease you with feather-light touches. 

It’s unclear how much time has passed, but after she pulls away from another kiss, she holds you back when you move to pick up the pipe.

“I think you’ve had enough,” she croons. You love her voice, the way she’s soft with you.

You blink lazily at her and lean in for another kiss.

Instead, she pulls back.

“Honey, don’t forget. Like I said, you’ll have another way to earn these kisses.”

“Want you,” you mumble. Being apart from her for even these moments feels torturous. You need her skin against yours.

“For every article of clothing you take off, you’ll get to touch me.”

You focus on her words, making sure you’re getting it right through the fog in your head.

“Can I—” you trail off.

“Can you what?”

“Can I take it all off? And then I can touch you as much as you like?”

“Well, aren't you ambitious?” She smirks, and then considers, tilting her head side to side. “I suppose that would work. But I want you to put on a show for me.”

You scramble up, with much speed and little grace. She huffs a laugh when you nearly topple as you pull your jeans down.

“Slowly, baby. Want to watch you.”

You do your best to slow down, peeling each garment off, one by one, and leaving them in a disorganized heap.

“That’s it,” she praises, “Doing such a good job.”

When you’re nearly bare, you hesitate, fumbling with the band of your panties. This moment, this moment, feels like the point of no return.

“I— I wanna see you.” You say, suddenly more focused, and very nervous.

“Baby, you’re still wearing your panties.”

She says it sweetly, but you know it’s not a request. It’s a command. You slip them down, now totally naked before her. 

You realize; this is the first time you’ve been so fully naked in front of someone who wants to fuck you.

Doubt and anxiety start to cloud your mind as Tess looks you up and down.

You speak without thinking, “Am I pretty?”

It’s such a simple, inane question. But Tess doesn’t hesitate.

“Of course you are, baby. You’re stunning.” She states, and it’s definitive. Who would ever question Tess?

Warmth rushes back through you, your body suddenly hot again with arousal, banishing any lingering fear. You let yourself feel the fog, feel the sensation.

You relax as you stand, enjoying the feeling of ambient air on your body, the breeze from outside sifting through the hair on your arms and legs.

“Come back to me,” Tess prods, and you realize you’ve been standing with your eyes closed. You open your eyes, and you’re shocked when you see that Tess herself is naked before you. Her hair cascades down her shoulders, golden-brown silk adorning her, streaks of gray at her temples. Her body is firm and toned, but she has her fair share of scars and dimples and cellulite. Stretch marks decorate her belly, old but beautiful with the way they gleam pearlescent in the light.

“You want to touch me?” She asks, and you nod. Hand outstretched, you move towards her. She reaches her hand out to meet you, grasps your palm and kisses your fingertips.

It feels like worship.

“Come with me,” she tells you, and you follow, hand in hers. She brings you to her bedroom, one room in this house you’ve never seen. You want to pay attention to all of it, but you cannot focus. You cannot tear yourself away from her.

She guides you, seating you at the head of the bed with legs spread. Then, she settles herself in between them, spreading her own legs. You can feel her ass against your thighs, the heat radiating from her. You want so badly to touch.

“How do you like to touch yourself?” She asks, and you pause.

You know what you like, but you’ve never actually had to describe it before.

“I, um-“ you swallow. “I like to, uh, work myself up. Play with myself all around, um—“

“Your pussy?”

“Yeah, all around my pussy. And then, when I’m ready, I rub my clit. Make little circles above it. Maybe put a finger or two in, if I feel like it, but usually it’s enough with just my clit.”

Tess nods, and you feel the rumble of a sigh through her body. 

“Touch me like that,” she commands.

And you do.

You slip your arms around her, stroking her thighs. Muscles tense beneath your fingers, and you hear her groan.

Gently, slowly, you trace fingertips closer and closer to her apex. You brush along her inner thighs, and feel victorious when she stifles a gasp. Then, you stroke the outer confines of her vulva, feeling how hot she is between her thighs. The hair between her legs feels sensational against your skin, especially in your high, and you get lost in the feeling of it. You’re touching her. You’re touching her. And she likes it.

She lets you continue to stroke at her, all around her, everywhere but the place she wants you most. Then, you realize you feel a trickle of wetness from her, and you dip your fingertips down to catch it. You slide back up, through her folds, catching so much slickness. She’s wet, she’s so fucking wet, and she’s wet for you. 

You rub your fingers together, obsessed with the almost egg-white slick stringing translucent between them. Everything that you wondered about yourself, worried was an anomaly, proven absent in porn–it’s like a revelation. She’s just like you. And she’s totally different. She’s a mirror, and an entity complete and singular.

She’s a fucking goddess.

You pull her hood back and swipe a slick thumb lightly against her clit. Immediately, you’re dizzy at the sensation of her rolling her hips against you, pressing against you, towards your fingers, trying to get more friction. You barely get any physical contact from her the way you need, but the proximity alone is overwhelming. 

You rut up against her, knowing there’s nothing for you to get yourself off on here without changing position entirely. But the closeness is incredible. You feel your own wetness smear on her back and her ass, the way you’re dripping. And Tess, her back pressed against your breasts, occasionally dipping to nibble kisses along your throat and jaw.

Lost between sensation, and curiosity, you reach through the fog. You want to do a good job. You want to make her feel good. It’s interesting, you think, all the ways she feels different to you. Her labia are a little longer, spreading over your fingers as you stroke along her slit again and again. She’s making the loveliest sounds, whines and moans and whimpers, sounds you never thought you’d hear from her.

When you press your fingers against her clit again, she almost yelps, but the yelp morphs into a deep moan as she starts rocking against the pressure, chasing the sensation. It feels so similar, but totally foreign at the same time. You dip a couple of fingers into her opening. You stroke her how you stroke yourself. And then you move to press in deeper, and the angle’s all wrong. You suddenly feel embarrassed. Of course vaginas aren’t all the same! You try again, relaxing your fingers, slowly massaging into her. She gently rests her hand on yours. You think she might pull it back. Instead, she guides it, angling your fingers just right so they’re slipping into her tight heat and lets out a heaving sigh.

If she’d been trying to stay quiet, to hide from you the effect you’re having on her, that all goes out the window when you start pumping into her.

Now that you have the angle right, you drive your fingers in again and again, scissoring her open, pressing all the soft and lovely bits inside her till she’s howling.

“Fuck,” she hisses, “Oh baby that’s it, keep fucking me with those lovely fingers, you’re doing such a good job–”

You slip in a third finger and her words turn to a breathy jumble of yes, please, more—

She feels so delicious against your fingertips, massaging into her again and again. You love the texture of her. 

Flicking a thumb over her clit as you pump in and out in measured strokes, her whole body begins to convulse.

“Fuck!” She shouts, “Fuck, I’m—”

She comes with a cry, shaking in your lap, and you continue to stroke her through it.

When her body stops trembling and her breathing slows, she tilts her head back, resting on your shoulder, gracing you with a throaty laugh.

“Shit, kid,” she she looks dazed, totally fucked out. You should really get a trophy for this. Or a medal. Made Tess Servoupolous Nut So Hard She Saw God, it would say.

As she finishes catching her breath, she reaches her arm around you and strokes your hair. “You did good,” she tells you, “A real natural.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” she nods. “Fuck if I haven’t been needing that.”

She peels herself from you, the sweat between you adhering your tits to her back, and it’s almost funny the squelch that your bodies make. 

And then, she’s on top of you, moving you again, body soft and malleable. She’s spreading your thighs, your soaked cunt grinding against her own– puffy, slick and spent. 

She smiles at you. “Last chance, sweetheart. You want me to make you feel good? Play with that pretty pussy? Pop that cherry, once and for all?”

The haze returns, and it can’t be just the high, not coming over you like this. No. It’s her. It’s her scent, her power, her skin against yours, and you need need need–

“Give it to me–,” you beg, and she does.

Long fingers part you, slide inside, scissor and twist. It’s slow at first, almost gentle. But you don’t need gentle right now. You need her, every part of her.

You grind against her fingers, the heel of her palm putting pressure right against your clit. 

“You’re being such a good girl,” she coos, “Opening up nice and wide for mommy, that’s it–”

It’s unexpected, and if you’re being honest, it’s a little bit weird.

But that doesn’t fucking matter because fuck it’s hot–

Your legs spread further, in part from Tess’s coaxing, and in part because they seem to want to fling themselves open all on their own. 

Two fingers increase to three, and then to four, and she’s pumping in for all she’s worth with her hand, her thumb pressed against your clit, pressing your button like she’s made for it. You’re trying to find words but you can’t–all you can do is moan and whine and rut against her, with nothing more than “Tess, please– Mommy mommy oh my god mommy your fingers feel so fucking good—”

And she grins at you wickedly, and keeps at her ministrations as she praises you– “Taking my fingers so fucking well. That’s a good girl, that’s it, oh honey– I can feel how you’re dripping down my wrist, how good you’re clenching round me. It’s okay, baby, you can let go. Let go for me, sweetheart, c’mon, let go–”

You come with a shout, pussy drenching her as she fucks you through it.

As you catch your breath and come down, she strokes your thighs, trails pruney fingertips across your stomach.

“You’ve been so good for mommy,” she smiles, eyes crinkling, “Big girl, taking all of that her first time, huh?”

“Mhmm,” you agree, totally worn out. “Thank– thank you, Tess–” you sigh.

“Hmm,” she snorts, “I thought you’d do well with a lesson.”

“I did good?” you ask.

“You did great, honey,” she laughs. “And what did we learn?”

You take stock of yourself. Of your body, your mind, the fog and the lingering high, and the absolute euphoria of the past however long you’ve been fucking and being fucked.

A smile creeps across your face. You try to tamp it down, but it’s pointless. “I’ve learned that I should always smoke weed in Charlie’s mom’s house, and maybe, if I’m very lucky, I’ll even get caught!”

Tess laughs, a full-bellied, beautiful thing. 

“I think, princess, you’ve got a lot more to learn.”

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddiebingo.

You're a Fucking Dickhead

12 Days of Christmas Prompt: Soulmate | Word Count: 1894 | Rating: T | CW: Language | POV: Steve | Tags: Soulmate AU, College AU, Modern AU, Meet Cute, Or: Meet Ugly, Soulmarks, Invisible Strings, Hijinks Ensue, The Universe Had to Work Overtime on These Two

I actually got assigned the prompt "soulmates" on both of my Christmas and New Year's bingo cards. Instead of trying to double-up, I decided to just make them companion pieces. Here are the links to both:

Part 1: Steve POV | Part 2: Eddie POV | Also on AO3

They are intended so they could be read standalone, but I wrote Steve's first, so I suggest starting here if you want to read both.

Steve pushes his sleeves up, realizes, and pushes them right back down despite it being sweltering in this auditorium. As much as he prides himself on being confident in his own skin, on being exactly who he is, no apologies, this little three inch line of text scrawled on his arm is the bane of his whole existence. He hates it. 

Robin glances over at him, and gives him a raised eyebrow. Yeah, yeah. He had promised he would cut it out once they were at college, but fuck, old habits die hard. He's only a senior. Maybe he'll go to grad school and he can stop hiding his arm then. Plenty of time.

"I know," he hisses at her, and he's told himself over and over that someday he won't care. That someday he'll just let it all hang out. So what if his so called soulmate is out there somewhere waiting to meet him, only to say: You're a fucking dickhead!

Yeah, sign him up for that. Not.

No matter who it is, Steve isn't interested. He's going tell them to fuck right off. If he ever meets them. He hasn't yet, and he's not exactly frothing at the bit to do it soon.

He focuses back on the professor, and he's almost made it through undergrad. Six more weeks. He can do this.

"A frat party? Steve. No," Robin says, and Steve is just nodding.

"Steve, yes," he says, smiling wide. "We'll get some bathtub punch, maybe bum a joint. C'mon. Maybe we'll even get laid."

"Dingus, the odds of me getting laid at a frat party are negative seventy-five thousand."

"Then let me get laid. Rob, please. For me," and he gives her the eyes. They always work, and he spins around after she reluctantly nods her consent to his plan. 

"You've gotten laid plenty," she argues.

"That's patently untrue," he lies. "I'm in a dry spell."

"It's been four days."

"It gets mighty cold at night," he says, and she laughs and pushes him, but she'll go.

He might not have good soulmate prospects, but he does have the best best friend a guy could ask for, and his charm, which he's applied liberally all up and down the eastern seaboard.

So, yeah. Tonight is gonna be awesome, he just knows it.

Tonight is not awesome, Steve thinks, as he's shoved so hard he stumbles. The guy is bigger than him, but honestly just caught him off guard. Steve doesn't know what the fuck his problem is. It's a party. They're supposed to be having fun. But this? This is not fun.

All Steve did is walk by, and now he's fucking stumbling like he's drunk, which unfortunately he is not since he hasn't even had one drink yet, but his balance is already a distant memory. He catches his shin on the edge of a coffee table, and that really fucking smarts. Then, he's going down. There's no other possibility. No way to catch himself.

"Goddamn, fuck you, motherfucker!" Steve shouts, sliding over the table on his knees, tipping over cups and bottles, knocking everything in his path off to the hardwood floor with a clatter, before finally coming to a stop with a thud on top of the person sitting on the couch. That's fucking embarrassing.

"You're a fucking dickhead!" The guy under him laughs while patting Steve's back, and it sounds amused, not angry. But those words. Those are his words. Steve freezes. But not for long, because he's unceremoniously being shifted and dumped into the lap of the guy on the right. 

Big blue eyes, and a mop of curls, looking down at him, asking, "What'd you say?"

"Huh?" Steve asks, trying to right himself.

Oh. The guy — his soulmate? — wasn't talking to him. He was talking to the guy who shoved him.

"What did you say when you literally fell in Eddie's lap?" he asks.

Eddie. His soulmate's name is Eddie. Steve has no fucking clue what he said, but he's guessing that whatever it is, it's scrawled somewhere on Eddie's body and his friend here knows that. 

Steve's ignoring ol' blue eyes, and trying to turn to get another glimpse of Eddie, to see what he's doing, to see if he's gonna fight for his honor or some shit.

He's not fighting, but he does have the guy in a headlock. But they're both laughing. What the fuck is happening right now?

"What the fuck, Goods? You just laid that poor guy out, say you're sorry," Eddie is telling the dude who shoved him. Who looks far less scary with his head tucked under Eddie's armpit. He's all red-faced and curly-headed, squirming, but looking amused. 

"I'm sorry," the shover laughs out, and Steve is still trying to slide off the other guy's lap. "It was an instinct! A remnant from high school. Get bullied, push back, that's what you always said!"

His supposed soulmate knows the asshole that knocked him clean off his feet for no good reason? Well, that's just great. Very promising. He knew he was in for a bad time with the words alone, and now he's been knocked clean off his feet, and not in a good way.

"He was bullying you?" Eddie asks, face looking serious.

"I was not!" Steve says. He's never even seen this guy before. He walked by him in the crowded room, and then was shoved.

"He stepped on my foot!" 

Eddie laughs, "He stepped on your foot, so you shoved him in my lap?"

"Well, I didn't think you'd mind!"

"What's going on here?! I just went to the bathroom, there wasn't even a line!" Robin screeches. "Now Steve is sitting in Gareth's lap? How do you know Gareth? You can't sleep with Gareth!" Robin is rambling, talking with her hands, flailing and fluttering with all her might. 

How do you know Gareth? Steve thinks. 

She's all worked up. Well, she can join the club.

"I'm fine. We're fine, I think? I'm not sleeping with Gareth?" Steve says, but his voice trails upward, unsure. 

"Not a question. Absolutely not. No offense," Gareth says, and well, that's kinda rude.

"Look what you've done, now you've made his girlfriend mad," Eddie says, still not releasing the guy who caused this whole situation. 

"Ew, gross. Not my boyfriend," Robin says, way too fast. 

"She's a lesbian," Gareth says, and Steve wants to wheel on him. Gareth better not have a problem with that, but Steve can only fight one battle at a time, and Robin offending him always takes precedence.

"Don't be so disgusted," Steve complains, and then turns to look back at Gareth, "Same for you. I'm a catch."

"Do you still have a dick?" Robin asks, her go-to response in this situation. He knows the script.

"What she said," Gareth adds.

"I still have a dick," he confirms quietly.

"Well, we're all glad to hear it," Eddie says, finally letting his friend go. 

Another guy walks up, looks between all of them, "What's going on?"

"Jeff?" Robin questions.

Robin knows Jeff? Who's Jeff?

"Hey, Robin," Jeff says

"How do you know Jeff and Gareth?" Steve asks, whoever the fuck they are, but he's being ignored.

 "Oh, Jeff, you picked the exact worst time to wander off. Short story: Goodie pushed this guy—"

"Goodie's here, too?" Robin interrupts.

Gareth keeps talking, "—and get this, turns out, this dude is Eddie's soulmate."

Eddie turns his head, "What'd you say? Gareth, why do you think…" he trails off, and then looks down at his arm.

"You're Goddamn, Fuck You, Motherfucker?" Jeff asks, as if that's Steve's legal name.

Steve laughs, "Well, I prefer Steve, but I'll answer to anything, I guess."

Everybody laughs.

"Jeff, help me. Eddie tried to take my head off my neck," Goodie complains. Which, honestly, the nerve. He started this whole fiasco. Steve was minding his own goddamn business.

"You pushed my soulmate. You got off easy, my child," Eddie says, circling Goodie, clearly teasing him. 

Eddie. Gareth. Goodie. Jeff. Steve's putting these names to faces, because he's afraid it might all be important later. Maybe forever. 

These people are a circus and a rodeo all rolled into one. 

He feels sick to his stomach. In a good way? A bad way? He isn't sure. All this time, and he still somehow wasn't ready for it. This scenario wasn't even in his wildest of dreamed up scenarios. Yeah, he got pushed. But his proposed soulmate doesn't appear to be a total dickhead either. 

"Let me see," Steve says quietly, a demand more than a question, and Eddie stops what he was doing, stepping closer. His arm is right out there, uncovered, for all the world to see. And that's for sure his own handwriting.

Goddamn, fuck you, motherfucker!

Plain as day.

Steve reaches out and brushes his thumb against Eddie's mark, and suddenly he feels like he's riding lightning.

"Holy shit," Eddie says.

"Uh, yeah," Steve answers. 

"Wanna get out of here?" Eddie asks, and Steve is nodding before Eddie's finished asking. 

His body feels warm.

But Robin, "I'm with Robin. I need to-"

"Nope, dingus. Go. I'll ride with Jeff. Or Gareth. Or Goodie," she says. "I can take my pick. I know them all."

"How do you know Jeff, Gareth and Goodie?" Steve asks, because he feels like he's losing his mind.

Jeff waves. So the other two follow suit.

"Jeff and I have had like a thousand classes together," Robin says, and Jeff is nodding in agreement. "We studied together all last year. Do you not recall all the, 'I'm going to study at Jeff's' that I said, week after week?"

Steve shakes his head. He does not.

"You were in our house! All the time!" Eddie says, pointing at Robin. "I have seen you before! I knew you looked familiar!" 

"Yeah, obviously," she says, rolling her eyes, "Anyway. Gareth's in my film class. And Goodie's in the marching band."

Steve feels like he's going insane. He got pushed by a marching band geek? Then there's Eddie, his soulmate, and apparently Robin's just been running in Eddie's whole goddamn circle without his knowledge. What? How?

He can't. Not right now. He needs to process this later. Maybe with a flow chart pointing out all the invisible strings that have been forming, trying to connect them.

"You'll get her home safe?" Steve asks, because that's all that matters.

"They will," Eddie assures, and puts his palm in the middle of Steve's back. Steve can feel it even through his shirt.

Steve looks back at Robin, slightly helpless. 

She takes a step forward, "If you don't-"

"I do," he interrupts, "I do."

He really does.

"Gross, go then," she says, holding up her hands, and when Eddie takes a step forward to lead them out, he goes.

Steve sneaks looks at Eddie as they make their way through the crowded house. He's pretty. Not what he'd expected, not that he'd ever really had a good mental picture of what his soulmate might look like. He'd been too focused on the harsh words, that he hadn't tried to form them into a real person.

Eddie's real.

He's so fucking real.

They step out into the night, and Eddie stops on the sidewalk, meeting Steve's eyes, smiling wide, "Your place or mine?"

Read Eddie's POV next.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiebingo and follow along with the fun! 💞

Notes: I don't think I've written soulmates before, so I'm not sure if I've stayed with the trope or veered into left field, but I know I had fun with this one. I loved the idea that their first words in each other's presence would be something so unhinged, lol. And Goodie shall never let either of them forget that their soulmarks were spoken to him not each other.

[magnagaruzenmon]

Stay Alive

The first part of heavy metal, and woo this is a doozy to start on…fuck you dino. Also happy new years. I hope you've been having fun with Daigo's holiday specials, because this is the last one for now

I just wanna thank @coldfanbou and @lustspren for writing cool stuff. No smut yet needed to world build hope that’s okay.

“Ah, come on, Daigo, it’ll be fun! Picture this: a three-day music festival entirely dedicated to girl groups. Some of your favorites—Dreamcatcher, Twice, Eunbi, and so many more! How could you say no to that?”

Jonas’s enthusiasm was infectious, but I wasn’t in the mood. I leaned back in my chair, rubbing the bridge of my nose. The chaos from recent riots at music festivals played on a loop in my mind—overcrowding, fights breaking out, people getting hurt. I’d seen it up close before, and I wasn’t eager to put myself in the middle of it again.

“I don’t know…” I hesitated, glancing at the stack of bills on my counter that never seemed to shrink. “It’s just—with all the violence lately, I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Jonas let out an exaggerated sigh on the other end of the line. “Daigo, you’re killing me here. Look, I need someone I can trust for this gig. You’ve got experience, you’re good under pressure, and—let’s be real—you’re the biggest fangirl I know when it comes to these groups.”

I chuckled despite myself. “Fangirl? That’s rich coming from the guy who cried when LOONA disbanded.”

“That was different, and you know it!” Jonas shot back, feigning indignation. “Tell you what, though. You help me out this one time, and I’ll sweeten the deal: I’ll get you backstage access for your top three groups. You can say hi, do the whole meet-and-greet thing, and—” he paused for dramatic effect, “I’ll pay you double time.”

“Double time and a meet-and-greet?” I raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “You must be desperate.”

“Desperate doesn’t even cover it,” Jonas admitted. “But I know you, Daigo. You’ll do it. You just need a little incentive.”

I leaned forward, considering his offer. The idea of meeting Dreamcatcher, Twice, and Eunbi backstage was tempting. Hell, it was more than tempting—it was a dream come true. But I wasn’t about to let him off easy.

“Okay,” I said, dragging the word out. “I’ll do it. But on one condition: you pay me in advance for the regular eight-hour shifts. When overtime inevitably hits—and we both know it will—you can pay me after.”

I expected him to balk, to try to negotiate or talk me down. Instead, Jonas practically shouted into the phone. “Fine! Deal!”

I sighed, shaking my head. “You’re way too excited about this. I’m gonna regret this, aren’t I?”

“Only if you don’t bring something for your bias to sign!” Jonas teased, and before I could respond, he added, “I’ll send you the details. And, Daigo? Thanks, man. I owe you big time.”

As I hung up, I stared at my phone, torn between dread and anticipation. The job might be chaos, sure, but the thought of meeting my idols backstage was enough to nudge me into action. Maybe—just maybe—it wouldn’t be so bad.

The first two days of the festival passed in a blur. I worked with Lightsum alongside a guy named Dinozen, a chill dude with a sharp sense of humor, and covered the super-secret IZ*ONE reunion stage with someone named Dexter, a no-nonsense guy who seemed to have everything under control. Unsurprisingly, the girls were all the sweetest. Chowon, Sakura, and Eunbi even signed my photocards, which was an experience I’d never forget.

Hyewon, though, surprised me. She noticed my Night of the Living Dead phone case while I was setting up security near the backstage area.

“Oh my God, is that Romero’s Night of the Living Dead?” she asked, her eyes lighting up as she leaned in closer to get a better look.

“Yeah,” I said, holding up the phone so she could see it better. “You’re a fan?”

“Are you kidding? I love zombie movies. Do you like Train to Busan?”

“Of course! A classic,” I replied, and we spent a few minutes geeking out about the genre before she got whisked away for rehearsals.

The last day of the festival was intense, to say the least. The lineup was packed: IVE, LE SSERAFIM, QWER, GFRIEND (yes, Eunha and Lil Uzi Vert were there), KISS OF LIFE, Dreamcatcher, and finally, Twice.

For the first two stages, Sakura, Chaewon, Yujin, and Wonyoung spotted me lingering around during the early morning soundchecks.

“Did you even sleep last night?” Wonyoung called out, grinning mischievously as she approached with the others in tow.

“Barely,” I admitted, stifling a yawn.

“You’re here earlier than us! Are you secretly a sasaeng?” Sakura teased, elbowing me lightly as the others burst into laughter.

“Yeah, what’s your bias list?” Chaewon added with mock suspicion, crossing her arms and squinting at me.

“Okay, first of all,” I said, holding up a finger, “I’m not a sasaeng. Second, I’m here working. You know, security?”

“Uh-huh. That’s what they all say,” Yujin quipped.

“Don’t worry, oppa, we’ll keep your secret,” Wonyoung said, winking.

“Oppa?!” I exclaimed, rolling my eyes at their antics. “You’re all impossible.”

Truth be told, I didn’t mind. Their teasing broke the ice, and by the end of their set, they were thanking me profusely for keeping everything running smoothly.

Later, I found myself working security for GFRIEND. Eunha caught me lingering backstage and decided to strike up a conversation.

“You’re awfully quiet for a security guy,” she said, tilting her head. “Do we intimidate you?”

“Not at all,” I said with a smirk. “I’m just professional. But since we’re chatting—big fan, by the way.”

Eunha grinned, leaning in slightly. “Oh? Do you have a favorite song?”

“‘Time for the Moon Night.’ No contest.”

“Good choice,” she said, clearly pleased. “You’ve got good taste. But…” She paused, her expression turning playful. “What’s your bias list for Twice?”

“You’re not getting that out of me,” I said, laughing.

“Oh, come on!” she said, punching my arm lightly before getting called away for rehearsal.

QWER was an entirely different vibe. From the moment they showed up, they were absolute chaos gremlins. Magenta spotted my Ultraman keychain dangling from my belt and let out a gasp loud enough to make heads turn.

“Is that Ultraman?!” she exclaimed, running over.

“Yeah. You a fan?”

“Am I a fan?!” she said, practically bouncing on her heels. “Ultraman Tiga is my favorite! What about you?”

We ended up on a massive tangent about tokusatsu, until Hina chimed in about Final Fantasy when I mentioned I love girls who can fight like Tifa from FFVII. “Tifa’s the best, hands down,” she said, crossing her arms as if daring anyone to argue.

“Agreed,” I said, nodding. “What’s your go-to build for her?”

“Oh, don’t get her started,” Chodan cut in, laughing. “But seriously, what’s your take on League of Legends?” After hearing me say someone was inting in the previous conversation.

That led to another rabbit hole of nerd talk, with Chodan grilling me about champs and strategies while Magenta playfully teased her for his “tryhard vibes.”

After their performance, Magenta pulled me aside. “Hey, if you want a job after this, come to Korea,” she said, a surprising seriousness in her tone. “I’m sure we can find a spot for you.”

I rolled my eyes, thinking it was just more teasing. “Yeah, sure. I’ll get right on that.”

“No, really,” she said, locking eyes with me. “Think about it. You’d fit in.”

Her sincerity caught me off guard, but before I could respond, she was already running off to join the others.

Sure! Here’s an expanded version of the scene with more dialogue and detail:

Dreamcatcher’s set was a whirlwind. They came in, stole the show with their energy and charisma, and left just as quickly. It was clear they were pros, used to the hectic schedule of being on tour. I barely had a chance to speak with them, but as I was walking backstage, Yoohyeon caught sight of my shirt peeking out from under my security uniform.

“Wait—is that a Kaiju No. 8 shirt?” she asked, pointing excitedly.

I froze, caught off guard. “Uh, yeah. Big fan of the series.”

“Same here!” Yoohyeon said, her eyes lighting up. “Dami got me into it. Isn’t Kafka’s transformation just the coolest?”

Dami, standing nearby, smirked. “Yoohyeon keeps trying to get everyone in the group to read it.”

“It’s worth it!” Siyeon chimed in, adjusting her jacket. “But, seriously, where’d you get that shirt? I’ve been looking for merch everywhere.”

I laughed nervously. “Online. Limited drop, though, so it might be hard to find now.”

“Lucky,” Dami said, shaking her head. “Anyway, we’d better go. Tour schedule’s tight.”

They waved as they hurried out, leaving me feeling both starstruck and a little bummed that I didn’t have more time to talk to them.

As Dreamcatcher’s bus pulled away, Twice was arriving. Their energy was palpable even before they stepped out, fans screaming from behind the barricades as they made their way inside. I was checking the perimeter when I heard a familiar voice.

“You were at our LA concert a few years ago.”

I turned to see Dahyun, smiling warmly as she approached. For a second, I was stunned.

“Uh, yeah,” I stammered. “How did you remember that?”

Dahyun tilted her head, still smiling. “We don’t have many fans that look like…you, so I always try to remember their faces. Plus, you brought that light-up ring instead of our Candybong.”

I laughed, embarrassed but also flattered. “Yeah, the Candybong was sold out, so I improvised.”

“Well, it worked! We all thought it was cool.”

Before I could say anything else, the ground beneath us seemed to shift. setting everyone on edge.

“What was that?” someone whispered behind me.

And then the screams began.

From the crowd near the main stage, people started to thrash and convulse, their movements jerky and unnatural. Others began growling, their voices guttural and animalistic. The sight was surreal—like something out of a horror movie.

“Everyone, move!” I yelled, springing into action.

I turned to Dahyun and the rest of Twice. “Get to the evacuation buses. Now!”

They didn’t argue, following my lead as I herded them and the remaining girl groups backstage toward the buses. The screams and chaos grew louder as the infected began attacking others in the crowd, tearing into them with horrifying ferocity.

“Keep moving!” I shouted, adrenaline surging as I kept the idols together, forming a protective barrier between them and the chaos.

One by one, the groups boarded the buses. I stayed behind to make sure everyone was accounted for, scanning the area for any stragglers.

“Daigo, get on!” someone shouted from inside the last bus.

As I turned to board, a hand grabbed me, yanking me backward with incredible strength. The bus door shut just as I lost my footing.

The man who had grabbed me was no longer human. His eyes were bloodshot, black veins bulging across his face and neck like spiderwebs. He growled, the sound primal and terrifying, before lunging at me.

I struggled against him, barely managing to shove him off, but not before his teeth sank into my arm. Pain shot through me as I kicked him away, slamming a nearby door into his face before scrambling to my car.

Blood was dripping from my arm as I started the engine, my hands shaking. My phone buzzed with an emergency alert:

“EMERGENCY ALERT: FERAL RAGE VIRUS OUTBREAK IN LOS ANGELES. AVOID INFECTED INDIVIDUALS. IF BITTEN, SELF-ISOLATE IMMEDIATELY.”

A wave of dread washed over me as the words sank in. A zombie apocalypse—and I’d been bitten.

By the time I got home, I was running on autopilot. I found a note from my family on the kitchen counter:

“We evacuated. Stay safe. We love you.”

I smiled faintly, relieved that they had made it out, even as the reality of my situation settled in. I sat down on the couch, clutching my arm as I waited—waited for the inevitable.

But as the hours passed, nothing happened. No fever, no loss of control, no primal urge to attack. Just silence.

Something was wrong—or maybe something was right. Whatever it was, I wasn’t turning. At least, not yet. 28 weeks later

California had been decimated by the undead in a matter of days. The infection spread faster than anyone could have predicted, turning the Golden State into a graveyard of abandoned cities and roaming hordes of the infected. Military barricades crumbled, evacuation plans failed, and those who were lucky got out while they could. Planes were packed with desperate refugees, cars clogged the highways leading east, and boats left the coastlines overcrowded with those willing to risk open waters.

For me, leaving wasn’t an option.

I didn’t have the luxury of escape, not because I couldn’t find a way out, but because of the bite on my arm. By the time the infection reached its peak, there were no confirmed cases of immunity. A bite was a death sentence—or worse, an eternity as one of the infected. The thought of being trapped in that kind of existence kept me grounded, unwilling to risk spreading the infection to anyone else.

But something strange happened.

I didn’t turn.

Days turned into weeks, and then months. The black veins that had crawled up my arm after the attack faded away within hours, leaving only a faint scar where the infected’s teeth had punctured my skin. I waited for the fever to come, for the primal urges, for the hallucinations people had described before losing themselves. None of it happened.

In fact, the only time I got remotely sick was from a bad batch of shrimp I’d scavenged off an abandoned food truck near the Santa Monica pier.

At first, I thought maybe I was just a late bloomer, that the virus would eventually catch up to me and take over. I avoided people, avoided crowded safe zones, not wanting to risk spreading whatever was inside me. I spent most of my time moving quietly through the ruins of Los Angeles, scavenging supplies and avoiding the Zs as best I could.

The thing was, the Zs avoided me too.

It wasn’t immediate, but over time, I started noticing that they didn’t react to me the way they did to others. If I stayed still, they would stumble past as if I weren’t even there. If I walked into a horde, they would part like a school of fish around a predator.

It was unsettling at first, terrifying even, but I couldn’t deny the advantage it gave me. I became a ghost in the city, slipping through once-busy streets and long-abandoned suburbs. I didn’t need to hide anymore.

Whatever was inside me, whatever had stopped the virus from taking hold, had made me different.

And in a world where survival was everything, being different wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

At first, surviving felt like an achievement. I kept moving, kept scavenging, and avoided any unnecessary risks. But as the weeks bled into months, that sense of urgency faded, replaced by something else: boredom.

The excitement of sneaking through an abandoned city, the thrill of dodging Zs, even the satisfaction of finding a can of beans in the back of an overturned truck—it all started to feel routine. The days blurred together.

Wake up. Scavenge. Avoid Zs. Sleep.

For a while, I wandered aimlessly. I retraced old memories, revisiting places I’d once loved. The Santa Monica Pier, now eerily quiet except for the creak of its abandoned rides. Griffith Park, where the Hollywood sign still stood, a crumbling symbol of a bygone world. But eventually, even nostalgia wasn’t enough to fill the emptiness.

So I headed south.

San Diego seemed as good a place as any to settle. The Zs were thinner here, the population having fled or been wiped out in the first waves of the outbreak. The weather was mild, the ocean breeze cutting through the silence, and the naval base offered plenty of resources for the taking if I could get past the wreckage.

I found an old house in a quiet suburb, tucked away behind overgrown trees and hedges. It was small but sturdy, with thick walls and a decent vantage point from the second floor. The backyard had a rusted swing set, a reminder of the family that had once lived here.

Over time, I turned it into my safe haven.

The front door was reinforced with scrap metal I’d scavenged from a nearby junkyard. Windows were boarded up, and the second-floor balcony became my lookout point. I rigged up a crude rainwater collection system with a tarp and some old gutters and managed to get a small solar panel working, enough to power a single lightbulb and charge my radio.

I spent my days scavenging for supplies, fortifying the house, and exploring the surrounding neighborhoods. Grocery stores, gas stations, and even old military supply depots had been picked clean, but every once in a while, I’d find something useful—tools, canned food, medicine.

It was a life, I suppose.

But it was also mind-numbingly dull.

I tried to keep myself busy. I’d read old books I found in abandoned houses, patch holes in my clothes, and even attempted to learn how to cook properly with the limited ingredients I had. But there were only so many ways to make canned beans and rice interesting, and only so many times I could read Dune before the words started to blur together.

The worst part was the silence.

I used to think I hated noise—traffic jams, crowded malls, loud neighbors. But now, I would have given anything to hear another human voice, even just in passing. The only sounds were the distant groans of Zs, the wind rattling through broken windows, and the occasional creak of the house settling under its own weight.

Sometimes, I’d sit on the roof at night, staring at the stars and wondering if there was anyone else out there. Were there other people like me, survivors trying to rebuild? Or was I really the last one left, wandering through the ruins of the world?

Whatever the answer, one thing was clear: this life wasn’t sustainable.

I needed a purpose. Something to do, somewhere to go. Anything to break the monotony.

But until then, I kept moving through the same routine, day after day, wondering how long I could keep going before the boredom consumed me entirely.

Life alone in San Diego wasn’t just about surviving anymore—it was about mastering survival. The boredom had driven me to find ways to fill my days, and in doing so, I’d turned what was once a simple safe house into a fortress of modern conveniences.

The first breakthrough came with the solar panels. I’d stumbled across a half-abandoned solar farm about a mile from my safe house. It had been overrun with Zs, but they didn’t notice me as I worked my way through the facility, scavenging what I could. I started small, hauling back a single panel and an inverter to test if I could rig it up to charge my car battery. When that worked, I went back for more.

It took weeks of trial and error, piecing together wiring and jerry-rigging connections, but eventually, I had enough solar power to light my house, charge a working phone, and even run a small TV. The TV only played old DVDs I found in people’s basements or streaming content saved offline, but it was better than staring at the walls in silence.

Next, I tackled the water situation. Collecting rainwater was easy enough, but I wanted something more. I scavenged pipes, valves, and even an old water heater from a hardware store and figured out how to reroute collected water through the system. After several failed attempts—and one near-disaster involving a busted valve and a flooded basement—I managed to create a working setup. Hot water was a luxury I never thought I’d have again, but on cold nights, a hot shower made all the difference.

Siphoning gas was easier than I expected, though it came with risks. I learned to be fast and cautious, always checking my surroundings before sticking the hose into an abandoned car or truck. Over time, I built up a stockpile of fuel, which I stored in metal barrels I kept in the garage. The gas wasn’t just for the occasional use of my car but also for running a small generator when the solar panels didn’t get enough sunlight.

The freezers were my crowning achievement. I found a pair of them in a strip mall appliance store that had been untouched—probably because most people didn’t think about long-term food storage during the chaos of an apocalypse. Getting them back to my safe house was a nightmare involving a borrowed pickup truck, a makeshift ramp, and more muscle than I thought I had. But once I hooked them up to the solar grid, they became indispensable.

One freezer was stocked with frozen food I’d scavenged from long-abandoned grocery stores, still surprisingly edible thanks to the cold temperatures in the freezers I’d found them in. The other I filled with supplies I processed myself—vacuum-sealed meats, vegetables, and even some wild game I managed to hunt with a crossbow I’d picked up along the way.

Over time, I built up reserves that would have made a doomsday prepper jealous: shelves lined with canned goods, jars of pickled vegetables, packets of instant coffee, and more tools and spare parts than I’d probably ever need.

I even managed to get my hands on a working smartphone, though the lack of cell service meant it was little more than a glorified camera and notepad. Still, I found ways to make it useful, storing downloaded survival guides, maps of San Diego, and even the occasional audiobook.

It wasn’t the life I’d imagined for myself, but it was a life nonetheless.

Yet as I sat in my makeshift living room one evening, surrounded by the quiet hum of the solar-powered TV and the faint glow of LED lights, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of the silence pressing down on me. I had everything I needed to survive and more, but I still felt the gnawing emptiness of isolation.

I’d conquered boredom with ingenuity, but what I couldn’t conquer was the longing for human connection. For someone to talk to, to laugh with, to share all these little victories with.

The sound of glass crunching underfoot woke me, followed by the unmistakable creak of the front door being pushed open. I sighed, sitting up and grabbing the mattock I kept leaned against my nightstand. Another break-in. It had been months since any zombies had even stumbled across my safe house, and I’d started to think I was truly alone out here.

Guess not.

Descending the stairs quietly, I prepared for the worst. My muscles tensed as I reached the ground floor, but when I rounded the corner into the living room, I froze at the sight of the intruders. They were surprisingly not undead.

A group of about ten people stood huddled together, illuminated by the dim glow of my solar-powered lights. Among them were familiar faces that stopped me dead in my tracks: Loona alum Hyeju, Twice’s Jeongyeon and Dahyun, Yunjin from Le Sserafim, Chodan from QWER, and Yena from IZ*ONE.

Their wide-eyed stares mirrored my own surprise, though for different reasons.

“You know,” I said, breaking the silence and hefting the mattock onto my shoulder, “you could have just knocked.”

The group flinched slightly, but Dahyun and Chodan were the first to recover.

“Daigo?” they said in unison, their voices filled with disbelief.

I nodded, leaning the mattock against the wall. “The one and only. Now,” I said, gesturing toward the group, “how can I help you survivors out?”

Dahyun stepped forward, her face a mix of relief and confusion. “We didn’t think… I mean, we heard rumors that someone was living out here, but we didn’t expect it to be you.”

“Well, here I am,” I said, crossing my arms. “Looking exactly like I did last time you saw me, minus the security guard uniform.”

Chodan laughed, though it was more from nerves than humor. “Leave it to Daigo to survive the apocalypse and somehow look like he’s thriving.”

“I’ve had some practice,” I replied, motioning toward the group. “Now, you all look like you’ve been through hell. Sit down, and let’s figure out what you need.”

Hyeju finally spoke up, her voice quiet but firm. “We’re out of options. Supplies are running low, and we’ve been moving nonstop for weeks. We need food, shelter—anything you can spare.”

Yunjin, standing close to Hyeju, added, “We didn’t mean to break in. We thought this place was abandoned.”

I raised an eyebrow, glancing at the reinforced door now hanging slightly ajar. “Does this look abandoned to you? The lights didn’t give it away?”

Yena chimed in, her tone apologetic. “In our defense, we’ve seen plenty of powered-up places that were overrun. We didn’t want to take any chances.”

“Fair enough,” I said, letting out a breath. “Lucky for you, I’m feeling generous today. Follow me.”

I led the group into the dining room, which I’d converted into a makeshift supply depot. Shelves lined the walls, stocked with canned goods, first aid supplies, and neatly folded clothes. Two freezers hummed quietly in the corner, a rare sound in the apocalypse.

“Holy crap,” Jeongyeon whispered, her eyes scanning the room. “You’ve got more here than most of the settlements we’ve passed through.”

“Like I said,” I replied, opening one of the freezers to reveal vacuum-sealed packages of meat and frozen vegetables, “I’ve had practice. Take what you need, but don’t get greedy. This isn’t a charity.”

The group quickly got to work organizing supplies, redistributing their belongings, and planning what they needed most. Meanwhile, Dahyun lingered near me, her expression unreadable.

“You really made it out here on your own,” she said softly, her voice tinged with disbelief and something close to admiration. “I thought… I thought you might’ve been gone, like everyone else.”

“Would’ve been,” I replied with a small, wry smile, “but I got bit. Bright side? Didn’t turn.”

Her brows furrowed slightly as she digested that information. “You’re immune?”

“Guess so. Though it wasn’t a walk in the park,” I admitted. “But what about you? Didn’t expect to see you out here.”

Dahyun shrugged, her gaze dropping to the floor. “We’ve been running since day one. Some of us made it; others didn’t. It’s been… rough.”

I nodded, understanding more than I wanted to. “I can imagine. Well, you’re safe here for now. Take a breather. You’ve earned it.”

The tension in her shoulders eased slightly, and she gave me a small, grateful smile before joining the others.

For the first time in months, my house felt alive. Voices filled the air as the group settled in, sharing stories and laughter over the first real meal they’d had in days. They were hesitant at first, like the silence of survival had been ingrained into their instincts. But as the night went on, the weight on their shoulders seemed to lift, even if only temporarily.

After everyone had eaten and showered, Chodan approached me, her sharp eyes scanning the room before settling on me.

“You know,” she began, leaning casually against the kitchen counter, “you’re living like a king here. You could easily take your talents to a settlement and help a lot of people.”

I sighed, setting my water bottle down and rolling up my sleeve to show her the faint remnants of my bite mark.

“I’m infected. Can’t really risk being around people. I could turn at any moment.”

Chodan raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching into a smirk. “Really?” she said, before lifting her shirt just enough to reveal a faint scar near her side.

My brain short-circuited for a moment. It had been months since I’d seen anyone this close, let alone someone this… distracting. I quickly looked away, feeling the heat rise in my face.

“Relax, caveman,” she teased, lowering her shirt. “Just showing you my bite mark. I got bit three weeks ago. The gestation period is supposed to be 48 hours max, and yet… here I am. Still human. So, either we’re both lucky, or we’re both immune. Oh, and by the way,” she added with a mischievous grin, “Dahyun got bit too. Day before yesterday.”

“Wait, what?” I blinked, looking over at Dahyun, who was now watching us with a sheepish expression.

“It’s true,” Dahyun admitted, stepping closer. “I was afraid to say anything at first, but… then I collapsed. As you can see i got better.”

I nodded slowly, piecing it together. “Well, I got bit 28 weeks ago—so I guess I’m either immune or just incredibly unlucky.”

Chodan’s eyebrows shot up. “Twenty-eight weeks? That’s… day zero.”

I nodded again. “Yeah. It happened during the initial outbreak.”

Her expression shifted, a mix of curiosity and intrigue. “Did you hear anything on the first day? There were reports of a high-pitched whine right before people started turning.”

I frowned, thinking back. “Nope. Didn’t hear a thing.”

Chodan’s eyes widened. “Oh. Then you’re truly immune.”

I squinted at her, confused. “What do you mean?”

She leaned closer, lowering her voice as if delivering a secret. “The virus can’t infect you at all. If you didn’t hear the sound, it means your body isn’t affected by the signal it sends. You can’t turn, period.”

“But,” I interjected, “when I got bit, my veins turned black.”

“Did you have any other symptoms? Fever? Rage? Loss of consciousness?” she asked.

I shook my head. “Nope. Nothing.”

“That’s what I thought,” Chodan said, standing upright again. “You’re not a regular immune, though. You’re not a Slayer either.”

“Wait—Slayer?” I asked, now thoroughly confused.

Hyeju, who had been quietly observing, chimed in. “Slayers are people who’ve had the virus evolve them instead of killing or turning them. We’re stronger, faster… better, basically.”

I glanced around at the group, now realizing the mix of reactions on their faces. “Wait—you’re all Slayers?”

Chodan grinned. “Me, Hyeju, and Dahyun, yeah.”

“Oh, thanks for explaining it so thoroughly, Hyeju,” I said, shooting her a grateful look.

Hyeju smiled sweetly. “You’re welcome, Daigo. Oh, and thanks for the food.”

“You’re very welcome,” I replied, shaking my head. Of course, my safe house had gone from a sanctuary to a den of superpowered survivors in less than a day.

After the group had cleaned themselves up and prepared to leave, I directed them to the vehicles scattered throughout the neighborhood.

“They should still be working,” I explained, gesturing to the trucks and sedans.

The group looked at me in surprise. “Wait, you’ve been keeping all these in working condition?” Dahyun asked, her eyebrows raised.

I shook my head. “Not exactly. I haven’t repaired them or anything major, but I’ve kept the batteries charged, fluids topped up, and tires inflated. Basic upkeep,” I said with a shrug.

A few of them smiled as they hopped into the trucks. The group packed quickly, clearly practiced in loading supplies efficiently, though their movements carried the exhaustion of constant survival.

As the last of the supplies were loaded, Chodan and Dahyun approached me. They exchanged a glance before Dahyun stepped forward, her voice almost pleading.

“Please come with us,” she said.

Chodan chimed in, her tone more assertive. “We kind of need someone like you.”

I raised an eyebrow, leaning casually on my mattock. “You need a socially awkward hothead?”

Chodan laughed, but Dahyun shook her head, her expression serious. “No. A leader.”

I blinked, caught off guard by her sincerity. My gut reaction was to brush it off, but something in her tone gave me pause. I mulled it over for a moment before sighing. “Sure. Why not?”

The group let out a collective breath of relief, and I found myself helping them secure the last of their supplies before climbing into my car and following their convoy.

When we arrived at their settlement near the military base, my optimism took a nosedive. The place was barely holding together. Makeshift walls surrounded a cluster of tents and scavenged buildings. People wandered the grounds with hollow eyes, looking malnourished and weary.

“Jeez,” I muttered under my breath. “This is what you’re working with?”

As we parked, Eunha stood with a young man near the entrance. They were holding hands, their expressions tinged with equal parts hope and surprise as they saw the trucks pull in.

Yunjin jumped out of one of the vehicles, her voice ringing with triumph. “We got food! And water!”

The settlement erupted into cheers, a wave of relief sweeping over the ragged residents.

I, however, was less than impressed. “Wait, wait, wait,” I called out, holding up a hand. “You have access to water, energy, and military-grade weapons, and yet you look like you’re on the brink of starvation?”

The young man was the first to respond, his voice heavy with frustration. “The base proper is overrun. If you’re so eager to fix it, be my guest.”

I turned to the group, stunned. “So you’re telling me you haven’t even secured the base?”

The residents nodded sheepishly. I groaned, rubbing my temples. Without a word, I popped the trunk of my car and began pulling out weapons: a pair of customized gauntlets and boots I’d tinkered with during my long months alone.

“What are you doing?” one of the settlers asked nervously.

I sighed, strapping on the gear. “Making sure you all don’t die,” I muttered.

Before I could head toward the base, Chodan and Dahyun stepped in front of me, blocking my path.

“You can’t go in there,” Chodan said firmly. “There are rippers and changers inside.”

I froze, the names sparking a connection in my mind. Rippers—zombies with bladed arms capable of slicing through steel—and changers—fast, intelligent zombies that evolved in real time. Apex predators in a world of monsters.

“Are there whippers and spitters?” I asked, scanning the group for confirmation.

Everyone looked at me blankly. “What?” Chodan asked.

“Big zombies that spew acid, napalm, or spikes,” I clarified. “Or ones with long tongues that whip around like grappling hooks?”

Chodan and Dahyun exchanged a glance before shaking their heads. “No. None of that,” Dahyun said.

I gave them a thumbs-up. “Great. Then I’m going in, pummeling anything that moves and isn’t human, and we’ll secure the base so we can all stop living in this mess.”

I started toward the base, but Chodan stepped closer—so close I could feel her breath on my chest. My heart stuttered for a moment, and I cursed my brain for its caveman reaction.

“Daigo,” she said, her voice low and urgent. “You can’t. It’s too dangerous.”

I laughed softly, shaking my head. “For how I fight? Not really. Besides, as long as I follow the first rule of zombie apocalypses, I’ll be fine.”

The group stared at me, confused. “What’s that?” Dahyun finally asked.

I grinned. “Be smart, not scared.”

Without another word, I climbed the fence.

Before I could take another step, Chodan effortlessly vaulted over the fence after me in a single, graceful bound. I looked at her and realized she could easily fend off whatever was in there.

Chodan smirked, falling into step beside me. “You’re going to need me in there,” she said.

I glanced at her, then back at the base. “Guess we’ll see.”

We walked in with weapons raised, every sense heightened as we approached the entrance to the base. The stench of rot and decay hit us like a wall, the ground littered with body parts and unidentifiable chunks of flesh. The once-pristine military structure was now a grotesque tableau of death. Every step squelched against blood-soaked concrete, a grim reminder of what waited for us inside.

The first zombie to spot us let out a guttural screech, its twisted body lurching forward at an unnatural speed. Its milky-white eyes locked onto me as it sprinted, claws outstretched. I snapped my fingers, and flames erupted from my gauntlets and boots, wrapping around them like living entities.

With a single step forward, I swung my fist. The punch connected with the zombie's head, obliterating it in an instant. The headless body collapsed to the floor in a heap, twitching violently before going still.

I glanced over at Chodan, who raised an eyebrow in surprise, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Not bad,” she said, her tone impressed but still teasing.

I shrugged, brushing off her compliment. “You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

Over the next few minutes, more zombies emerged from the shadows, drawn by the noise and the scent of fresh prey. Five of them charged at me in quick succession. I moved through them with a fiery ferocity, each punch igniting their decaying flesh. With every strike, I could feel the heat coursing through my body, the fire making short work of the infected.

Just as I finished off the last one, I turned to see Chodan spring into action. She unsheathed a short katana—I think it’s called a wakizashi or something like that—and moved with a lethal grace that was mesmerizing. Each slice of her blade was precise, every motion deliberate.

She ducked and spun, her strikes fluid and elegant as she danced through the undead. Her blade flashed in the dim light, leaving trails of crimson in the air. Within moments, the horde around her lay in pieces. It wasn’t just impressive—it was downright sexy. (What can I say? I like women who can fight, and after six months of isolation, watching Chodan in action was… distracting, to say the least.)

Together, we made our way deeper into the base, clearing out every corridor, room, and hallway we came across. Along the way, we gathered access cards and files, carefully choosing the ones that weren’t completely soaked in blood or viscera. Mapping out the base was crucial if we wanted to make it a safe haven.

Two grueling hours later, we emerged from the base, our task for the day complete.

The camp was waiting for us when we returned. Their faces lit up in shock and awe at the sight of us alive and—well, mostly intact. Thanks to the fiery nature of my weapons, I was relatively clean, save for a few smudges of soot. Chodan, on the other hand, looked like she’d walked straight out of Kill Bill. Her clothes were drenched in blood, and her katana was dripping crimson.

The group stared for a moment before breaking into cheers. Their joy was infectious, and I found myself smiling despite the exhaustion.

Over the next two weeks, the slayers and I worked tirelessly to clear the rest of the base. The deeper sections were overrun, and each encounter with the infected felt like a battle against time and attrition. We couldn’t risk leaving a single zombie behind, knowing even one could cause a mini-outbreak once the camp moved in.

During this time, we also worked to fully map out the base, identifying areas that could be repurposed for agriculture, water purification, and living quarters. One of the larger open-air courtyards became the designated zone for growing vegetables and fruits, a necessary counterbalance to the endless supply of fish we’d soon be consuming.

By the end of the second week, we had restored power to the base and set up a desalination system to provide fresh water. The once-derelict military base was beginning to transform into a functional, self-sufficient community. By the end of the month, we had fortified the perimeter, secured resources, and established a sustainable living environment that could endure the apocalypse indefinitely.

Yet, despite our progress, I couldn’t shake the restless feeling gnawing at the back of my mind.

Sensing this, Yunjin and Hyeju decided to lift everyone’s spirits by organizing a celebration. The party was small but lively, with music, laughter, and a rare sense of warmth filling the air. People danced and shared stories, the weight of survival temporarily forgotten.

For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt connected—to them, to this place, and maybe even to something greater than myself.

The celebration was in full swing by the time I made my way to the center of the courtyard. Lanterns we’d scavenged from the base cast a warm glow over the party, and the air buzzed with a mix of laughter, music, and the clinking of makeshift cups. For the first time in months, the weight of the apocalypse seemed to lift, even if only temporarily.

I leaned against a crate of supplies, enjoying the scene as I nursed a glass of something Yunjin had proudly labeled “party punch.” (It tasted like motor oil with a hint of lemon, but hey, it was the thought that counted.)

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Dahyun making her way toward me. Her smile was soft, and there was something unspoken in her eyes. “Hey,” she said, holding up her cup as she leaned against the crate beside me.

“Hey,” I replied, offering a small smile.

“I was just thinking,” she began, “none of this would’ve been possible without you. Clearing the base, organizing everything—you’ve done more in a few weeks than we’ve managed in months.”

I shrugged, trying to downplay it. “It’s not like I did it alone. You all worked just as hard.”

She shook her head, her expression earnest. “Don’t sell yourself short, Daigo. You brought people together. That’s not something everyone can do.”

Before I could respond, Chodan appeared on my other side, seemingly out of nowhere. She slid in smoothly, her confident smirk firmly in place. “Are we talking about how great Daigo is? Because I’ve got a list.”

I blinked, caught off guard by her sudden arrival. Dahyun stiffened beside me, her relaxed posture shifting as her grip tightened on her cup.

“Didn’t realize I had a fan club,” I joked, trying to ease the tension.

Chodan ignored me, her gaze focused on Dahyun. “You’re right, though,” she said, her tone just a little too pointed. “Daigo’s been a real asset. Honestly, I don’t know how we managed without him.”

“Guess you’ll have to start getting used to it,” Dahyun replied, her smile polite but strained. “It’s not like he’s going anywhere.”

Chodan tilted her head, her smirk widening. “Oh, I don’t know. He might decide to come on a few missions with me. You know, something more exciting than farming and base maintenance.”

“Farming is exciting when it’s keeping people alive,” Dahyun shot back, her voice calm but firm. “Not everyone needs to play the hero to make a difference.”

I glanced between the two of them, sensing the subtle sparks flying. “Uh, you guys okay?” I asked, trying to break the tension.

“Perfectly fine,” Dahyun said quickly, taking a sip of her drink.

“Just fine,” Chodan echoed, crossing her arms as she leaned closer to me. “Speaking of heroes, Daigo, you’ve got to tell me how you learned to fight like that. I’ve never seen anyone take on a group of zombies the way you did.”

Dahyun raised an eyebrow. “It’s not all about fighting. He’s got other skills too, like keeping the base running and making sure we don’t starve. That’s just as important.”

“Of course,” Chodan replied smoothly, her tone dripping with faux agreement. “But let’s be real—there’s no base to run if you can’t keep it safe.” She turned to me, her expression playful but loaded. “Right, Daigo?”

I felt like a deer caught in headlights. “Uh… I mean, both are important?”

Dahyun rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of amusement in her expression now. “Nice save,” she said, bumping her shoulder lightly against mine.

Chodan laughed, the tension easing slightly. “Guess that’s why he’s the leader, huh?”

The three of us stood there for a moment, the awkwardness lingering but not entirely unpleasant. As the party carried on around us, I couldn’t help but feel a little flattered, even if the attention was overwhelming.

Yunjin’s voice cut through the noise, calling everyone to the center for a toast. I used the opportunity to excuse myself, slipping away from the growing crowd and finding a quieter corner to breathe.

As I leaned against the wall, I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself. The apocalypse sure had a funny way of complicating things.

The camp had grown exponentially since we first cleared the base. Word spread fast, and survivors from across the region trickled in, desperate for safety and stability. Among the newcomers were two slayers: Hyewon, a quiet yet sharp-eyed scout from a decimated group, and Tsuki, a high-energy fighter with a knack for unconventional tactics.

Their arrival was a turning point.

I was inspecting the desalination system one morning when Hyewon approached me, her movements were measured but purposeful. She didn’t say much at first—just hovered nearby, watching as I adjusted a valve. Finally, she spoke.

“You really run this place?” she asked, her tone neutral but her eyes cautious.

“I guess so,” I replied with a shrug. “Not much of a title, but I try to keep things running smoothly.”

She nodded, her expression softening slightly. “You treat slayers… differently.”

“Differently how?”

“Like people,” she said simply. “My last group didn’t.”

Before I could respond, Tsuki bounded up, her energy a stark contrast to Hyewon’s reserved demeanor.

“This place is amazing!” she exclaimed, practically bouncing on her heels. “Food, water, even showers! And no one’s looking at us like we’re monsters.” She paused, giving me a wide grin. “You’re the boss, right?”

“I wouldn’t call myself that,” I said, standing up and wiping my hands on a rag. “But I try to keep everyone alive.”

“Well, count me in!” Tsuki declared, sticking out her hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Hyewon, still standing a few feet away, added quietly, “Me neither.”

At first, their attachment was subtle. Hyewon would shadow me during supply runs, her sharp eyes scanning for threats. Tsuki, on the other hand, was more overt, always offering to help with repairs or sparring with other slayers under my supervision.

But as more survivors arrived, the camp’s dynamics began to shift. With new faces came new opinions—and new power struggles.

One evening, after a long day of clearing more space in the base for new arrivals, a meeting was called in the main hall. It was supposed to be a discussion about resource management, but it quickly spiraled into a debate over leadership.

“Daigo’s done a great job, but we need more structure,” a man named Mark, one of the newer arrivals, said. “We can’t just rely on one person’s decisions.”

“I agree,” chimed in Lisa, a former teacher who’d quickly become a voice for the non-slayer survivors. “We should have a council or something. It’s too risky to have all the power in one person’s hands.”

“I don’t think he’s been abusing it,” Dahyun countered, her voice calm but firm.

Mark shot her a look. “That’s not the point. The camp’s grown too big for one person to handle.”

Before I could speak, Tsuki jumped to her feet.

“Are you kidding me?” she said, her voice rising. “Daigo’s the reason this place isn’t a pile of ash. If it weren’t for him, half of you wouldn’t even be here!”

Hyewon, still seated, added quietly but pointedly, “He treats slayers like equals. That’s more than I can say for most of you.”

The room grew tense, the divide between slayers and non-slayers suddenly glaring.

“I’m not saying we don’t appreciate him,” Mark said, his tone defensive. “But this camp belongs to all of us, not just the slayers.”

“And yet you’re here because of us,” Chodan interjected, standing next to Dahyun. “You think you’d survive a day out there without us?”

The argument grew louder, voices overlapping as the group fractured into factions. Some sided with Mark and Lisa, calling for more democratic leadership. Others, particularly the slayers, stood by me, pointing out the unique challenges we faced in keeping everyone alive.

I raised my hand, and slowly the room quieted.

“Enough,” I said, my voice firm but not angry. “This isn’t about me, or anyone else. It’s about survival. We can figure out the leadership structure later. Right now, we focus on what matters: keeping this camp safe and functional.”

The room was silent for a moment, then Lisa spoke up. “Fair enough. But this conversation isn’t over.”

She and Mark left the hall, and slowly, others followed, leaving only the slayers and a few loyal survivors. Tsuki crossed her arms, glaring at the door.

“They don’t get it,” she muttered.

“They’re scared,” I said, leaning against the table. “Can’t blame them for that.”

Hyewon stood, her gaze steady. “You’re too nice, Daigo. But that’s why we trust you.”

Chodan nodded, and even Dahyun offered a rare smile.

As the others filed out, I sat alone in the hall for a while, the weight of the growing camp pressing down on me. Leadership wasn’t something I’d ever asked for, but it seemed I didn’t have much of a choice.

Later that night I found myself struggling to sleep. My quarters were as simple as it got: a small bed with a lumpy mattress, a desk buried under maps and scavenged files, and a single lamp casting just enough light to keep the darkness at bay. After the day I’d had, all I wanted was to pass out. But sleep wasn’t coming easily. Too many faces were swimming in my head—worried faces, hopeful faces, faces looking to me for answers.

I was lying there, staring at the ceiling, when a soft knock came at the door.

“It’s open,” I called, too tired to sit up.

The door creaked open, and I glanced over to see Chodan stepping inside. She looked calm, but I knew her well enough by now to notice the subtle tension in her posture.

“Hey,” she said, closing the door behind her. “Figured you’d still be awake.”

“Barely,” I muttered, letting my head fall back onto the pillow. “What’s up?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she walked over to the bed and knelt down beside me. Before I could ask what she was doing, I felt her hands on my shoulders.

“What are you—”

“You’re tense,” she interrupted, already working at the knots in my muscles. “Let me help.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but the words didn’t come. Her hands were strong, and as much as I wanted to protest, I couldn’t deny it felt good. So I just sighed and let her work, the tension slowly melting away.

“You’ve got your hands full,” she said after a while, her tone light. “Especially with your little ducklings.”

“My what now?” I asked, glancing at her out of the corner of my eye.

“Hyewon and Tsuki,” she said with a smirk. “They’ve imprinted on you like a couple of baby ducks.”

I groaned, rolling my eyes. “They’re not ducklings. They’re just… adjusting.”

“Adjusting to following you around like lost puppies?” she teased. “You can’t take two steps without one of them popping up to ask if you need anything.”

“They’re slayers,” I said defensively. “They’ve been through hell. Of course they’re going to stick close to someone who treats them with basic respect.”

Chodan’s smirk softened into something more thoughtful. “And that’s exactly why they follow you, you know. Most people don’t look at us the way you do.”

“The way I do?”

“Like we’re just people,” she said quietly. “Not monsters. Not weapons. Just… people.”

I was silent for a moment, staring up at the ceiling. “Because you are just people,” I said finally. “You didn’t ask for this any more than the rest of us asked for zombies. You’re just trying to survive like everyone else.”

Chodan’s hands stilled on my shoulders, and when I looked over, her expression was softer than I’d ever seen it.

“That’s not how everyone sees it,” she said. “Since more survivors started showing up, Dahyun and I… we’ve felt it. The whispers, the stares. It’s like we don’t belong here anymore. Like we’re dangerous.”

I sat up, brushing her hands aside so I could look her in the eye. “You belong here,” I said firmly. “Both of you. I don’t care what anyone else thinks.”

She studied me for a long moment, then smiled—a small, genuine smile that made her look younger, almost vulnerable. “You’re a strange guy, Daigo,” she said. “But I think that’s why people follow you. Even when they don’t agree with you, they trust you.”

I chuckled, leaning back against the wall. “Strange, huh? I’ll take it.”

Chodan tilted her head, her smile turning sly again. “You know, you’ve done more than any of us. You’re not a slayer, but you’ve taken down more zombies than all of us combined. And you’re immune on top of that. It’s like you’re something else entirely.”

“Just a guy with a lot of stubbornness and a decent punch,” I said with a shrug.

She shook her head. “No, you’re more than that. You’ve earned a title.”

I raised an eyebrow. “A title?”

She nodded, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Yeah. From now on, you’re ‘The Vanquisher.’”

I laughed, shaking my head. “The Vanquisher? That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

“Maybe,” she said with a grin. “But it fits. You’re the guy who doesn’t back down, no matter what’s in front of you. And you’ve given all of us hope. You deserve it.”

For a moment, I didn’t know what to say. Finally, I managed, “Thanks, Chodan. That… means a lot.”

She stood, stretching and giving me one last playful look. “Get some rest, Vanquisher. Tomorrow’s another busy day.”

As she left the room, I lay back down, the weight on my chest feeling a little lighter. For the first time in weeks, I drifted off to sleep with a small smile on my face.

The door to my quarters closed softly behind Chodan, but her teasing smirk lingered in my mind as I lay back down. Her parting remark about my “little ducklings” had been a low blow. She wasn’t wrong, though. Tsuki and Hyewon had latched onto me like lost kids, which wasn’t a problem—until you factored in Chodan and Dahyun, who had both been… friendlier lately.

I didn’t know what to make of it. They were strong, capable women, and maybe I was imagining things, but their lingering glances and playful jabs felt like more than camaraderie. It was something I’d need to ask them about. Tomorrow, I decided.

Only tomorrow didn’t start the way I planned.

The yelling pulled me from a restless sleep. I threw on my boots and stepped out into the chilly morning air to find Gil, Eunha’s boyfriend, squaring off with one of Martin’s goons.

“You left her to die!” Gil snarled, shoving the guy hard enough that he stumbled.

Martin’s man pushed back, and before things escalated further, I stepped between them. “What’s going on here?”

Gil’s chest was heaving, his hands clenched into fists. “Eunha’s out there, Daigo. Alone. She got bit because of them!”

Martin sauntered up, wearing his usual smug expression. “It’s simple,” he said, shrugging like this wasn’t life and death. “She wasn’t cut out for supply runs. Not my problem.”

For a second, I was too stunned to respond. I glanced back at Gil, who looked ready to explode, and said the only thing I could. “Let’s go get her.”

The commotion had drawn a crowd. Lisa’s group, always eager for drama, arrived first. Mark wasn’t far behind, his posse trailing like shadows.

“What’s going on?” Lisa asked, her tone sharp.

“This crazy bastard is going to help that lovesick idiot find his zombie girlfriend,” Martin sneered.

I ignored him, turning instead to Chodan and Dahyun, who had pushed their way through the growing throng. I handed them the site keycards without a word. If something happened to me, they’d keep the camp together.

Before I could leave, Tsuki and Hyewon appeared, weapons already strapped on.

“We’re coming with you,” Tsuki said, her tone resolute.

I sighed but didn’t argue. It wasn’t worth the fight. The four of us set out, Gil fuming silently at my side while Hyewon and Tsuki kept pace behind us.

Once we were out of earshot of the camp, my frustration boiled over.

“Those idiots are going to get everyone killed,” I growled, my voice low but seething.

Gil, Tsuki, and Hyewon stopped in their tracks, stunned.

“They’re so caught up in their fear and egos that they’re making stupid choices,” I continued, pacing now. “And when they screw up, people die. Or worse, they turn into slayers.”

Gil looked at me, shocked. “I… I didn’t realize…”

I stopped and pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to keep my temper in check. “It’s not your fault, Gil. You’re good. They’re the ones twisting everything. These supply runs? They’re not about survival. They’re about power. Credibility. They’re trying to build themselves up while tearing the rest of us down.”

The others didn’t reply, their silence heavy. We reached the edge of the horde soon after. Eunha was there, fighting for her life, her movements erratic but fierce.

I whistled, drawing the zombies’ attention away from her. “Let’s get her out of this mess.”

When we returned to the camp, Eunha was barely conscious. Her slayer transformation was starting, and it wasn’t going to be pleasant. I sent Gil to the infirmary with her while I headed back toward the center of camp.

That’s when I saw them—a new group of survivors, all slayers. And among them, three familiar faces: Momo Hirai, Sana Minatozaki, and Mina Myoui.

Dahyun’s cry of joy echoed through the air as she ran to embrace her friends. The reunion was heartwarming, but it didn’t last long. Lisa, Mark, and Martin arrived like clockwork, their expressions darkening the moment they spotted the new arrivals.

“Who are they?” Lisa demanded, her voice like a whip crack.

Sana stepped forward, her radiant smile disarming. “We’re survivors, just like you. And we’re slayers. We can help.”

The word “slayers” hit like a bomb. I watched as Lisa’s face twisted in disgust, while Mark and Martin exchanged uneasy glances.

“No,” Lisa said, her voice dripping with venom. “We have enough slayers already.”

Something inside me snapped.

I stepped forward, my presence enough to silence the crowd. “I am sick and tired of your bullshit,” I said, my voice low and measured, every word cutting like a blade.

The tension in the air was palpable as I continued, “We’re all just trying to survive, and you three are doing the absolute most while somehow doing the least. You put people in danger, then leave them for dead. Why? For what? Por qué? 무어?”

Lisa, to her credit, didn’t back down. “You protect these freaks because two of them are your paramours,” she spat.

The camp went deathly quiet. My vision blurred at the edges as my anger surged. For a brief moment, I felt something—something primal, something dark—stir within me.

I stepped closer to Lisa, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Do you know what the Black Rage is?”

She hesitated, but her defiance didn’t waver. “No.”

I leaned in, my gaze locked on hers. “It’s from Warhammer 40k. There’s a militia cursed with it because their leader, Sanguinius, sacrificed himself to save the galaxy. It’s a state of murderous blind rage that festers in the soul, brought out under massive stress. Your words, Lisa, are pushing me there.”

She paled but didn’t respond.

I straightened, addressing the entire camp now. “If you don’t want slayers here, you can leave. But while I’m leading this settlement, you will treat them with respect and dignity. Am I clear?”

The silence that followed was deafening. Finally, Lisa turned and stormed off, Mark and Martin trailing behind her.

As I looked back at the camp, my eyes met Sana’s. She smiled softly, a look of gratitude and understanding that made the tension in my chest ease just a little.

Scene: “The Breaking Point” (Revised Ending)

The silence was unbearable as Lisa stormed off, Mark and Martin following behind like shadows. I exhaled deeply, trying to steady my racing heart. The crowd began to disperse, though I could feel their eyes on me—some wide with awe, others wary, as if they’d seen something they couldn’t quite explain.

My knuckles ached. I looked down and realized my fists were clenched so tightly they’d gone white. Slowly, I loosened them, flexing my fingers as I willed the anger to fade.

That’s when I heard it—a whisper, faint but undeniable.

“Daigo?”

I turned to see Tsuki and Hyewon standing nearby, both looking more shaken than I’d ever seen them. Tsuki’s usual bubbly demeanor was gone, replaced by an unease that didn’t suit her. Hyewon seemed like she wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words.

“What is it?” I asked, my voice rougher than I intended.

The two exchanged glances before Tsuki stepped forward hesitantly. “Your eyes…” she began, her voice barely above a whisper.

“What about them?” I asked, frowning.

“They… changed,” she said. “For a second, they weren’t… normal.”

Hyewon nodded, adding softly, “And we heard something.”

“What do you mean, something?” I asked, feeling a knot form in my stomach.

“It was like… a crack,” Tsuki said, her hands gesturing as if she could grasp the sound. “Not outside. Inside you. Like something broke open.”

I stared at them, my mind racing. A part of me wanted to brush it off, to say they were imagining things. But the way they looked at me—half in awe, half in fear—told me they weren’t exaggerating.

“I don’t know what you think you saw or heard,” I said finally, my voice steady despite the storm brewing inside me. “But I’m fine.”

Tsuki frowned, stepping closer. “Are you? Because I don’t think anyone else could have stood up to Lisa like that. Or said what you did.”

Hyewon nodded again, her voice gaining strength. “You didn’t just talk to them, Daigo. You commanded them. It was… different.”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “I’m just tired of their crap, that’s all.”

“But it’s more than that,” Tsuki pressed. “You don’t act like the rest of us. You don’t feel like the rest of us. Even the slayers here—none of us have done what you’ve done. It’s like…” She hesitated, searching for the right words.

“Like what?” I asked, my patience wearing thin.

“Like you’re something else,” she said, meeting my eyes with a mixture of curiosity and reverence.

Hyewon nodded one last time, her expression solemn. “Something more.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and undeniable. I didn’t know how to respond, so I didn’t. Instead, I turned and walked away, their voices echoing in my mind.

Scene: “Something More” (Expanded)

Something more.

The words lingered in my head like an echo, an itch I couldn’t scratch. As I made my way back to my quarters, exhaustion hit me like a freight train. My legs gave out beneath me, and the world went dark.

When I came to, the sterile smell of the infirmary greeted me. My body ached in ways I couldn’t describe. The faint hum of machinery filled the air, and the soft glow of fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.

A familiar voice pulled me back to reality. “Well, you did turn,” the nurse said, her smile a mix of wariness and curiosity.

I frowned, propping myself up on the thin cot. “I’m immune,” I replied, my voice gravelly.

The nurse raised an eyebrow, her lips quirking into an almost playful smirk. “Didn’t say normal,” she retorted.

She moved to the counter and grabbed a set of charts and X-rays, holding them up for me to see. “Take a look at this.”

The first X-ray showed something alien—a massive growth in my chest, a twisted knot of tissue that seemed to intertwine with every major organ. My stomach churned just looking at it.

“What the hell is that?” I asked, the unease creeping into my voice.

“That,” the nurse said, flipping to the next image, “was in your chest.”

I blinked. The second X-ray was… different. The growth was gone. In its place was something just as bizarre: a second heart, perfectly formed and sitting comfortably next to the first.

I stared at the images, my mind struggling to process what I was seeing. “How?” was all I managed to say.

The nurse set the charts down and folded her arms. “When you were exposed to the necrophage virus, your body didn’t react like a normal immune person’s. Instead of fighting it off or succumbing to it, your body… evolved. It built that growth to house the virus, to contain it. And then, over time, your body started to metabolize the virus, integrating it into your cells.”

I rubbed my temples, trying to keep up. “So, what? I was a carrier?”

The nurse shook her head. “Not quite. The virus never spread from you like it would from a typical carrier. Instead, it stayed inside that structure. But yesterday, something changed. That growth cracked open. Your body finished… whatever it was doing.”

I felt a cold sweat forming. “What does that mean? Am I a slayer now?”

The nurse tilted her head, studying me like I was some rare specimen. “Honestly? I don’t know what you are,” she admitted. “But here’s what I do know: your body has fully integrated the virus into its DNA. You’ve got new cells—ones I’m calling D-cells, because, well…” She grinned. “Your name’s Daigo. Thought it was fitting.”

I rolled my eyes, but her grin didn’t falter.

“These D-cells are doing things I’ve never seen before,” she continued. “They’re healing you, regulating you, enhancing you. And that second heart? It’s not just an extra organ. It’s part of the whole system now, like your body’s leveling up in ways I can’t fully understand yet. I’ll need to do more tests, but…” She hesitated.

“But what?” I pressed.

She leaned in slightly, her tone turning serious. “Daigo, you’re not human anymore. Not entirely, anyway.”

The words hit me harder than I expected. I sat there, letting them sink in.

After a moment, I swung my legs off the cot and stood up, testing my balance. My body felt… different. Stronger. Lighter, even.

The nurse watched me carefully. “Also,” she added with a sly smile, “don’t tell anyone about this. I’m the only one who knows, and honestly? I like you in charge. My boyfriend is a slayer and you make us feel welcome. Don’t want anyone getting ideas.”

I chuckled despite myself. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Just don’t go growing a third heart or sprouting wings, okay?” she teased, already jotting down notes on her clipboard.

I walked out of the infirmary, her words replaying in my mind. Not human anymore.

And yet, as unsettling as that was, a part of me couldn’t help but wonder what that meant for the future.

I barely made it ten steps from the infirmary when I heard hurried footsteps behind me. I turned just as Dahyun came barreling toward me, her eyes wide and shimmering with emotion. Before I could say a word, her arms were around me, clutching me like I was about to disappear.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice breaking slightly.

“For what?” I asked, startled.

She pulled back just enough to look at me, her hands still gripping my jacket. “For Momo, Sana, and Mina. For bringing them in, for standing up for them. For keeping them safe.”

I blinked, caught off guard by the intensity of her gratitude. “Dahyun, they’re survivors. Of course I’m going to protect them.”

She shook her head fiercely. “No, it’s more than that. You didn’t just let them in; you defended them. You treated them like people. You don’t know how rare that is for slayers—how rare that is for us.” Her voice wavered on the last word, and I realized she was trembling.

I placed my hands on her shoulders, steadying her. “Hey, it’s okay. They’re here now. You don’t have to worry about them anymore.”

Her grip on my jacket tightened. “You don’t understand. Do you know what it felt like to see them again? To see their faces after thinking I’d never—” She stopped, her voice catching in her throat.

I waited, giving her the space to collect herself.

“They were my family,” she continued softly. “Before all of this, before the outbreak… we were together. We were everything to each other. And then I lost them. I thought I’d never see them again.”

Her tears spilled over, but she didn’t seem to care. “And now they’re here, alive, because of you.”

I didn’t know what to say. Words felt inadequate, so I did the only thing I could think of: I pulled her into a hug. She buried her face in my chest, her sobs muffled against me.

“You’re safe now,” I said quietly. “All of you.”

For a moment, we just stood there, the weight of everything unspoken between us.

When Dahyun finally pulled back, her expression had shifted. The tears were still there, but her gaze was steady, determined.

“You’re more than just a leader, Daigo,” she said. “You’re… you’re a protector. For all of us.”

I scratched the back of my neck, feeling a little uncomfortable with the intensity of her praise. “I’m just doing what needs to be done.”

She smiled, a mixture of sadness and warmth. “You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

Before I could respond, she leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to my cheek. It wasn’t romantic—it was more like a gesture of gratitude, of trust.

“Thank you,” she said again, her voice steady now. “For everything.”

Scene: “Two Heartbeats”

As Dahyun hugged me, her head pressed against my chest, I noticed her shift slightly. Her body stiffened, and she pulled back just enough to stare at me, her brow furrowed in confusion.

“Wait…” she whispered, her hands pressing gently against my chest. “Daigo…”

I froze. “What is it?”

Her gaze darted to my chest, then back to my face. “I… I felt two heartbeats.”

I tried to play it off, forcing a dry chuckle. “You must be imagining things. Probably the adrenaline—”

“Don’t lie to me,” she interrupted, her tone firm, her eyes narrowing. “Daigo, I know what I felt.”

For a moment, I debated what to say. The nurse’s words about keeping it secret echoed in my mind. I let out a slow breath, keeping my voice calm but firm.

“You can’t tell anyone about this,” I said, lowering my voice. “Not a soul. Promise me.”

Dahyun’s eyes widened, but she nodded. “I promise. But… Daigo, what’s going on? What’s happening to you?”

I hesitated, knowing I owed her some explanation. “It’s… complicated. I’ll explain later, okay? Just trust me for now.”

She didn’t look convinced, but she nodded slowly. “Okay. But I’m not letting this go.”

“Fair enough,” I said, offering her a faint smile to ease the tension. “Just… keep it between us.”

She nodded again, reluctantly letting the subject drop, but the concern in her eyes didn’t fade as she walked away.

Scene: “Confrontation”

Later that evening, I was back in my quarters, sprawled on my bed, trying to process everything. My body felt heavier than usual, like my own heartbeat—their rhythm—was a constant reminder that I was no longer the same.

A knock on my door snapped me out of my thoughts. Before I could answer, the door creaked open, and Dahyun and Chodan stepped inside.

I sat up, my instincts telling me this wasn’t a casual visit. “What’s up?”

Chodan folded her arms, her gaze sharp. “Don’t ‘what’s up’ us, Daigo. Dahyun told me.”

I shot Dahyun a look, but she raised her hands defensively. “I didn’t tell her everything! Just… enough. We’re worried about you.”

Chodan stepped closer, her voice softer now. “She said you’ve got two heartbeats. What’s going on? Are you okay?”

I sighed, knowing there was no avoiding this. “Close the door,” I said.

Dahyun obeyed, and both of them sat down on the edge of the bed, their expressions a mix of concern and curiosity.

“I went to the infirmary earlier,” I began. “After I collapsed. The nurse ran some tests… and apparently, I’m not human anymore.”

Both of their eyes widened.

“Not human?” Dahyun echoed.

Chodan leaned forward. “Explain.”

I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling the weight of their stares. “The virus… the necrophage or whatever it’s called. It didn’t infect me like it does everyone else. My body ignored it, adapted to it instead. It built this… structure in my chest to house the virus, and eventually, it merged with me on a cellular level.”

Dahyun looked horrified. “So… you’re infected?”

“No,” I said quickly. “Not like that. I’m immune, but the virus evolved inside me. It’s part of me now. My body has these new cells—D-cells, the nurse called them. They heal me, regulate me, even enhance me a little. But when that structure in my chest broke open, it triggered something… different. That’s when the second heart formed.”

Chodan whistled low, sitting back. “Damn. That’s… a lot.”

“You think?” I said dryly.

Dahyun looked at me, her voice trembling. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“The nurse told me to keep it secret,” I admitted. “If people find out, it could cause chaos. They already look to me as a leader. If they knew I wasn’t… normal, it could go either way. They’d either worship me like some kind of savior or fear me like a monster. Neither is good for the camp.”

Chodan nodded slowly, processing. “Okay, I get it. But Daigo, you can’t keep this to yourself. If something happens—”

“Nothing’s going to happen,” I cut her off, my tone firmer than I intended. “I’m fine. Better than fine, actually. And for now, the fewer people who know, the better.”

Dahyun hesitated, then reached out to place a hand on mine. “We won’t tell anyone. But you have to promise us something.”

“What?” I asked.

Chodan leaned in, her tone serious. “If anything changes—if you start feeling worse, or different—you come to us. No hiding, no tough-guy act. Deal?”

I looked between them, seeing the genuine concern in their eyes. I nodded. “Deal.”

Dahyun exhaled in relief, and Chodan gave me a faint smirk. “Good. Now get some rest, Vanquisher. You’ve got a camp full of idiots to deal with tomorrow.”

I chuckled despite myself. “Thanks for the reminder.”

As the door clicked shut behind them, I hesitated for a moment before speaking.

“Hey… can you two stay the night with me?”

Dahyun and Chodan both turned to me, their eyes widening in surprise. They exchanged a quick glance, silent communication passing between them, before Dahyun gave a small smile and nodded.

“Of course,” she said softly.

“Sure thing, big guy,” Chodan added, her tone teasing but warm.

I felt a small wave of relief as they started settling in. At first, there was some debate about the sleeping arrangement.

“You’re in the middle,” Chodan declared, pointing at me.

Dahyun laughed, shaking her head. “No way. If he’s in the middle, he’ll be too stiff to sleep. I’ll take the middle.”

Chodan raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

“Positive,” Dahyun replied, giving her a playful shove.

In the end, Dahyun ended up sandwiched between us. Somehow, it felt… right. Too right.

As we all lay there, I couldn’t help but notice the way their warmth seeped into me, calming a part of my mind that was always on high alert. Their presence, their quiet breathing, the shared comfort—it was disgusting how good it felt.

I slept better that night than I had in years.

The morning light filtered through the cracked blinds, and I woke to find Dahyun already sitting up, her hair slightly mussed as she stretched. Chodan was still sprawled out, half-asleep, but her eyes opened when she noticed me stir.

“Morning,” Dahyun said with a smile, her voice soft and pleasant.

Chodan grinned lazily, propping herself up on an elbow. “You look like you actually slept for once.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yeah, I did.”

As I sat up, I glanced between them, both looking so at ease, so… perfect in this moment. My chest tightened with something I couldn’t quite name, and before I could stop myself, the words came out.

“Okay, it’s official. I love both of you.”

The room froze. Dahyun’s cheeks turned a deep red, her lips parting in surprise. Chodan, for once, looked genuinely caught off guard, her usual confidence replaced with wide eyes and a blush creeping up her neck.

“W-What?” Dahyun stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Chodan let out a nervous laugh, scratching the back of her head. “Well, uh… that’s one hell of a way to start the morning.”

I ran a hand through my hair, suddenly feeling more exposed than I ever had in my life. But I pressed on, because if I didn’t say it now, I might never.

“Listen, I don’t want to hurt either of you,” I said, my voice quieter now. “But I also don’t want to be alone anymore. I… I don’t think I can handle choosing between you. I care about both of you too much.”

They both stared at me for a long moment, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I couldn’t read the room.

Dahyun finally broke the silence, her voice trembling but sincere. “We… we don’t want to hurt you either, Daigo.”

Chodan nodded, her usual bravado replaced with something softer. “Yeah. We get it.”

The tension eased slightly, and I gave them a small, grateful smile. “Thank you. For understanding.”

I stood up, stretching and preparing myself for another day in the chaos outside. “Let’s just take things one step at a time, okay?”

As I headed for the door, I glanced back at them one last time. Dahyun was fiddling with the hem of her shirt, her blush still lingering, while Chodan gave me a look that was equal parts amused and thoughtful.

I stepped outside, the weight of the camp’s problems settling back onto my shoulders. But for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel completely alone.

The morning air was crisp, the faint hum of the camp stirring to life all around me. But the moment I stepped into the central yard, I could feel the tension in the air like a cord stretched too tight. Mark, Lisa, and Martin were waiting for me near the supply tent, their expressions carefully neutral. Too carefully neutral.

“Daigo,” Lisa greeted, her voice dripping with faux warmth. “We wanted to have a word with you about some… concerns.”

I stopped a few feet from them, crossing my arms. “Concerns about what?”

Martin stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back like some kind of self-appointed general. “Leadership. We’ve been talking, and we’re worried you might be… overburdened.”

The words were polite, but the tone was anything but.

“Overburdened,” I repeated, my eyes narrowing.

Mark, who had been quiet until now, leaned against a nearby crate, feigning nonchalance. “It’s not personal, Daigo. It’s just… you’re young. This camp needs someone with experience, someone who knows how to make the hard calls.”

I felt a flicker of something at the edge of my vision—something imperceptible to anyone else but clear as day to me. My mind was racing, processing their every movement, every twitch, every glance they cast at each other. Their words didn’t align with their bodies.

Lisa’s arms were crossed tightly, her fingers gripping her elbows like she was holding herself together. Her gaze darted between Mark and Martin when she spoke, looking for approval she didn’t fully trust she’d get.

Martin’s jaw was clenched, his shoulders slightly hunched, as if he were bracing for something. He avoided making eye contact with Mark altogether, his focus squarely on me.

Mark’s relaxed posture was an act, his fingers tapping a subtle rhythm on the crate’s edge. The tapping stopped every time Lisa spoke, only to resume when Martin chimed in.

They weren’t united. Not really.

They weren’t a team; they were a loose coalition of distrust, bound together by their mutual disdain for Slayers—and for me.

“You think I’m ill-suited for leadership,” I said, cutting through whatever diplomatic phrasing they were about to throw at me.

Lisa hesitated, her lips parting as if to argue, but Martin stepped in quickly. “We just think the camp might benefit from a more… collective approach.”

“Right,” I said slowly. “A collective approach where the three of you call the shots.”

Mark smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “We’re not saying that. We just think you’ve got a lot on your plate. You’ve been making some questionable calls, like bringing in more Slayers. It’s upsetting people.”

I tilted my head, my mind still cataloging every twitch and glance. Lisa didn’t agree with Mark’s phrasing; her lips pressed into a thin line when he spoke. Martin didn’t either—his fingers flexed briefly, like he wanted to grab Mark by the collar and shut him up.

They weren’t here for the camp. They were here for themselves.

“You know what I think?” I said, my voice calm, almost conversational.

Lisa raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

“I think the three of you don’t trust each other any more than you trust me,” I said bluntly. “And the only thing keeping you from tearing each other apart is your shared desire for power.”

Their reactions were immediate, though none of them spoke. Lisa’s arms uncrossed, her hands balling into fists. Martin’s shoulders squared, and his mouth opened as if to argue, but I cut him off.

“You think because I’m younger than you, you can manipulate me. Make me doubt myself. Convince me that I’m not capable of leading this camp. But let me tell you something.”

I took a step closer, my voice low but firm.

“I’ve seen what fear and desperation do to people. I’ve seen what happens when you let ambition cloud your judgment. This camp doesn’t need more politicians. It needs people who are willing to get their hands dirty. People who put survival over ego.”

Lisa took a step back, her confidence faltering. Mark’s smirk disappeared entirely, replaced by a tight-lipped glare. Martin, for all his posturing, looked like he wanted to be anywhere else.

“I don’t trust you,” I said plainly. “Not because you disagree with me, but because I see through you. And if you think you can divide this camp, undermine me, or turn people against each other, let me make one thing clear: I won’t let that happen.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

“Are we done here?” I asked, my tone making it clear the conversation was over.

Lisa opened her mouth, then closed it, glaring at me like she wanted to say something but thought better of it. Mark and Martin exchanged a glance, their earlier bravado now replaced with unease.

“Yeah,” Martin finally muttered, his voice lacking the confidence it had earlier. “We’re done.”

They turned and walked away, their uneasy silence speaking louder than any argument could have.

Lust’s voice slid into my thoughts before I even saw her.

“Brooding doesn’t suit you, Daigo.”

I turned and found her leaning against a pole, arms crossed, watching me like I was some puzzle she’d already figured out. Lust always had this effortless confidence about her, like she knew exactly where she stood and where everyone else didn’t.

“Lust,” I said, keeping my tone neutral. “What do you want?”

She tilted her head, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Saw you dealing with the Three Stooges over there. Figured I’d save you before your brain melted from their bullshit.”

I huffed out a faint laugh despite myself. “Thanks, but I’m good. If you’ve got something to say, say it.”

She pushed off the pole and took a slow step forward, her smirk fading into something more serious. “Alright, then. Let’s cut to the chase. We need to talk about the Slayers’ place in this camp.”

Her words hit me harder than I expected, but I kept my face blank. “Go on.”

She gestured around us with a sweep of her arm. “This camp is crumbling, Daigo. You can feel it, can’t you? The survivors are scared of us. Some of them outright hate us. And those three idiots you just dealt with? They’re not going to stop until they take control. They see us as a threat—something they can’t predict, something they can’t control.”

“They’re wrong,” I said firmly.

“Of course they are,” she shot back with a shrug. “But what does that matter? What matters is perception. And right now, we’re the monsters under their beds, the things keeping them up at night.”

I folded my arms, trying to keep my frustration in check. “What’s your point?”

“My point,” she said, stepping closer, “is that maybe it’s time for us to move on.”

Her words threw me off balance. “You’re suggesting the Slayers leave the camp?”

“Not all of us,” she clarified. “But yeah, most of us. Think about it, Daigo. We’re stronger, faster, harder to kill. We don’t need the same resources they do. Half of them are terrified every time we walk past. We could be more useful out there—clearing zones, securing supplies, doing what we do best—without dragging this camp deeper into its own mess.”

I clenched my jaw, my thoughts racing. She wasn’t wrong. The tension between the Slayers and the regular survivors had been growing for weeks. Still, leaving? That felt like giving up.

“And what about the people here?” I asked. “The ones who rely on us? The ones who see us as hope?”

Her expression softened, and for a moment, she dropped the smirk she always wore like armor. “You think I don’t care about them? I do. But you can’t save everyone, Daigo. And if we stay here too long, we’re just going to make things worse—for them and for us.”

Her words hit harder than I wanted to admit. I looked away, staring at the horizon as doubts churned in my mind. “And where would we go?”

“That’s the thing about Slayers, isn’t it?” she said, her voice quieter now. “We don’t belong anywhere. We carve out a place for ourselves, or we die trying.”

I let her words sink in, the weight of them pressing down on my shoulders. She wasn’t wrong, but leaving wasn’t a decision I could make lightly.

“You’re not wrong,” I admitted, finally breaking the silence. “But I can’t make this decision on a whim.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” she said, her tone softer now. “You’re the leader. It’s your call. But think about it—for all our sakes.”

She turned to leave but paused and glanced back over her shoulder, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You’ve got a good heart, Daigo. Even if you’ve got two of them now.”

A few days later, I woke up to chaos. Shouting, pounding on my door—it felt like a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. Still half-asleep, I fumbled for my gauntlets and boots, instinct kicking in. Before I could even ask what was happening, the door slammed open, and a tide of bodies surged into my quarters.

They were on me before I could process anything. Arms grabbed at me, forcing my weapons from my hands. I swung once, twice, but there were too many. Too many voices, too many hands pulling me down. My head was spinning, and the shouts all blurred together until they were just noise.

“Traitor.” “Unfit.” “You’ve failed us.”

I heard bits and pieces, but none of it made sense. The more I struggled, the tighter they held me, their grip like iron as they dragged me out into the open. The morning sun was too bright, and the cold bit into my skin as if punishing me for something I didn’t even understand.

I tried to speak, but no one was listening. I stumbled as they pushed me forward, my boots scraping against the ground. The gauntlets weighed heavy on my wrists, my only connection to the strength I once thought I had.

They forced me past the camp’s main gates. My camp. The place I’d fought to protect. The people I’d bled for. And now, I was being tossed out like I was nothing.

The crowd gathered, a sea of faces filled with contempt, distrust, and apathy. No one spoke for me. No one stood in my defense.

Mark stood at the front, smug as ever, his voice carrying over the noise like a judge pronouncing a sentence. “You were a fool to think you could lead this place. You were never cut out for it. Now, get out.”

I clenched my fists, the leather of my gauntlets creaking under the strain. “You think this will end well for you?” My voice sounded weak even to me, the weight of it all pressing down.

Mark just smirked. “It’s not about you anymore.”

With that, he shoved me hard, sending me stumbling into the dirt. Behind me, the gates slammed shut, the echo like a final punctuation to the betrayal.

For a moment, I didn’t move. I couldn’t. My chest felt hollow, like someone had reached in and pulled out whatever kept me standing all this time. My gauntlets and boots—the only things they’d left me—felt like relics of a life I no longer belonged to.

I got to my feet eventually, numb and directionless, and started walking. Each step away from the camp felt heavier than the last. The cold air stung my face, but I didn’t bother wiping the tears that streaked my cheeks. They froze against my skin like scars.

By the time I reached my old safe house, I felt like a ghost, moving on autopilot. My motorcycle sat there, still as I’d left it, a reminder of a time when I thought I was building something good. I climbed on, gripping the handlebars, and kicked it to life.

I drove for hours, the road stretching endlessly ahead of me. California disappeared in the rearview mirror, replaced by the barren landscapes of Arizona. At a checkpoint, a guard asked for my name and my race.

“Daigo,” I said, my voice dry. “And I’m a Vanquisher.”

The guard laughed. “Well, you’re definitely not a zombie. Too funny for that.”

I forced a chuckle, but it felt hollow.

Eventually, I found myself in Colorado. The air was quiet there, too quiet. There were no zombies, no people, no purpose. Just me and my thoughts. I settled into a rhythm: work, eat, sleep. Repeat.

But the loneliness clawed at me. Nights were the worst. I’d lie awake, staring at the ceiling, thinking of Dahyun, Chodan, my ducklings. The camp. Even the ones who betrayed me. I missed them all, and the ache never went away.

Twenty-eight days passed like that. I told myself I was healing, but really, I was just surviving. Then I heard the news: a new group of slayers was moving into the area. I didn’t think much of it until I saw their vehicles rolling in.

The sight of familiar license plates made my chest tighten. I sat on my porch, sipping fruit punch, watching them unload. It was all too familiar. Too close to home.

Then I heard their voices. Two voices I’d know anywhere.

“Do you hear that?” “Yeah, it sounds like someone on this block has two hearts.”

I froze, my drink forgotten, and stood. When I saw them—Chodan and Dahyun—my heart felt like it might break all over again. They turned, and when they saw me, Chodan’s eyes welled up with tears as she rushed forward to hug me.

“Hey, big guy,” Dahyun said, her voice soft but steady.

I tried to smile, but it faltered when I saw the two men behind them. Slayers, obviously, their postures protective as they approached. My heart sank as Chodan and Dahyun introduced them—boyfriends.

I nodded, polite and distant, the ache in my chest threatening to swallow me whole. “Daigo,” I said, offering a handshake. “Just an old friend.”

They smiled, the moment slipping through my fingers like sand, and left me standing there.

As I walked back into my empty house, I felt the weight of my exile all over again. Even now, even here, I was still on the outside looking in.

[olderjodijournals]

Thursday, February 1, 2001

February has arrived and now I’m halfway home!

The 3rd shift DO will be on soon. Haven’t seen Temple for a while. I wonder if she’ll be on.

We had corndogs last night for dinner and chicken patties the night before. And always the same damn crackers for a snack. It’s better than nothing, but how about cake, pie or ice cream for a change? We rarely have cookies, either. Got a donut with breakfast maybe twice in the whole time I’ve been here.

I miss popcorn and my favorite hot foods. It’s nice to be able to buy candy, but I crave more chicken, fish, beef, Chinese and seafood! I miss those pizza pockets and so much more. I’ll probably get fat again when I get out, but I don’t care.

Tom will be here any sec to visit. Can’t wait to see him! Don’t know what I’d do without his visits.

The showers are hot again. I was surprised. Usually, when they go cold, they stay cold for a while.

I’m going to have to get new earbuds because mine is beginning to short. They’re cheap pieces of shit with thin wires. They sound good, though, and I’m surprised how loud this little thing goes.

Mena’s on now. Someone I don’t particularly care for or dislike. She’s just there. I see a definite pattern and I now know I can usually count on either Mena or Kahn working when I have visits. I wish Palma would work visitation for a change so Tom could see her, but it’s almost always McDurmont and Osborne. I heard Osborne was beaten and raped during the riot they had here in ‘96 and that’s why she only does visitation.

They carried on and on next door till 3:00 in the morning last night. Ida wasn’t too happy about it. Yeah, as soon as blacks hit the scene things get pretty loud.

Had a good visit with Tom. He didn’t get home last night till 9:00. Damn! That’s why he didn’t answer. Been working a lot of overtime. I worry about him when he gets this busy and tired, but he says he’ll be OK. I filled him in on Ida.

White Johnson asked us how much time we had left towards the end of our visit. Guess there were lots of visitors. Tom said I may have a wait when he left, but Johnson came right back for me. She recognized Tom right away from the picture I showed her in November of him with Ratsy. She’s got a damn good memory! Most people have garbage disposals for memories. I’m impressed.

We made small talk on the way back. She walked me all the way to M’s door, too. Usually, they just watch you walk down the hall from where the control station is. As we walked down the hall she asked, “So how ya doing?”

“Still hanging in there.”

Still have a crush on you, too.

The dinner cart was by the door and I asked what was for dinner. She was nice enough to take a peek for me. It was chicken patties.

“Not bad, huh?” she said.

It’d be better if you kissed me.

“It’s better than weenies.”

As I entered M, Mena pulled the cart in and Pancake Face Smith goes, “Will you hurry up so I can get something out of the office?”

Mena’s reply to that was, “Fuck you.”

I laughed and Smith says, “How unprofessional!”

How double-standard, too. The sheriff’s little servants can swear at each other, but God help us if we swear at them.

The lights will be going out soon, so I’ll have to write some other time about the very interesting chat I had with Ida earlier. She really is a good person. She’s totally out of place here. As different from most of these people as I am. You really can make a friend in jail! She says she will write when she gets out. I hope so. Tom asked if I knew who I’d be with after Ida leaves. I don’t want to know because I know they’re going to be bad. We’ll be far from compatible. Now that I’ve adjusted to jail life, I think I would prefer 3 compatible cellies in a big cell, over someone like Melinda in a small cell. I’m used to using the toilet in front of people now. I don’t like it and would not want to be caught on the toilet by Palma, but I can handle it.

Tom forgot to put money in today because he was tired but is going to put $40 in tomorrow. I really appreciate that because I want those backup earbuds ready for when these die on me. I play it full blast when Ida’s up, so they die faster when you play them as loud as I do.

Tom and I discussed my case some more and yes, I’m convinced that a motion to modify my sentence would be worthless. Ida’s case is different. Her lawyer, whom she paid 2 Gs for, didn’t ask for back-time and fucked up in other ways, too. She said she won’t tell me why she’s here; God forbid I should blow up at her in a week and blab it to everyone. I can’t see that happening at this point, but I understand. If we keep in touch on the outs, she’ll tell me when she’s ready to.

Ida asked me to ask Tom if I got the minimum, presumptive or max sentence, but I didn’t get either of these. I got the standard treatment for a class 6 felony. All undesignated F6 cases get 3 years’ probation and one of its terms is 6 months in jail.

But guilty or not, how can a fucking letter come under such a harsh sentence?!

I just wish I could prove the thing about the interpreter and that The Public defender lied and withheld info!

Friday, February 2, 2001

Deanna will be leaving soon. She swapped beds with Julia, which means Julia’s now next door. Poor Maria! Stuck with Julia again!

Lumia’s on now. I rarely see her or LaBorde or Lamm. Lamm was on last night and LaBorde was on yesterday’s 1st shift.

They took both Maria and Mindy to court last night. Most of the pod went to rec today because they had it later. I didn’t go because I slept till 12:30. Anyway, Ida said that Myra and Zapata got into a screaming match at rec yesterday. Mary told Ida to tell me she was an island (meaning, once you swim away from her, she’s hard to get back to, which is fucking Pancake Face Smith’s fault).

Somebody’s got to change these fucked up laws. How could anything someone writes be called a felony simply because it went through the mail? And what about the fact that the sick bitch had a choice? She could’ve thrown the shit out. Nobody forced her to read it. I was simply exercising my constitutional right to freedom of speech by sending those journal excerpts containing their activities, and how they can call that “stalking” beats the shit out of me. That is not stalking. Stalking is when you follow and call someone continually and leave notes directly on their doors. There’s nothing to say that they didn’t falsify evidence or add to it, though. In fact, I know someone had to because of that excerpt The Public Defender read to Tom that Tom told me about. The one saying I had a gun and was contemplating going out and shooting the kids for being rowdy and out of control. I’d never say that, number one. Number two, we never had a gun to shoot anybody with in the first place, and lastly, it wasn’t the kid’s fault. They were only doing what the sick adults coaxed them to do.

We all bear the title of ‘victim,’ in this case. The sick bitch, her pig friend, the public defender, the judge and myself. The only difference is that they have the letters ‘izer’ at the ends of their titles.

Ida was telling me that when she was mad at me, she wrote a list of my negative traits. I may be a bitch at times, but boy was she wrong when she listed me as ungrateful. She couldn’t be more wrong on that one. I’m just the opposite. I’ve been fucked over so badly so many times by so many people that that’s why I’m all the more grateful when someone does me good.

Ida says there’s a new girl in the lower big cell.

According to Ida, Mary’s to be extradited to Florida to do 10 years there. I was shocked to hear this. She never mentioned it to me.

Ida’s really been around, from what she tells me. She said she’s been to the bottom of the world and next she wants to go to the top of the world, as well as into outer space.

On her cruise to Antarctica, she met Sir Edmond Hillary, the first guy to climb Mt. Everest in Nepal. When Ida was telling him how she wanted to go to the North Pole, he said he’d already done that with Neil Armstrong, Ida’s idol. Ida admires Armstrong because he never cashed in on his experience of being the first man on the moon. Ida says Hillary got her a signed photograph of Armstrong.

Lopez is on now. She’s cool, but I could never picture myself with anyone like her. She’s smaller than me and too boyish-looking. Especially with her hair really short. I hate short hair. I couldn’t stand being with anyone who wasn’t taller than me and who was under 30, anyway.

Ida says she also likes Pierce Bronson, who faithfully stuck by his wife as she died of cancer. One day he was at the Fiesta mall in Dillard’s when Ida spotted him. He was doing some promo thing. Ida approached him and asked if he were Pierce. When he said he was, Ida commended him for sticking by his wife and got a signed photograph of him, too.

It’d be nice to see her traveling pictures someday. Especially the Concord ones. They sound really neat. Ida said that on the Concord, the windows are even smaller than on a regular plane. This is because of the pressure. From the Concord, you can see the earth’s curvature. The captain took a picture for her out the front windows and a picture of her standing in front of the window. She said it looks just like she was in outer space. That must be way cool.

She was telling me she was bummed out when she first learned her second kid was also going to be a boy. She wanted a daughter because you bond differently with them, she said. The boys bonded with Ron and she wanted a girl to bond with her.

She said she also wanted a daughter to leave her collectibles to. She’s got figurines, crystals and things like that. She said she’s hesitant to pass them on to her daughters-in-law because they wouldn’t appreciate the stuff and would probably sell it. So, seeing how much it meant to Ida, I let her know that if she wanted me to, I’d keep her stuff for her after she died and never sell it even if I didn’t like some of it or got sick of it. I’d set up an ‘Ida Display Case’ just for her. She’s only 60, though, so she’s got another 20 years or so to think about it.

She’s going through her bag of papers. She hasn’t found my little notes yet. I tore up pieces of letters, since they’re at home on my hard drive, and stuck them in the bag she keeps on the desk. She’ll know what there are, though, when she sees them. I’ve shown her my letters.

I miss singing regularly so much! But I want to do it in the comfort of my own home without an audience. Don’t know why I once wanted to be a singer on stage! I like privacy when doing my hobbies. I mean, if the family had a huge Christmas party or something like that, and had a live band, and asked me to sing a song or two, I would.

I hope it’s almost dinnertime. I am so hungry! I’m so sick of being so hungry a lot. Part of it is because I rarely eat breakfast or lunch. We haven’t had cereal for breakfast in days. Just those phony eggs and disgusting sausages and potatoes. The lunch meat’s been nothing but ham, so all I eat is the snacks. Even the juice is gross. It’s either that green or orange stuff. The dinner juice has been better, though. It’s been grape lately.

I want to go home so bad! I’m so homesick, bored and even a bit depressed right now. All I do is write, listen to tunes, and count the days. It’s one big waiting game. The stressful part is dodging being thrown into a big cell or being thrown with a psycho celly.

I want to hug and kiss my husband, play with Houdini, etc.!

I want my life back!

Ida says she was talking to some Indians on the bus to court about the money they get from casinos. I wish I were an Indian! A Pima Indian said she gets $1500 a month, a Navajo Indian said she gets $2000 a month, and an Apache said he gets $4000 a month and all for being an Indians!

I asked Maria how she likes it next door. She said it was OK. Yeah, I’d think so after all the laughing I’ve heard from her from over there.

Now Maria’s stinking the place up with bleach, cleaning the tables downstairs. She says she’s going to try to get into Alpha after the 15th. Please do, girl! That’d make one less person I don’t want to cell with for me to have to worry about getting stuck with. This compulsive cleaning Maria’s into is so not like Mexicans. Most of them live in nothing but pure filth. Why is she doing this shit now, anyway? This was supposed to be done on our hour out.

Ida said I’d be compatible with Sheila, who’s down in the big cell. She’s quiet and easy-going. Ida said she’d scare easily, though, if I yelled at her, so I’d have to be nice and not let my temper scare her. I don’t have much of a temper anymore, but not everyone would agree with that, I guess. It’s just that when you’ve been through what I’ve been through and are my size, you have to be pessimistic and on the defensive.

First I’d have to find out if she can be on the top tier (she has a bad leg) and if any of the DOs would be willing to move her up here if she agreed to it.

I appreciate Ida trying to keep the rude black nurse from banging on the door early in the morning, but it doesn’t do much good. This is because I can hear her screaming long before she reaches our door.

Dinner sucked, as usual. We got these super spicy weenies. I forced myself to eat some of it because I was starving, but my mouth burned like hell. Even my lips tingled. Ida was kind enough to give me some peanuts and split a Snickers bar with me. I’ll buy her another candy bar on Monday. Also, because I have no willpower, I’m going to get a couple of bags of peanuts that I’m going to have her hold for me for weenie nights.

Lopez is actually a pretty cool DO. She stopped and chatted with us for about 15 minutes. I never really got to know Lopez because I rarely see her. She’s usually escorting or in the dorms. According to her, Palma’s in B tower tonight. I asked if she’d see her later tonight, and she said yes. Then I asked if she’d tell her I said hi, and she said yes to that, too.

She said Palma’s been floating around a lot lately, and she feels that they should have the same DOs working the same areas so that they can get to know the inmates. I thought they didn’t want to get to know them.

True to what I thought was the case, Lopez said they don’t know where they’re going to work till they come into work, although their schedules are made up a week in advance and they can call in for it.

Lopez said B Tower’s for max, escape risks, closed custody and people who refuse to work. So, if I had refused to work, and if Rule hadn’t told me about Ad-Seg and what to say to get into it, I’d be doing my time in B tower. Tent DOs don’t work inside because the tents are considered to be a separate facility.

Saturday, February 3, 2001

Ida says that now that she knows Myra, Mindy and Lisa are in here on child abuse/molestation charges, she wonders if her befriending them was the right thing to do. Well, I wouldn’t be buddies with them, and I refuse to ever cell with Myra, Mindy or Zapata. They’re too loud and volatile.

Ida and I talked more about the places she’s lived and the jobs she’s had. She and Ron had a house in Mesa for 22 years, but then she decided she wanted a change. She says we won’t be living where we’re living in 20-30 years because I’ll want a change, too. We’ll see. Life might kill me by then.

When I write to her Mesa PO, and when she writes to me, we agreed to use the name Sylvia.

Brea was on 1st shift and now white Johnson’s on. She came in to chat with us for a few minutes, too. I recited some of the German phrases I’ve learned because Mary said she knew some German, but I fucked up, thanks to Ida and her telling me words meant what they didn’t. Now she’s got me all confused.

If I were looking for a girlfriend, I’d want someone just like Johnson. Palma may be a looker, but Johnson’s a looker and she’s got personality. We have some things in common, but not too much. I know most people like duplicates, but not me. I think opposites balance each other out better, although you do want to have some things in common. When you put two aggressive bitches like Palma and I together they just clash. Lately, I’ve been thinking less of Palma and more of Johnson. I was spying on her earlier when she was in the tower. It’s a habit of hers to touch her upper lip with the tip of her tongue.

Hey Officer, I can think of more productive things for you to do with that tongue of yours, you know. Gosh, listen to me! I sound like such a pig.

Ida was telling me of her days of writing for the Mesa Tribune and says she’ll send me some articles. She started with features, some of which she hated, like when she did a story on depression glass which she thinks is cheap and gaudy looking.

She’s done real estate, too. She had a problem when the paper wouldn’t let her expose shady builders. That’s how it is with the media. They prefer printing lies over the truth. And just like the courts go easy on major crimes and hard on the petty bullshit, the paper focuses mostly on the petty bullshit, and you don’t hear much about the murderers.

Johnson just walked by. A little stiffly, too.

I’ll massage those aches and pains for you, Officer.

For a brief time, Ida was a food critic, and again the paper didn’t have guts enough to speak the truth and let her tell it like it really was when she went to a lousy restaurant. So, she went back to features.

Ida told me about these space pens she has. They sound really cool. Astronauts use them. You can write upside down with them and even under water.

Loud-mouth Maria’s out now on her cleaning frenzy, screaming in Spanish at the spitter. A new girl’s in with the spitter. To my surprise, Monkey Face didn’t stink the place up with bleach after I asked her not to. Ida and I thought she would anyway.

Johnson loved the jokes Tom sent me. I figured she would. So will Hann and definitely Palma. I’ll probably show them to several DOs and inmates. Ida’s going to slip a sheet of male-bashing jokes next door on our hour out tomorrow, so they can all wonder where the hell it came from. The reason Ida will probably be the one to slip it over there is that I think we’re first to go out tomorrow. Too early for me to bother getting up.

There she goes again. Tall, redheaded and gorgeous.

In Tom’s letter, he mostly talked about his planting ideas and said that perhaps pigs would be good animals to start with.

He also says he’s going to call next week about getting me transferred to a Pinal County PO but isn’t it a little soon for that?

Anyway, I asked Tom to send more doll pictures in his next letter. That way I’ll have a wider variety of dolls to show people (you can only send in 5 pictures at a time that can be no bigger than 3x5).

I think the vitamins do help to give me more energy. I asked Tom if he thought spending $5 a week on them was worth it, and he agreed it was.

Tom would’ve laughed if he heard Ida bragging about how good she is at buying cars. She said she’s talked dealers down from $34,000 to $26,000. Ida says she loves buying cars and totally gets off on it and surprising those dealers with “all this little old lady knows.”

Ida says Phoenix is no place to raise kids.

The world is no place to raise kids.

It’s about 10:30 now and I’m listening to a 2-hour Gloria Estefan special. She had a small part in a movie that ought to be interesting to check out. She has a new Spanish album out now. I’ll bet Linda does, too. I’ll bet by now they both have English albums out as well.

The rude black nurse passed meds out a little while ago. Since when does she do 2nd shift? I’d rather the are-you-OK bitch work 2nd shift, although they’d just get some other rude asshole to bug us in the mornings. They do it a few times a week.

Ida was laughing when I told her my stage name was Mystery. “It’s so close to Misery,” she said.

Well, it was better than some of the names the other dancers had for me, like Bite Size.

Sunday, February 4, 2001

Chambers is on now and Bryant was on last night. She wasn’t snobby, though.

Now that my body’s used to eating so little, except for commissary, my body’s going to see the extra food I eat when I get out as extra calories and I’ll gain weight in no time. I don’t give a shit at this point. All I care about is getting out of here and back to Tom. I’m going to enjoy all the foods I’ve been missing and my coffee. Then someday down the road, if I decide to lose weight again, I will. When I was bitching to Tom before I came here about how much my appetite’s increased over the last few years, he said that maybe it was because I’m a happier person, and this may be true, although I certainly don’t want to be as miserable as I was in the past! Even with this shit that’s going on with me now, my 30s have been way better than my 20s.

I finally figured out a clever way to keep the cardboard from sliding down the pencil that I poked through it and jammed between the vent grill by putting a rubber band on the pencil. I’m surprised Palma and Misery never made us unblock vents.

Woke up tired this morning. At 10 AM it felt like 7 AM. At first I was pissed at Ida because she seemed to be bopping around more than usual, but it was a good time to get up. That way I can fall asleep a little earlier and beat some of the weekday commotions.

According to others, the showers are ice cold today and Chambers says they won’t be fixed till Tuesday. Well, once again, I don’t buy it. There’s nothing to “fix.” They’re fucking with it and it’s obvious. Hot water doesn’t “break” that often. Ida disagrees, saying they don’t have the equipment upgraded enough to handle all the people. Then what’s taking them so long to upgrade it? They have the money. I know that isn’t it and that they’re just playing with us and saving themselves a few bucks while they’re at it. I know they have the hot water turned completely off.

Chavez is on now. She’s OK. She remembered me and was like, “You’re over here now, huh?”

I told her I’ve been here since New Year’s. She obviously hasn’t worked here in a while.

Someone was banging on the big cell door downstairs. If they’re fighting, that’s their problem. I’m not moving!

Nope, they’re not fighting. This new butch we got in here with this ludicrous hairstyle pitched a fit because she didn’t get her meds. You mean to tell me we got another psych case in here? Great! Just fucking great.

Ida shocked me last night by snoring. It didn’t bother me, but it bothered her to know she snored. From what she told me, her father was a real sicko and he snored, so she can’t stand the sound of snoring because it reminds her of him.

She told me her father would scream at her when she’d fuck up on the piano she was forced to play. I wish that’s all my mother had done to me. When I was between 8-10 she had me playing the piano too, and when I’d fuck up, she’d hold my hand down on a nearby table with one hand and beat it with the other. I’m amazed she never broke any bones. And she’d always do the left hand so I could do my schoolwork with the right. How considerate of the bitch, huh? I’m surprised I bothered taking up the guitar in my teens and keyboards in my 20s. I played the flute for a while when I was 10, but I hated the damn thing.

I teased her about making her put her hands on the wall and frisking her if she comes to visit, and she said she’d say – where are those verdammden ratten (damn rats)?! She hates rats and mice. She doesn’t mind snakes, though. Her sons had them. She and her sons would pick snakes up off the streets in CA, where they have a summer home.

Just had corndogs for dinner and rice instead of potatoes, which is a nice change.

By outward appearances, Mary’s happy next door. However, Ida and I talked to her today and she’s anything but happy. First she was sick, then she was cursed with Melinda, and now Maria’s hard to deal with. I guess she has the hots for her and has been pinching her ass. So, I’m going to fight like hell to get her in here when Ida leaves, but she’ll have to settle for the lower bunk. She’s afraid the DOs are going to keep her in there forever, though, in a big cell because she gets along with just about everyone, unlike me. Well, I did vibe I’d never be with Mary again, once Pancake Face Smith pulled her.

Ida was telling me we ought to start saving $20 a month, or whatever we can afford and put it in stocks and bonds so we can have at least $100,000 in 20 years.

I started doing notes on the concrete shelf and the ceiling. The part of the shelf the mattress doesn’t cover, anyway. It’s better than using scrap paper and they’re written in ways only I can understand. People will be like – what the hell?

I think I have a cavity forming in front (what else is new?) and I know I’m going to have a whole mouthful of cavities when I get out, so I’ll have Tom schedule an appointment before I get out so I don’t have to wait too long.

Zapata got into it with someone else downstairs. I think it was the new butch she got into a brawl with that she probably saw as a rival, so Nancy D, this bitch that hits on every inmate she sees, including myself, replaced her. At first she reacted like I did when they threw me in the big tank and was screaming that she was not going in there and that she wanted to go back to A, but Chavez threw her in there anyway, threatening to kick her ass herself if she didn’t stop banging. Of course, if it was the other way around and an inmate threatened a DO, they couldn’t get away with it. It’s only OK for DOs to make threats against us.

Ida was the least serious I’d ever seen her, dancing around, laughing, etc. Her reaction to one of my jokes was hilarious. At her age, your bladder tends to weaken and the joke was so funny to her that she had to stifle her laughter and run to the toilet to pee. It was pretty funny. Imagine getting so old you can’t laugh without peeing in your pants! I’ll definitely have to kill myself at that point!

It was also kind of funny when Chavez came in to let the nurse give Ida her shit pill and she goes, “Miss S, what are you doing standing on the desk where you could fall and get hurt?”

I had been in the process of climbing up to my bunk but had paused on the desk to say something to Ida. What did she think I was doing up there anyway? Pretending to be tall? Learning to fly? Doesn’t she know people use the desks to climb up and down?

Monday, February 5, 2001

Last night M Dorm sounded like A Tower. Nancy was pounding on the door and everyone was yelling through the vents. Nancy finally got her way this morning and was sent back to A.

I saw a loudmouth go out of that cell and out of the pod last night and was thinking – oh, no! Not another loudmouth! We need to get rid of the one next door as it is. Miss I-don’t-talk-much was screaming up a storm on her hour out.

I have no pity for Maria or Julia, but I feel bad for Mary and Marilyn. Ever since last night, their toilet’s been plugged up. Can you believe they’ve left them in there this long (it’s noon now) and that no one’s been by to fix it?! They should be shipped to A Tower. Or better yet, they should ship just the spitter and move them into that cell. Mary’s been having to piss in the sink, and God knows what old Julia’s been doing.

Temple was on last night. As usual, she was very nice to me, but Ida’s not so sure about her. She came in right after breakfast and searched her bunk. She didn’t search mine. Just what was she looking for anyway, I wonder?

I woke up half a dozen times before I got up. I woke up before Miss Are-You-OK made her rounds, and LaBorde yelling for medical tanks right before the nurse hit the floor. Doesn’t she know we know when to put those things in the door?

Now that people have stopped yelling at each other, I can write a little more. You learn to tune that shit out for the most part, but every now and then it really plays on your nerves.

Myra and I weren’t happy with Marilyn. She’s leaving 4 days after Ida. She had poor Mary, who’s very sensitive, all upset because she was telling her she was crazy. Mary’s starting to take it personally and is wondering if it’s true.

LaBorde let Mary use our toilet and moved Marilyn downstairs.

I walked with Ida around the dayroom during our time out.

Later I’ll be washing my hair in the sink in the ice-cold water. My scalp will be numb when I’m done.

I have a nasty cavity brewing and I wonder if I can make it till I go to the dentist. The state’s cheap and they don’t fix problem teeth. They just pull them. I may have to let them, then get the rest pulled on the outs and get dentures. I’m sick of all the problems real teeth bring! I should be able to do my whole mouth for under a thousand; less than the braces.

Ida says you can buy pink hair tape to keep your hair from drying funny. I could tape my bangs down so they didn’t dry up curly. I’ll have to check it out. I’ve got 83 days left.

Johnson’s on again. I like her a lot. She’s definitely one of my favorites. She’s like a breath of fresh air around here and she treats us like people. She doesn’t act like she’s better than us just because we’re inmates and she’s a DO. She calls people by their first names, too.

Ida and I were laughing our asses off earlier. We’re wondering if Julia’s really as deaf as she says she is, or if she’s choosing to hear only what she wants to hear. This is because Mary says she’s been shaking Marilyn to stop her from snoring.

Anyway, the dense thing comes in to use our toilet and Ida’s like, “Oh, God! I don’t even want to see her face! Hurry up and get out!” Julia put her glasses, ID card and wrist wrap down (she supposedly has carpal tunnel) and asked us to turn away. I put her glasses on and was mimicking some of the things she said when she was in here, laughing my ass off real loud. Then she asked me to please not laugh because she couldn’t go, but as soon as I heard her peeing, I laughed my ass off real loud. But the stupid biddy didn’t get it and she kept right on smiling joyously. As she was heading out the door I chased her and she still kept smiling dumbly at me, the hunchbacked dork!

Earlier I was crying tears of mixed emotions. Anger, frustration, homesickness. Knowing my life is going to be what others say it has to be and being forced to just roll with the punches, like it or not. Fucking mother-fucking freeloaders for legally ruining my life! I’ve been a victim of these sick fucks since ‘96 and wonder if I’ll always be victimized by them simply because I’m both white and Jewish and cuz they’re the ones with the legal connections. And all because they just couldn’t shut up when we asked them too nicely, forcing us to complain to the city so we could get some peace within our own 4 walls. People get more and more sensitive in the wrong kind of way.

The good side of it, though, is that I don’t think I’m going to come out of this as traumatized as I originally thought I would. I’ve met some interesting people and have had some good laughs here. In most ways, the so-called private school I was in as a kid was worse than this place, and can I really say I’m sorry I met Ida? Or Rosa? Or Palma? Or Johnson? No, but I’d gladly never see them again as of right this second as much as I’d miss them to go home and have my old life back. Nonetheless, although the first couple of months were the hardest, it’s not as bad as I thought it’d be. Yes, the food sucks, the showers are cold a lot and I miss home, but if you can get in with decent enough cellies, it isn’t that bad. Just boring as all hell and depressing, too.

I still can’t stand to think too much of Tom, the animals, the house, my dolls, the stereo, the computer, and other stuff because it only depresses me more. The closer I get to my release date, then I can think more of those things. Right now it’s still too soon. I still have an eternity to go in this place.

Johnson opened the door to chat with us for a sec. Ida commented on how much she likes to chat with me. Yeah, Johnson and I always seem to have things to chat about. I guess she’s going on break now to eat her dinner.

Hey Johnson, you can have me for dessert!

I asked Johnson if she’ll miss me when I’m gone and she said, “Yeah, you’re the kind that keeps me on my toes.”

I am? I wonder how?

Ida says she’s not going to teach me any German swears till she leaves because if she teaches me now, people will know who I learned them from, not that I can see why they’d give a fuck. So, she’s going to sign her letter: Fuck you, Sylvia, in German.

I was shooting baskets from up on my bunk. I was making little round wads of toilet paper and throwing them into the toilet. What do I care if I waste Joe’s money and toilet paper?

It’s almost 9:30. Where’s the damn commissary?!

Maria moved in with the spitter because of the toilet situation and now only Mary and Julia are over there. That toilet’s been clogged for nearly 24 hours now. At least the hot water, once again, is temporarily “fixed.”

Mary and Julia have been using our toilet. I’m going to be pissed if they wake me up to use it. I got enough shit waking me up around here as it is.

I know it’s childish, but I couldn’t help but torture Julia a second time. That time she couldn’t even go, and the next couple of times she brought Mary over as her little guard dog. I just don’t like how she lied to Ida and so rudely stabbed her in the back. And after all Ida did to try to help her, too. Julia’s nothing but a selfish, lying hypochondriac who can hear just as well as most people. She can hear better than I can, and I do all right for being half deaf.

Tuesday, February 6, 2001

After 40 hours with no toilet, the lazy plumber finally fixed next door’s toilet.

Mary and Ida were cracking up over how I was torturing Julia the second time. When she was sitting hunched over on the toilet, I pumped a drop of lotion onto the back of her neck while I was standing above her on the desk that’s right by the toilet. On her way out she told me I was an idiot.

I said, “That’s it? Can’t you be more original than that?” I laughed her right on out of here. I’m not normally that rude and childish myself, but I hate what she did to Ida and I can’t stand liars.

Last night I offered Johnson a piece of candy. She wanted some peanuts instead so I gave her a few. Now she’s saying things in German to me regularly. As if I would know what the hell she’s saying? I ought to hit her with some Spanish. (this was before I knew she knew that, too)

My, my, Officer R. D. Johnson, I do believe I have a crush on you!

During my visit with Tom, I filled him in on life in this place and he filled me in on his life out in the real world. He’s going to work this Saturday. They’re getting closer to their conversion at work. That’ll take place on 2/23, the day Mary and Dave go to Laughlin. He’s going to do Ma’s taxes, and I guess that’s about it. God, I love and miss him! I just want to go home!!!!!

I waited forfuckingever after the visit, and crazy Melinda was cussing me out when I yelled over to her in the next room. She was telling the DOs I was her keep-away. Damn right about that one!

I don’t know if this will ever come to pass, but it’d be nice if it did. Ida, who’s rather affluent from what she tells me, has accumulated a lot of stuff over the years. She has a few silk palm trees that you can take apart so they’ll fit in a car. She’s talked about wanting to get rid of some junk. Well, maybe I can type up a story for her in exchange for something like this. She says she wants to write a book about some family secret, but because of her arthritis, she might talk into tapes for me to type up. This would be an awesome deal – typing, which is fun for me, for something I’ve been wanting for the house.

Ron doesn’t like to travel, so Ida makes most of her trips alone. One of them was to Egypt, she told me, where she ended up at this guy’s house, who treated his wife and mother like slaves.

First she was appalled by the way they all ate out of the same dish with their hands. They were offended when she asked for a fork.

Then she was grossed out by what she found on their apartment rooftop, and when she got up there, she said she saw similar sights on other rooftops. The guy literally had a farm up there with all kinds of livestock to feed his family. Not only that but there was also a heaping pile of garbage up there and it stunk. He said everyone puts their trash up there because they only come twice a year to pick it up.

Anyway, she ended up buying jewelry from him at his store, and when she gave his wife a $30 Timex watch, she was so grateful that she kissed Ida’s hand and began to get down to kiss her feet, but Ida was like, “No, no, that’s not necessary!”

Got a grievance back from the 19th. That sure took a while. This was the one where I bitched about nurses waking us up when we can put medical tanks out if we’re sick, or be up to tell them ourselves. They replied saying Hart vs. MCSO requires them to do medical checks 3 times a week, yet now I’m being woken up before they even start with their are-you-OKs. The DOs wake us up first yelling – medical tanks! But I get woken up half a dozen times as it is. What’s one more time?

I can’t wait to be home, sipping coffee as I type this up and turning to watch the prairie dogs roam our beautiful land.

Can’t wait to hear the sound of the door opening as Tom comes home, then to run into his arms for hugs and kisses. Sorry Palma, you’re only jailhouse eye candy.

Thank God Tom is as tolerant as he is because I know I’ll be repeating these jailhouse stories for years, just like with other stories. He’s smart, though. He knows I’m repetitious.

I’m grieving Pancake Face Smith, as worthless as I know it’ll be. It just really bothers me how poorly she handles things. Julia broke out with a rash, and Mary, fearing it may be contagious, called for Smith. When she finally got Smith’s attention, Smith wouldn’t take the matter seriously until she saw the rash with her own eyes.

What if it were a matter of life and death? God help me if I should be sick or injured with her on duty! If she can’t handle dealing with inmates’ problems, although I’ll admit that most aren’t serious, she should consider a job change.

A part of me misses A Tower. I miss Rosa, the mice, and even though Lopez says they’ve been floating Palma around a lot lately, I’ll bet she’s in A at least twice a week. I’ve only seen her a few times since she moved me here to M. Then again, if she worked here two or more times a week, that may make it all the harder to say goodbye come April 29th. If I left M I’d miss Ida and Mary. And Johnson, Pérez and Temple, who don’t seem to work A as much.

I’ll put Pancake Face Smith’s grievance out on the next shift. At least she rarely works M! This is only the second time since I’ve been here, thank God.

Ida and I are doing our own thing right now. She’s pacing and I’m up on my bunk listening to music. Same old thing every day.

Six o’clock already I was just in the middle of a dream…

Pace, pace, pace, pace…

I was kissing R. D. Johnson by a crystal blue Italian stream…

Pace, pace, pace, pace…

But I can’t be late or else I guess I just won’t get paid…

Pace, pace, pace, pace…

These are the days when you wish Ida would just sit still…

Pace, pace, pace, pace…

It’s just another manic celly…

Pace, pace, pace, pace…

Wednesday, February 7, 2001

I am one pissed-off mother-fucker! I’m so fucking tired! This exhaustion from being woken up a zillion times is going to kill me. What? Am I being punished for the times I could sleep? Why is God so determined to torture me like this? Why am I so cursed? I’m even having second thoughts about trying to sleep with Tom when I get out. I don’t want to be woken up 5-10 times a night for the rest of my life. I’m completely non-adaptable in that department and there’d be no use in trying to tell myself otherwise. I couldn’t just “get used to” his sounds and movements. I can’t adapt to everything. I have my limits, too.

I’m hoping to catch up on my sleep this weekend when there’s less going on, but if they let Monkey Face out first at 8 AM - forget it. I couldn’t sleep through her screaming at everyone. It’s only the middle of the week and I hate to think of how I’ll feel come Friday!

The showers are scalding hot. They either have to be ice-cold or hotter than hell.

Bowe’s on now. She went out of her way to be positive and encouraging when she saw my tears of frustration and homesickness. I told her I didn’t think I could make it another 3 months and she said, “Yes, you will. Hang in there, sweetie.”

Now Hann’s on. Hann used to be one of those that wasn’t bad or good. Lately, though, she’s been really friendly to me.

Fortunately, Julia’s rash wasn’t contagious. That’s all we’d need – to be rolled out of here so she could be in Medical isolation.

She was actually funny when she came back from Medical last night. She came up the stairs and stuck her tongue out at me. I did the same. Then she grinned and I did the same back. Ida, though, said she couldn’t smile back at her when she smiled at her this morning, but that’s Ida for you. She holds grudges longer than I tend to. I either forgive a person right away or I never do.

Ida insists Marilyn’s telling the truth about sucking Joe Arpaio’s dick (she’s a hooker) by the way she told the story when they were cellies.

Whatever. Johns do come from all different walks of life, so it very well could be true.

Speaking of Joe, he wants to starve us even more. Ida heard on the news, during our hour out that I tried unsuccessfully to sleep through, that he wants to cut us to 2 meals a day to save the taxpayers’ money. To save them money? The fucking food’s donated! So, we’re going to have two bites of starch, fake processed meat and dead veggies or fruit twice a day? If it weren’t for commissary I’d be emaciated now. Probably even if I forced myself to eat the 6 pieces of bread we get each day. This shit’s going to cause the guys to riot.

Tonight was a rarity in that we finally got chicken again. I smelled it with my doggie nose at 2:00 and told Ida we were having chicken tonight for sure and she thought I was nuts. She couldn’t smell a thing, let alone chicken. This is when I explained to Ida that when we’re born with one of our senses not working right, the others are stronger to make up for it. I’m like a human bloodhound, in a sense.

Ida also told me about when she went to China. She took a train from Beijing to some other place there, and she said it was a nightmare. For some reason, they treat their tourists better than themselves. Ida was in a nice, roomy boxcar on this train, but the Chinese were crammed in together like sardines. If you had to go to the bathroom on the train, you pissed through a hole in the floor of the train.

Their Chinese food isn’t what it is here, either. It’s all garlic and grease there.

Mejia was on last night. Don’t see her too often. She leaves the dayroom all lit up at night, which isn’t as relaxing for listening to music and sleeping, but it allows me to write if I want to.

After a few passes, I noticed she wasn’t taking my grievance on Smith. I put out a tank order at one point to try to get Ida a copy of that Hart vs. MCSO before she leaves and she took that. So on her next walk, I asked why she wasn’t taking my grievance. She said she thought it was a medical tank. I don’t believe her, but she took it. She asked if I wanted the light on and I told her no thanks. It was funny how I scared the shit out of her at first. I guess my voice came out louder than I meant for it to. She jumped, and I was trying to keep from laughing and waking up Ida. She begged me not to scare her from now on.

All morning, afternoon and evening we’ve been hearing scattered bangs that we’re pretty sure are coming from the door at the end of the hall that’s just beyond our wall. If it doesn’t stop, I really won’t get any sleep. Some days we hear it and some days we don’t. It’s worse than the freeloader’s car door slamming, but it reminds me of it. I swear God’s taken all the noise I ran from and amplified it a million times over!

I’m getting more nervous as Ida’s release date approaches. I not only don’t want a rude, inconsiderate bitch in here, but I also don’t want some religious freak in here, either. I’m not religious, I’m never going to be, and I don’t want to hear about it 24/7.

This radio just won’t play any good songs. Guess that’s my cue to jot some thoughts down. Thoughts like – what will sex be like when I get home? Will we even do it? That might seem kind of weird after all this time. Probably for him, too.

After Maria told me about her sex life, I told her it wouldn’t faze me if Tom and I never had sex again. It’s nothing Tom did, but I’m just sick of it is all and I’ve been sick of it long before jail. Maria agreed I probably just got bored with it and says the desire will return someday. If it does, it does. If it doesn’t, it doesn’t. I can get just as much, if not more, from hugging, cuddling, reading together in bed, doing things together, etc. The love/emotional part of it is more important to me than the sexual. Also, I couldn’t “just screw” like I know Tom prefers. I know he wasn’t thrilled with the way we had to start our sex life slowly.

I’m finding I really miss sex with women. It’s so much simpler. With a guy, it’s more complicated. With a woman I don’t have to worry about things like us getting into it, then having to stop while I go put the KY on that I forgot to put on up front. With Tom, I have to try to guess whether or not we’re going to screw and put KY on if I think we will. Sometimes I end up gunking myself up with the shit for no reason, although this stuff’s much easier to wash off. It just seems that sex with a guy is more of an inconvenience, more of a chore. And I would always get that irritation too, that you just don’t get with another woman. Sometimes I wish I could have the relationship I’ve got with Tom, since I certainly have no desire to leave him, yet have the sex part with a woman. I know this isn’t going to happen, though.

It’s after 9:30 and still that banging’s going on. We hear a few bangs an hour and it’s definitely a door of some kind. I asked, but Hann doesn’t even know for sure what it is. I wish I could move to 3 where it’s quieter, warmer and darker and stay there more than a week! Better yet, I wish I could just get the fuck out of here and go home!

I am not looking forward to playing yet another day of 20 wake-ups. Breakfast, “Are you OK,” clothes exchange, rec and other calls, etc. The thought of not being able to sleep 8 hours straight through for 80 more days is depressing.

Ida had said she learned I’m for real, but after she leaves, will she be for real? She says she’s not thinking of blowing me off, but can’t say how she’ll feel once she’s out. I think she’ll write and send those newspaper articles she wrote, but I doubt I’ll ever see her again. She’d be losing a good typist, but it’s her call.

This night has been dragging on and on. Jail is so boring! All I do is listen to music and write. I can’t get into reading. Thank God for my little radio and for my love of writing!

Ida and I were playing a name-guessing game where we’d guess the DO’s names by their initials. I guessed Palma to be a Juanita or a Janita, Nottelmann to be a Sarah or a Sandy, black Johnson to be Gloria or Glenda, and Kahn to be Janet, Janice or Janine. “And white Johnson’s probably Renee, Rachel or Rebecca,” I said.

“I think her name’s Rhoda,” said Ida.

“Nah, you have to be super ugly to be a Rhoda. Could be Ronda, but I doubt it. Maybe Robin. Definitely not Ruby, Rita, Ruth or Roberta. I’ll bet Pérez is Roberta, though.”

Thursday, February 8, 2001

M203

Well, here I am again in my favorite cell, but not with Ida. I’m with Marilyn.

I slept better last night even though that door was slamming all night, and even napped for an hour in the early afternoon. I asked Ida who was on as I was waking up. She said she didn’t know her name. Just that it was the older lady with the lisp. You know you’ve been here for a long time when your celly describes the DO as the “old lady with the lisp,” and you automatically know she’s talking about Bangert.

Around 2:00, Jill from Classification, and Jackson, who usually works the gang unit, came and talked to all 12 of us individually.

When it was my turn, they started off by asking what my last name was, why I was in Ad-Seg, and what my charges were; shit they should know. I asked why they wanted to know all this, and they said they were preparing to do some big moves. Great, I thought. Just what I need.

I don’t know if they talked to the DOs to find out what we were like or what because they already had their list made up. I guess maybe they wanted to see our reaction to who we were being moved in with. What I’m wondering, though, is are they planning on doing this regularly just to annoy us? Or is someone in this pod a cop? No one here strikes me as a cop, but I know Lora E was some sort of cop. I saw it. She hugged me once when I was crying and I saw a vision of her in some type of uniform connected to law enforcement.

When I asked if I could be put with Mary they said she was taken. What they really meant was that she was already assigned to some other cell with other bunkies. This is when Jill told me I’d probably be with Marilyn M.

Ida said that when it was her turn, she really gave them a piece of her mind, speaking out for both of us. I asked them where they planned to put her and they said a 4-man cell. I informed them that both of us would go to A Tower before going to a cell that open and with that many people, but I don’t think she’s in a 4-cell. I think she’s in the small cell under the stairs. The one I thought I’d be in which is the 2-cell I’d like the least. It’s so non-private. People going up and down the stairs can see in easily, and the shitty thing about cells down in the dayroom is that you’re right by the people on their hour out. This cell has the best view of both a part of the hallway and a part of the tower. The question is, how long will I get to stay here? People in this cell don’t seem to stay in it very long. Mary said she was here a whole month till I came and jinxed her out of it.

Anyway, Bangert was just as pissed as we were. She said something about how stupid it was for them to be doing this because of one person, but I have no clue as to what she meant by that one. She bitched about how it’d just make more work for the DOs, knowing they’ll just have to move people back. She also said she wasn’t about to show anyone the list because she’d have a riot on her hands, and told Jackson and Jill she couldn’t move everybody before her shift was out. So she had everyone roll up and left it to second shift.

It’s been a long day and I’m going to have the lights cut. I’ll explain more tomorrow. I’m pretty sure Marilyn will be a good celly (of course she will. She’s leaving in 10 days).

Armstrong’s on now. I like her, but not how she doesn’t turn the lights back off after breakfast like everyone else does, till 1st shift turns them on at 7:00.

Friday, February 9, 2001

Ida and I exchanged notes today. She’s in the same cell with a partial-butch named Carol. Ida says she’s OK so far and that she’ll take me back if Marilyn doesn’t work out. That’s sweet of her and although I miss her, Marilyn and I are more compatible. She’s quieter and sleeps as late as I do. She slept for a long time. She crashed around 9:00 last night and didn’t get up till 10:00 this morning. I see her as much as I saw Ida when she’s up because she sits at the desk a lot, but she’s less fidgety. Her snoring is nothing compared to Deanna’s and she’s very sweet and polite, telling me to let her know if she bothers me, saying this is my room, etc. This is her room too, but I appreciate how kind and considerate she’s been.

I gave her a couple of packs of Kool-Aid and she’s giving me her freebies, along with Ida, when she leaves.

She doesn’t make disgusting sounds when she eats, either.

Maria and the spitter are next door with Lisa. In the big cell downstairs are Mary, Myra, Sheila and some new girl who was a closed custody case, which means she’s crazy. Even Jackson pointed out how many crazies there are in Ad-Seg. Yeah, I know! I’m well aware of it.

Marilyn’s 44 and she’s here on prostitution and drug charges. She’s about average height and weight. She has dark eyes and dark curly hair a few inches below her shoulders.

I’m surprised to find that same juvi is still next door. I’d rather listen to her shit, though, than 10 people at once.

Anyway, backing up to yesterday. I went for my visit shortly after Pancake Face Smith came on (I wasn’t too thrilled to see her). On my way, I saw Mena working K dorm and Palma working J. I couldn’t see who was working L. Mary was in the visiting room next to me. I heard her yell, “You’re the reason I’m in this mess!”

I told Tom everything that was going on, unable to hide the stress I was under. He tried to console me, reminding me that tonight the DO may not be able to do anything, but within a day or two, they could, reminding me that they know me now.

I said I wish I’d gone to trial, lost, then gone to prison, if I was going to be dumb enough not to ignore this shit as soon as Tom took me home from Florence. Then Tom said that now that we know more about my case and how I was fucked over, I should’ve gone to trial because after telling me what to say (that I didn’t write the letter and that it was apparently added in), he doesn’t think I’d have been convicted.

Johnson walked by to let Mary out and Tom got to see Mary, who told me not to worry about the moves and that we’d try to get together eventually. Even Johnson reassured me about it. I’m not so sure Mary will want to move in here when Marilyn leaves (if I’m still in here) because now she’s with Myra. They’ve been friends for longer than we have and Myra will probably convince her to stay.

Smith’s grievance was returned to me. She wrote that every situation is different and she could see the inmates in 204, there didn’t seem to be any visible threat and it didn’t concern me.

Naturally, the sergeant wrote that she concurs with Smith’s response.

I’m sure you do, sergeant! Nonetheless, I opted to withdraw it.

I heard the door next door shut, and thought to myself – here goes that mouth. Sure enough, it went right to the door to yell. I think they’re all locked down now for 2nd shift headcount. In a few minutes, I’ll be able to see who’s on tonight. I know it won’t be Palma.

Lopez is on. She’s going to let me out around 7:00 so I can let Tom know I’m OK. In a sense, they’ve been treating me like a queen since the new year.

Got a copy of Hart vs. MCSO for Ida. I thought it might interest her. I’ll slip it to her later or tomorrow. I could hear Carol yelling, “It’s freezing in here!”

I had taken the cardboard with me but had the spitter slip it to her for me.

My breakage curse lives on even in jail. One side of the earbuds completely shorted out on me, so now I’m using the original ones. They only short on one side if I move around too much.

Can you believe they served mashed potatoes for breakfast? Actually, I’d have eaten them if I weren’t so beat. They’re better than the fake eggs.

For the first time ever, one of the laundry guys came to our doors for an exchange. It was just towels and I told him to exchange the one by the door, and he sarcastically said something like, “Oh, so now I have to do it for you too,” but he did it. He threw a new one on the desk and yanked out the old one.

With all that goes on around here in the mornings, when they know most of us are asleep, it’s obvious they want to keep waking us up as much as they can. I mean, do they really need to serve breakfast at 5:30 in the morning? They can’t wait till 7:00 – 8:00? I think most of the inmates sleep late because most are hookers and druggies. Stuff that’s usually done at night.

Anyway, Smith is a major-league asshole. No one likes the bitch. The dumb shitbitch had both Ida and me go downstairs. I thought I was going to end up in 2. Ida never should’ve been put through the hassle of rolling up because she ended up staying in 5. While we were downstairs I told Marilyn that I thought we might be together from what Jackson and Jill told me. She said, “Well, that wouldn’t be so bad, would it?”

Nope. In fact, we hugged each other in relief when we got in here and knew for sure we would be together. Anyone but Maria! She agrees Maria’s too loud and too touchy-feely. Marilyn’s loud too, but it doesn’t bother me like it did with Lora and like it does with Maria. I think Mindy’s still in 2, but with Julia. It sounds like she’s having problems with the old hag, too. Everyone hates Julia. Julia’s going to be less happy about it than I’ll be if we ever end up together.

Dinner was as bad as I knew it’d be. Hot dogs loaded with jalapeños. It was the most inhumane thing I ever bit into! One bite and my mouth is still burning even a whole hour later.

Myra was on the phone crying hysterically. Now she’s at Psych. I heard her say something about how she’s looking at 13 years, but I have no sympathy for this one. She’s one of those that gave me bad vibes from the get-go. I just never liked her, and I know she’s guilty of what she’s charged with, too. I can see her having it in her to smack kids around and abuse them in other ways as well. Makes me want to do things to her I shouldn’t write about.

On Lopez’s next walk, I’m going to have her let me out to try to call Tom. I hope he’s home and offline.

I have 79 days left. Still an eternity.

They used to come 2-3 days during the end of the week with clothes/sheets/towel exchanges. Now they’re coming with something 5 days a week. I just don’t understand why it’s always got to be 6:30 in the morning and I don’t understand why we get new towels 3-4 times a week, but stripes only once a week.

I wish all my cellies would sleep as much as Marilyn does. If I can’t be with Mary, then having cellies sleep from 8 PM till around lunchtime would be great. I’d not only have more privacy, but I’d have more space, in a sense, too. I can feel like I’m alone in here for the last 6-7 hours of my day.

I’m trying to mentally accept the fact that like most strong vibes I get, I’m probably right when I say we’ll get run out of Maricopa, but God I hope I’m wrong! There are a few other options besides letting them take our home. I could still kill myself so at least Tom could keep the house, we could run, or we could simply ignore them. Something I should’ve done all along!

Silvia is the spitter’s real name. I passed a book to Carol for her. I owed her that favor.

Anyway, I let Tom, who said he was worried, know that everything worked out fine with Marilyn and I.

He got another flat tire, thanks to those bumpy dirt roads.

The lesbians and the faggots were on their way to San Francisco – who got there first? The lesbians got there lickety-split while the faggots were still busy packing their shit.

What did one strawberry say to another? If you weren’t so fresh we wouldn’t be in this jam!

Marilyn just told me these jokes. Love the first one! We told Lopez a couple of them.

It’s only 8:00 and Marilyn’s hit the hay. Now I can feel like I’m alone for the 6 more hours I’ll be up.

Mindy demanded to be moved before she wrung Julia’s neck, as she put it. Julia’s bitching that Mindy yells through the vents all day and night. She does, and that would drive me crazy too, but I still don’t ever want to be with Julia. You know, the one who’s supposed to be deaf?

The bitch next door gets on my nerves at times, so we all have our shit to deal with no matter where we are.

According to Marilyn, Mary does have 10 years to do after she leaves here in June, and as Ida said, only she’ll be doing it in Florida.

Florida?! Since when was she in Florida? I know she’s from New York, but Florida? And just what the hell did she do to get such a sentence and why didn’t she tell me? Why would she tell Ida and Marilyn and not me?

I’ve been here 100 days and it feels like years.

Marilyn gave me several of those little deodorants from her indigent packages and some little tubes of toothpaste. I’ll definitely be set with those items till I leave, but I still may need to buy more pads no matter how much paper I get from Ida and Marilyn. Especially with how much I write! At the rate I’m going, I may have over 600 pages when I get home, but it’s not like I have anything else better to do other than writing and listening to music. What am I supposed to do all day and night? Play with myself?

Marilyn’s also given me some pencils and a toothbrush and is so sweet and polite. So helpful, too. She offered to hand me things because I’m on top, and she feels the person on the bottom should do so. Yeah, and I’d do the same if I were on the bottom.

She was telling me all she wanted to do to Jerry, one of the nurses, while I was letting her know just how much I’d love to perform a little strip search of my own on Johnson. I’d love to check out what’s hiding under that uniform, though I’ll bet it’s mighty good, seeing that it looks so good from the outside! Especially those nice long legs.

I’m glad tomorrow’s Saturday. There shouldn’t be any rude nurses waking us up, and there definitely won’t be any clothes exchanges.

Tom and I have 22 more visits together. Truthfully, I’m glad our visits are closed contact. Do you know how hard it’d be with him right there and not being allowed to hug my own husband?! You can only do that in prison. Also, I can hear him a bit better in those little rooms. Background noise is hard for me to deal with. I can’t sort sounds out so well.

Tom asked if I’d be OK with raising animals that’ll get sent off to be butchered. Yeah, I can handle it. I have animals indoors to love.

It’s been about 20 days since Pérez worked. She ought to be back soon.

Saturday, February 10, 2001

Already they attempted to pull one of us. What is it with this room? Chambers was on and she told Marilyn to roll up so someone with the last name Estep could move in because they needed a lower bunk. Marilyn, who was protesting, wasn’t getting anywhere with Chambers. Chambers was like, “Too bad, girl.”

That’s when I jumped in and said, “No way, Chambers! Enough of this constant moving around bullshit!”

Then Chambers told her to forget it, if only to keep me from whining and bitching all day, and moved Estep, who I think is Mindy, into the lower bunk next door. We thanked the hell out of Chambers for sparing poor Marilyn yet another move and me another celly.

We told Chambers some jokes and she had one for us: What did the ocean say to the beach?

Nothing. It just waved.

Another thing I like better about Marilyn than Ida is that she’s a heavy sleeper, so I can blast my radio at night.

Ida asked how I was doing. She says Carol snores a little but sleeps a lot and is quiet and we might be a good match in the future. Sheila, who said she doesn’t like the small rooms anyway, just went to A Tower. I asked Arajo, who’s on now, why she went to A Tower, but she claims she doesn’t know and was simply told to move her.

Some ugly, loud-mouthed bitch with lips bigger than a black’s just rolled in. She’s with Julia.

Ida finally got a letter back about her motion to modify her sentence, but not the stay of execution of sentence due to her lawyer’s fuck-ups. As I knew it would be, it was denied. Has any ever not been denied? I don’t know why people even bother with things that simply don’t work, and why these things exist if they know they’re just going to deny them.

Marilyn and I just told Arajo some jokes. That’s the first time this bitch ever laughed and smiled at me. In fact, she really smiled. I’m perceptive enough to know just what that smile meant, too.

Forget it Arajo! Don’t even think about it. You’re too mean and ugly for me.

I forgot to mention that Marilyn woke me up a few times early this morning, but it wasn’t her fault. She got sick with the runs. I awoke to her farting and toilet flushing. I’m amazed it didn’t stink in here.

Got a letter from Helen. It was nice. She said it sounded like I was making the best of a bad situation, asked me about books (what kinds I like reading), and mentioned hearing about the meal cut. She also said not to give up on her entirely yet, as far as visiting goes.

I told her that although the food sucks, it’s cold, and the showers are cold half the time, jail isn’t that bad. Especially when you’ve got a good celly, if you can’t be alone, and the DOs know you and treat you well.

Numerous DOs have told me they know my case is bullshit and that they feel I shouldn’t be here, so I think that’s part of it. I guess I don’t come across to them as your typical inmate personality-wise, from what they tell me, nor in looks because I have all my teeth and no tattoos.

Anyway, I told Helen I was still worried about the probation thing. Also, I was unable to concentrate on reading much in here and told her how hard it is to get books here. I told her all I do is write and listen to music.

As for the meal cut, I think Arpaio, who’s no better than Hitler, is asking for riots and trouble for himself. We’re on the border of being starved as it is. We’re fed nothing but starch and empty calories, but I don’t care because I hardly eat any of this shitty food anyway. When I get out I’m going to eat like a pig and to hell with how fat I get! I’ll be fat again in a heartbeat for all I care just to get out of here, go home to Tom and the animals, and sleep 8 hours straight in a real bed.

Lastly, I told her not to worry about visiting because I know she’ll see me when she can.

Although I know this sleep deprivation curse where I sleep 4-6 hours with a zillion interruptions is mainly a punishment, I still feel I’m being prepared for something on the outs. It’s a feeling I just can’t shake.

How did Dairy Queen get pregnant?

Burger King forgot to wrap his whopper.

Another joke from Marilyn.

Marilyn was here during the riot they had about 5 years ago. She’s the first one I talked to so far who’s witnessed it up close and personal. When I interviewed her, so to speak, she told me that this was her seventh 6-month sentence. Damn!

Anyway, she was out in the tents when it happened. The guys got fed up with the place. Although they agreed amongst each other not to fuck with the women’s tents, they beat and raped Osborne and torched their own tents. There’s only a chain-link fence separating the women and men, and Marilyn said that as soon as she saw that fence was coming down, she ran. All the women were put in holding tanks in the intake area. Marilyn said they were parading one of the male DOs around in his boxers.

Now that one’s funny!

Thank God I’m in a cell in case they riot while I’m here. I’d rather be in a cell with one person than in the dorms or tents where there are hundreds.

As Marilyn agrees, no one gets along with Melinda. She flipped when Marilyn referred to her as “hard-headed.” I’d hate to see how she’d react to being referred to as a lot worse than that!

Maria says she’s going to work on getting over to Alpha after she gets sentenced on the 13th. Oh God, please get that loudmouth out of here!

Just gave Arajo the joke pages, and Marilyn went to bed.

Sunday, February 11, 2001

Shit! Here they go talking about moving again. The new Mexican lady is crying because she can’t communicate with anyone downstairs, so Hudgens is looking to move her up with Maria and Silvia. Let me guess – Hudgens is going to want to pull one of us, right? Just swap her with Lisa, Hudgens! Lisa’s in the cell she’s moving to. Every time someone moves, it seems they’ve got to move the whole pod practically, just to do it.

Brea, who was on 1st shift, was kind enough to let me out to call Tom after lunch because I slept through our hour out. We both did. I wanted to know if he remembered to deposit money.

That was a much better dinner. We had chicken again with mashed potatoes, salad, bread and a little mini cupcake.

Now for some good news – razors have finally come to Ad-Seg! It’s about time. I was surprised when I first came here and found there were no razors here. After all, we’re not on restriction or in a psych ward, even if some people here should be. I’m still going to try that Nair on the outs.

As for the meal cut, Marilyn heard from Mindy that this was to begin Monday, but I don’t trust anything Mindy says. Child molesters just don’t seem like a trustworthy bunch to me. What are they going to do, though, give us bologna every morning at 5:30? Marilyn said she thinks they’ll serve us at 9:30. Well, I’d rather get bologna at 9:30 than phony eggs at 5:30.

Ida says Arajo accused her of spilling juice on her deliberately when she was trying to weasel the trays through the trap. God, Arajo must really hate Ida!

What language do turkeys speak?

Foul.

Another joke from Marilyn, who told me I’m the best celly she’s ever had. How nice. Her, Mary, Ida, Rosa and Kim are my favorites so far. Although Kim turned out to be a two-faced, backstabber in the end, I don’t regret our time together. She helped me a lot and was still a good celly.

Hudgens really talked to me for the first time. In the past, we rarely spoke to one another. She wasn’t a bad DO, but she never stood out in any good way, either. We talked about my case and where we live. She said she almost bought property in Maricopa, too.

Monday, February 12, 2001

This is day 3 of not hearing the door yeller, but she did call to Maria (I just ignored her) about going to court. They must’ve chatted through the vents when she was in here. Speaking of that damn bitch, it better go to Alpha, or else I’ll find a way to silence that loudmouth permanently.

First I was woken up for breakfast and then the nurse came in and asked twice if we had any medical tanks. When she saw she wasn’t getting any answer, she left. I don’t know why these fucking nurses come asking us for medical tanks when 10 minutes before, the DOs yell for us to put them in our doors if we have any. They need to balance their responsibilities better. It should be our responsibility to put our own medical tanks out, and they should worry more about getting people’s meds to them on time.

Anyway, that stupid bitch was the first to go out and it woke me up with its mouth at 9:00. We were last out. I could’ve slept until lunch. I can go back to sleep after brief interruptions, but this was a whole hour of screaming. By then I was too pissed to go back to sleep. I spared her no mercy on my hour out while she was trying to nap, although, with my shit luck, it never bothered her.

After that mouth got locked down, the new freeloader’s mouth was let out, but for some reason or another, it got rolled out of here today. It never did move in with Maria and Silvia, either.

According to Chavez, we’re to get 3 sandwiches for breakfast and an extra side for dinner.

I spoke with Ida who gave me some Tums. Barajas yelled, “No more passing room to room. I have eyes in the back of my head!”

Then Ida asked for the TV to be turned on and I hid the remote on her after she put it down on the table for a minute. There were other things I was going to do, but I decided I’d made her life miserable enough, and Barajas is just a kid. Like with Nottelmann and Chambers, she looks like she’s only between 18-20.

Ida said she did spill the juice on Arajo deliberately. Arajo threatened her with A Tower, but obviously that never happened. Instead, she wrote her up. Ida swore to the Hearing Officer that it was an accident and the Officer said he’d look into it further. Either way, Ida’s gone in a few days.

Marilyn and I made a deal. For doing all the cell cleaning, I’ll give her drink mixes.

We got to shave today. We can’t keep the razors in our cells. Monday, Wednesday and Friday we can sign them out with our ID cards. I could tell by the little clump of hair on the shower floor that someone went bush-whacking.

I was chatting with Mary, Myra and Brandie on my hour out. As I suspected, Mary likes it where she is and isn’t too keen on the idea of moving in here after Marilyn leaves. Again, my vibes say we’ll never cell together again.

When I asked Brandie why she was closed custody, I got 3 different stories. First it was for fighting, then homosecting, then her being an escape risk. She doesn’t come across to me as being gay, and I don’t think they’d close-custody an escape risk, so I’d say she was probably acting crazy or being violent in some way.

Mary told me Melinda’s now a trustee working in the kitchen. At least she’s out of AS.

That was the second time they came to our doors with clothes exchanges. Barajas came to us for bra, panties and towel exchanges. I like it better when they come to us, so I don’t have to stumble out of bed and downstairs half asleep.

As quiet as Carol may be, I don’t know if I want to cell with her because she wants the top bunk. As long as I’m in a 2-cell, I want to be the one on top so there’s less risk of getting thrown in a 4-cell. On the other hand, no one’s thrown me in there yet. Now that I’m known by the DOs, they may not do that to me, anyway.

Sheila’s back, I hear.

Tuesday, February 13, 2001

By 8:00 I had been woken up 3 times. For breakfast, gown exchange, and med tank call. That ditz Mejia turned our light on last night thinking the mouth was in here, and it was about an hour before she remembered to turn it back off.

They didn’t have a small town, so I settled for an extra-large. Although a small fits me best, I can move around in a roomier gown easier.

The juvi mouth went off last night at 3rd shift change. How the hell can anyone hear her? She’s not vented to anyone else but us. First I asked her politely to be quiet and she did for a while, then when I told her to shut up, she did for good.

Got the usual commissary items. The hard candy I get has 5 flavors and one of them I don’t like is lemon so I’ll give it away. I’m going to get a little of everything come my last commissary order because I’m not going to be living on junk when I get out.

Silvia said to me as I was walking by, “It’s quiet today, huh (because Monkey Face Maria was in court)?”

I walked around the dayroom for 20 minutes. Once our hour out starts getting too early, I’ll pace more in the cell. I usually do that around midnight when Marilyn’s asleep. All she does is sleep night and day. It’s great. Wish all my cellies could be like her! Midnight’s prime time for me, anyway. My peak hours are from around 8 PM–4 AM. It’s been more like 6 PM–2 AM in here, though.

Saw Tom and he looked great. A little tired, though, as he said. I look forward to us doing all kinds of things when I get out. I understand flying to Vegas and taking a cruise has to wait, but that’s OK. I’m not ready for that, anyway. Maybe in our golden years. Or at least silver or bronze. It’ll be too hot for miniature golf, and I know we can’t get any porcelain dolls for quite a while, but we can go to the record store, the department store to get his razor and maybe me a Barbie, and I can catch up on Whataburger, KFC, Chinese, etc.! Can’t wait! Still 75 days away, though. Thursday I’ll have 2½ months and Sunday I’ll have 10 weeks.

I appreciate Tom’s reading my journals. He’s the only one I can share them with without getting in trouble.

He’s still sure I can stay working at home, and I want to believe him, but can’t shake the bad feeling I’ve had about that ever since I entered this dive. Why would I have it if it weren’t for a reason? Could this simply be paranoia? And remember, he’s overly optimistic and I’m psychic. My track record is too accurate for comfort when it comes to these kinds of grim vibes.

Futch is on now. Never seen her before, but she says she’s not new. She says they never put her here. I hope they don’t decide to quit sticking Palma here, but there’s nothing I can do about it. She’s in my fantasies while I’m still here, then forever in my memories when I leave.

In Tom’s letter to me, he gave me names/addresses, but as I told him, I’m not going to waste my time on useless motions. Although the living conditions have improved, except for the food, the complaint address would still be nice to have.

He’s not going to Vegas and he might not get that job he mentioned getting at the bank, but will keep trying for a higher-paying job there.

He says Harry screams like Houdini’s killing him, although he’s not.

I guess Monkey Face Maria’s not all that bad after all, but she’s still too loud and I’ll be glad to see her go. When she came back from court and was out on her hour, I asked what happened in court and she said, “Nothing.” Then she came to the door and said, “Oh, you look so pretty.” That’s what Ida said about my hair.

Anyway, she told me that after the Alpha program, she can go home. Then she said she was sorry for sounding rude earlier, but was tied up talking to someone else. I told her it was no problem and that I was sorry for yelling at her for waking me up. She laughed, saying she couldn’t stay mad at me for that, thanked me for caring, then took off.

But I don’t care. I just wanted to know when she’s going to get the hell out of here!

Christoffers just walked by breaking for Futch (I hope Palma at least breaks for someone soon)! She was friendly to everyone, but as usual, not a word to me. As soon as she’s on again I intend to return every evil, hateful glare she gives me. Although I only saw her for a second, her look was actually pretty expressionless tonight. I’d rather never see her again, but I know it’s just a matter of time before she’s on again. The question is, though, will she go beyond just mean glares? I hope I never find out!

Wow! Got a surprise from Tom, Helen and Christoffers.

Tom made me an adorable Valentine’s card on the computer with pictures of kittens and rats (my favorite picture of Houdini and Ratsy). Makes me feel bad for not being home to make him one. I can’t even make one here because I have no plain paper at the moment, and haven’t for a while. Anyway, I love his card that says: Jodi, you’re my Valentine forever. I love you and miss you.

Got a cute one from Helen with Snoopy blowing pink heart bubbles with green glitter. I did not expect this, that’s for sure. Didn’t really expect Tom’s either (we rarely do cards), so they came as a real surprise. Helen’s says: Dear Jodi – Our weather is getting wonderful again – I hope you get a chance to get out some. I’m glad you are getting along with people at all the levels while you’re there. There is a loud message there – you’re likable! Take that one in, digest it, remember it, use it to your advantage! Fondly, Helen.

Although there was a Phoenix return address (probably her home) on Helen’s card, she didn’t ask me to use it, so I’ll keep sending her mail to her office in Tempe.

Christoffer’s surprise was that she actually spoke to me. She let the nurse in for Marilyn and I gave her a mean glare and she asked if I was OK and I nodded. I wonder if she’d ever have spoken to me if I hadn’t given her a taste of her own meds?

I’d still like to know why it was that Jackson and Jill moved us, and if they plan to make a habit of it. I sincerely hope not. We move enough as it is without their help.

I never thought I’d like all these rap songs. The lyrics are so hateful, though. I guess blacks are very angry people.

I have a bad belly because of all the candy, but it’s either junk food or no food, although the last two dinners have been OK and enough to fill up on. It varies.

Saw Nottelmann working the controls on my way from seeing Tom, so she’s still around. That’d be fun working controls. I’d have that slider shutting on people left and right, and I’d make like I was going to open doors, then quickly relock them. I’d have all kinds of fun, as I was telling Chavez, who said, “Yeah, I’m sure you would, you little prankster. I wouldn’t even work here at that point.”

Tate’s on now. It looks like she’s going to keep the dayroom fully lit.

Wednesday, February 14, 2001

What is it with these night DOs not turning off the lights? I’ll have to ask Tate again. Maybe there is something wrong with this light. LaBorde wondered the same thing. She had to wake me up to tell me about it, too. She came and said she was just wondering why my light wasn’t on. Now, couldn’t she have just stood outside and wondered that to herself and not woken me up from the very entertaining dream I was having? I could’ve strangled her for waking me up from the best part!

I was God only knows where with Johnson. We were standing with our arms around each other. Her hand slowly slid up my thigh and under my skirt, towards my ass. I stood up on my toes to pull her face towards mine and she began to pull me towards her, too. Just as we were about to kiss, she fucking woke me up! I was furious at her for cheating me out of my kiss! How dare she rob me of my kiss! See, God gave me the wrong gift. Being able to see past and future events is fine, but why couldn’t I have been telekinetic if only for today?! I swear that stun gun of hers would fly up out of its holster with my mind concentrating on it, and then I’d zap the shit out of that loud, obnoxious mouth!

Finally! She just cut the light but I can still write with the dayroom lit up.

Trying to sleep in M Dorm is nearly impossible! Especially when you’re on my schedule. It’s quieter as far as the inmates go, but I hear every single fucking thing they say over the intercom. A Tower has an intercom in the dayroom too, but each room also has its own intercom, unlike M, so they have to address it to everyone when someone has a visit or whatever.

In A Tower, they also don’t yell for medical tanks or clothes exchanges, though I’m kind of glad they do that here with clothes exchanges so I don’t get stuck in the same zebra outfit for weeks at a time.

There are also rec calls, too. Those are usually early so they can piss people off by waking them up, and so they can hope no one’s awake enough to want to go. That way that’s one less thing they have to deal with. Most DOs are lazy.

God, I’ve been writing like hell! There’s not much else to do, though.

It feels like it’s been years since I’ve hugged and kissed Tom, played with Houdini, enjoyed my computer and other stuff, gone to stores, had coffee and my favorite foods. I wish April 29th would hurry up and get here!

Mena’s got the TV on now, so I gotta listen to that shit.

The place reeks of bleach, thanks to Maria. Somebody, get that loud, obsessive-compulsive clean freak out of here!

Bangert let Ida give me things earlier. She gave me about 40 pieces of paper, 3 envelopes, 5 pencils and 5 little tubes of toothpaste.

Back in December when I was in A with Carolyn and Monday, Carolyn suggested a good title for my Estrella jail story would be: Why am I Here?

But I know why I’m here. How many more times do I have to tell that to people?! I’m here to be punished for leaving a noisy city and getting a beautiful home. At first I thought I’d title it: My Estrella Jail Nightmare. However, I don’t think I’ll use either one of those.

I still can’t believe I’m in jail for something I wrote and for this long! We have freedom of verbal speech, but God help us should we write it down and send our journals through the mail! That’s fucked. Totally fucked!

Another issue is how old this case is. This was years ago! Gosh, why not punish me for the little boy I bullied around in the first grade?! And if I’m some stalker, what am I doing living out in the middle of nowhere? Don’t real stalkers prefer cities?

The more I think about this job thing, the more it burns me up. I’m really frustrated right now. What we do with our lives should be irrelevant. If I wanted my job to be dealing drugs, that’d be different, but you mean I can’t be a homemaker because of something I wrote? I gotta get a whole new job and lifestyle for that? Fuck that shit! What the fuck does my occupation have to do with anything? I’m not getting an additional job and I’m not changing my life over this shit! I didn’t kill anybody and I’m not about to be anybody’s slave, either! They can make me stay here till April 29th, but they can’t tell me what the fuck to do with my life out there! I’m nobody’s liar. I’m not telling them what they want to hear, and I’m not going to be forced to be somebody I’m not and try to handle a lifestyle that isn’t suitable for me, whether or not transportation’s an issue. I’m sick of society and the fucked up fucking mother-fucking system trying to control me!

I’m in the shittiest of moods right now! Why do I even bother living? I should’ve killed myself before October 30th when I had the bad vibes and knew something was wrong. Very wrong. Now I’m stuck having to live through this shit and if being free goes to my head once I get out of here, I’m never going to get up the nerve to kill myself!

Thursday, February 15, 2001

Hudgens is on now, and I’m waiting quite impatiently for Tom.

Ida left last night around 4:30. I’m happy for her, but so envious! I have so many days left still.

Ida left just in time because Misery was on today. When I called her Misery, she responded this time by pointing to her name tag. (her real name’s Chaicowski or something like that) I mentioned how she’s a dead ringer for Kathy Bates (but left out the part about how much misery she brings people) and she said the sergeant mentioned reading in the paper that she’s to be presenting the Oscars.

That’s the third fucking time we’ve had weenies in 4 days! What the fuck is this weenie trip we’re on?

My newfound fondness for Hudgens dwindled a little bit. First she let the fucking food sit forever so it could get cold, then she let Myra serve when the bitch has a cold. What a stupid idiot she is!

Marilyn was telling me how she began hooking to support her drug habit, but I don’t know how the hell she ever pulled it off. She’s pretty homely looking, although, for the most part, all guys want to do to women is fuck them, insult their intelligence, then dump them (Marilyn’s of average height/weight with brown eyes and curly brown hair a few inches below her shoulders, in case I didn’t already say so).

I asked Marilyn if she was really threatened and she said no. I figured as much. I think Ida was the only one who was really threatened back when she was in the tents.

Saw Tom and showed him the card I got from Helen. He’s still working a lot. He says she misses me more the more he’s at home.

Tom reassured me a little about this PO shit, but I don’t know. Something’s been teasing me as far as living in that house goes from the get-go. First it was with the set-up process, and now that I’ve been in the house for the near year I was in it, which felt like only a few months, I get yanked back out of it. Am I meant to live there or not?

Yes!! Loud-mouth, bleach-happy Maria’s going to GP, so now there’s a bed open in a big cell. Well, that could be a good thing, actually. If there was a fight in the lower big cell, they could come up to this one, rather than swap with me or Marilyn.

Friday, February 16, 2001

I slept the longest I’ve ever slept since being here, and all night, too! I fell asleep around 9 PM, right before the nurse came. I remember asking Hudgens if she’d turn the TV off and she said she would on her next walk. The next time I opened my eyes for a sec, it was dark and quiet. Then the next time was when Temple was waking us up to go down and get our breakfast, but neither of us was interested. I didn’t get up till 7:45 when Bangert let us out for our hour out. I showered, shaved, and walked at a brisk pace for 20 minutes.

Everyone was asleep when I was out, and I saw that Carol moved in to take Maria’s place.

While I was showering, I heard Bangert call for Rec.

That’s right Bangert! Call for rec while everyone’s asleep and I’m in the shower.

I hope and pray my next celly doesn’t need me to be their source of entertainment. I hate cellies that smother me with always needing someone to talk to. And I hate it when they don’t stay on their beds, making me feel like I’ve got even less space/privacy, though I’d rather see a celly too much than hear them too much.

Lunch just came and I made myself eat a boring ham sandwich in case tonight’s dinner isn’t edible.

I asked Misery when the meal cut is supposed to take place and she said she didn’t know. She said it’ll be the same number of calories. (2900) It’s awfully hard to believe we get that many calories. To me, it seems more like 1500-2000.

Nottelmann’s on now. I was wondering if she’d ever work here again while I was still here.

Believe it or not, after all I slept last night, I took a long nap. Not without waking up a zillion times, throughout it, though. Marilyn said she tried to be quiet, yet I heard every move she made. I heard the water running, the movements, the coughing, the heavy breathing, etc. Then she yelled out to Bangert about going to Medical for her shot, then Bangert came back later to tell her they’d pull her later for it. She was gone all of 5 minutes for her shot, which she says is for mental illness. She’s still one of the nicest, sanest psych cases I’ve met so far, but that’s OK because technically I’m a psych case myself. I just won’t take meds for it. ADD is a bitch to deal with either way. The hyperness causes insomnia which fucks up my schedule and causes me to have trouble focusing and concentrating on things for long periods of time. That, my childhood, and my being scrawny (for most of my life) is why I have so much trouble dealing with people, be it with jobs or relationships of various kinds. Some haven’t exactly liked dealing with my being hard of hearing, either. Of course, it depends on where I am and how much background noise there is. Everyone wants you to be perfect and over 5 feet tall. I’m convinced that Tom’s the only one in the whole world who could ever accept me as I am. I’m really careful of what I tell people when they ask about me because I know certain things could be used against me as unfair and irrelevant to the present as it sometimes is. I didn’t tell intake I tried to kill myself, for example, because they could use that against me, even though I was only 17 years old.

It’s nice to think of all the things Tom and I are going to do in and out of the house when I get out, and over the years to come, but I hesitate to plan too much. Life isn’t what we plan it!

Some plain-looking DO named Redpath is filling in for Nottelmann while she’s at the sergeant’s office, or so I heard. I get the impression this isn’t a very nice lady, but when you’re new to a DO, they never seem nice. Believe me, there’s a huge difference in how the DOs treat me now, versus my first couple of months here.

What is it with all this drinking? This is the second celly in a row obsessed with drinking cup after cup of water.

Because I slept all night last night and had a nap, I know I’ll be up all night tonight. I wish I could sleep and sleep and sleep. It makes the time go by so much faster.

When I was downstairs walking this morning I noticed that Myra’s ID says she’s minimum security. How does a child molester/beater get to be minimum while the writer ends up to be medium? Does anything in this world make sense? Is anything ever fair?

Anyway, we were surprised with chicken for dinner. It was a small piece that wasn’t overly filling, but it sure beats weenies!

These cheap razors really suck. I’ve got major razor stubble now. Maybe I should just wait and shave when I get out with my own razor which is a really good one.

Marilyn and I were telling the nurse and Nottelmann some jokes. I showed them the rat and mice pictures, too.

Saturday, February 17, 2001

Chambers asked me if I knew any more jokes and I gave her my joke sheet to check out.

Brea will probably be on tomorrow.

Bryant was on last night and I laughed really loud on two of her walks, just like Mary and I did. Even Marilyn was laughing.

Julia’s gone home and Peaches (Jane), who’s supposedly Kim’s aunt, is down there now. There’s someone new in 5 too, but I don’t know who.

Off goes Chambers and on comes Futch. Chambers went into all the cells and did a half-assed search. Thank God it was a half-assed search, or else I’d have lost my spare panties and socks. I’d rather lose those, though, than my juice bottle. She did, however, take my extra towel because we were “too clean and no fun and she had to take something.” Marilyn will leave me her extra towel and I’ll exchange it on Monday.

Not a bad dinner tonight by jailhouse standards. The meat patty, though God knows what it was, was pretty edible, and the rice wasn’t dry and stuck together for a change, either.

Marilyn slept most of the afternoon, but now she’s sitting in front of me drinking an endless amount of water and will probably sit there guzzling till the nurse comes at around 8:00. She’d get out from under my nose if I asked her to, but as long as she doesn’t bug me when I’m trying to listen to the radio, I’ll live with it because tomorrow’s her last day anyway. She really is one of the best cellies I’ve had, though, and I will miss her.

I had food stuck between my teeth and I flossed it out using a few strands of hair. I know it’s gross, but it worked.

That’s the second time the fire alarm’s gone off.

This is the longest Palma’s gone without working here since I came back to M. When will she be back? I want to give her these joke sheets and I want to see her before I leave.

From Marilyn: What kinds of birds don’t fly?

Jailbirds.

As much as I’d love to move down to the bottom bunk after Marilyn leaves, I won’t chance it. It’d be nice to get someone in here that I was compatible with who had a lower bunk slip. Then we wouldn’t get pulled unless someone was fighting with someone somewhere, or Jackson and Jill came in to play house with us again.

So far, Ida’s been my longest-running celly and that was the longest I was in the same cell consistently (29 days).

Sharon’s definitely the best nurse. She’s totally cool. She says she ought to be here Monday evening and to ask her then if my new inhaler is on her cart.

As far as Tom and I sleeping together when I get home – I don’t know what to do or when to do it. I think I’d like that to be his call unless he says otherwise. I trust his judgment. Me – I have poor judgment because I so rarely get to make my own decisions in life.

Sunday, February 18, 2001

It’s turned out to be an all-Chambers weekend. She’s on again.

The girl in 5 is bragging to next door about how she kicked the shit out of a cop.

God, I hate cops! I could never trust them again after what’s happened. If I were being held hostage at gunpoint in my own home, I still wouldn’t call the cops. Besides, I’d probably be dead long before they could get there, anyway.

Myra took another shit fit. That lunatic is always raging about something when she isn’t crying or laughing. She was crying to her mom on the phone that she’s not going to have a life if she gets 18 years. She should’ve thought about that before she and her boyfriend molested and smacked her kids around. I wouldn’t put a hose to her mouth if her brains were on fire, that’s how sick she makes me. I hate people like her! They all ought to be killed.

God and life are so cruel and unfair! I should be home with my husband right now, enjoying a lazy Sunday afternoon together. Not forced to be here, worrying about who I’m going to be forced to live with next, all for some freeloader’s vindictiveness and the courts who cater to people like her.

From Chambers: This old couple goes to the doctor’s and the doctor says to the guy, “I need a urine and a stool sample.”

The guy says, “Huh?”

The doctor repeats himself louder. “I need a urine and a stool sample.”

“Huh?” he yells again.

Finally, his wife says, “Just give him your underwear.”

I was right in guessing we’d get spicy weenies tonight. Along with it came wilted salad, 2 pieces of bread, and a skimpy portion of beans in this brown sauce that looked like half-dried puke.

Monday, February 19, 2001

Marilyn’s gone. I’m happy for her and sad for me since I still have an eternity to do here. She was one the best cellies and I’m going to miss her.

Not even 4 hours later, I got a new celly. It was 4:30 when Marilyn woke me up. “Bye, Jodi. I love you. I’ll miss you.”

“Me too, Marilyn. Take care,” I said.

By 8:00 I had my new celly. This was the girl who was in 5 bragging about the pig she beat. Her toilet got clogged up in there so she came in here to use the toilet, asking if I wanted a roommate.

“No, but I guess I don’t have a choice, so, are you quiet?” Not that I expected the truth.

She nodded, saying she sleeps a lot, then she moved over.

Her nickname is Gidget, but her real name is Nancy K. She’s about 5’ 5” with a hideous face and a nice body. She’s slim and solid, but it’s mostly because of crack. Actually, although she’s proportioned nicely, she’s a little too skinny. I like something you can really hang onto and there’s just not much meat on this one. Lots of muscle, though. She said she helped her dad build houses in Indiana. Her baby-fine brown hair is boring. It’s a little past her shoulders. She has plain-looking, almost mean-looking brown eyes, a face full of acne, a body full of ugly tats, and only half a mouthful of teeth. She’ll be 29 on the 24th. She’s in for cop-beating and drugs. This is her fifth time in jail.

So far, with the exception of our hour out, in which I called Tom to update him, and lunch, she’s been sleeping. She doesn’t seem to gab non-stop and she doesn’t talk to herself. I’m not really sure what to think at this point, but she’s definitely not a Rosa or a Mary. Not even an Ida or a Marilyn.

She told me she was glad I was sane, and to make all the noise I want when she’s sleeping because she’s one of those heavy sleepers I envy. When I told her I rock to the music, she was pleased, telling me I’d rock her to sleep.

I wish I could sleep like her and Marilyn! I fell asleep around 2:00, got up at 8:00 after a zillion wake-ups, and although I’m tired, I can’t get back to sleep. The question is – how will she be when she’s up longer? Will she talk non-stop then? Always be under my nose? Or will she stay mostly in bed and out of sight reading? I wonder how often she’ll sleep.

She says she’s had no luck with men and is going to get a woman when she gets out, which she says she’s become more and more attracted to over time.

Vasquez was talking to us earlier, and even she knows that most cops are lying macho assholes. A pig tried bullying her son once, she told us. She says she sees a lot of injustice within the courts and all the time people are getting unfair sentences. She says the judges seem to think it’ll help their careers if they sentence people as much as they can. I think it’s mostly a control thing. Makes them feel powerful to know they can trash people’s lives like they do, while the POs want to keep all the clients they can. It’s not just a control thing, but a business thing. The more clients, the more money.

Anyway, she’s a very caring, compassionate DO.

For the first time ever, I lied when asked why I’m here. Normally, instead of bothering to lie, I just don’t talk about things I don’t want to talk about. But Nancy’s not exactly someone I respect and care about and I’m sick of getting into it. Also, I thought the punishment ought to fit the crime for once. So, when Nancy asked me why I was here, I said I was in for assault. I said I beat the bitch up, and believe me, I wish to hell I had!!! I’d beat her to a bloody pulp if I had to start all over again. She’d be completely beyond recognition when I got through with her. I’d do to her what my mother did to me, letting me starve, then beating me up and leaving me in the woods for dead, although there aren’t any woods around. With the way the laws are out here, I wouldn’t be in this mess if I had done that from the get-go like I should’ve and wanted to. If only I hadn’t let Tom talk me out of it! I told him she and her people would never be a problem to us again if he’d only let me handle it my way. I totally regret listening to him on that one!

Anyway, I don’t want to get on another freeloader trip right now.

Nancy’s favorite DO is Espi, who according to her, gives her coffee and cigarettes. Espi drinks a pot of coffee that she brings to work with her and lets Nancy empty it out in the shower room (when she’s in the dorms), only Nancy empties it out in a bottle. I miss coffee and could sure go for a cup myself right now.

Did a little trading with Nancy. I gave her a brownie and a bag of nuts for 5 envelopes (stamped, of course). I gave her a little shampoo too, just because I wanted to and felt like helping her out.

I would be very hungry if it weren’t for commissary. Dinner wasn’t so bad. It was different. Chunks of beef in a thin beef sauce. However, between the 5 bites of that, 5 bites of potatoes, and a mouthful of dead lettuce, I’d be starving!

Nancy says she’s seen Mary on TV a lot, and something about Mary knowing her dead daughter was in a swamp and her not saying so. I don’t know what the fuck the real story is with Mary, but I sure am curious. I’m going to see if Tom can find anything online.

Chambers is definitely one of my favorites. Yesterday I was stressing over Marilyn’s leaving, and Chambers saw that I was crying when she came in to tell me a joke. She said that since it was Sunday and psych wasn’t in, she’d be there for me if I needed to talk. How sweet of her. I really appreciated her being there for me.

Nancy was crying earlier, scared of going to prison, afraid of being all alone. She gave me the number of a friend and asked if I’d ask Tom to call her and tell her to get her long-distance blocks off her phone so she can call collect. She doesn’t know this girl’s address to write to her. Nancy has no family nearby and she doesn’t get along with them anyway. I offered to write to her so she doesn’t feel so alone.

She fell asleep shortly after dinner. Hope she’s not up too early! She’s a bit of a restless sleeper. She tosses and turns so roughly in her sleep that you’d think someone was attacking her. Hopefully, it won’t bother me when I’m sleeping.

Unless there’s some delay or fuck-up in court, she won’t be here for more than a couple of weeks.

Sharon brought me a new inhaler. She’s the only dependable nurse around here. She says they’re moving them around a lot and isn’t sure where she’ll be. I hope she’s here as long as I am!

Tuesday, February 20, 2001

Nancy is not turning out to be a very good celly. She doesn’t ramble on non-stop at the mouth, and she doesn’t beg too much, but she doesn’t try very hard to be quiet when I’m sleeping. She slept on and off for nearly 24 hours and got up around 7:00. She woke me up by roughly opening the Styrofoam breakfast trays. Her movements, in general, are quick and rough like she just doesn’t give a shit. She’s just like Carolyn, Monday and Deanna – very self-absorbed.

She insisted she tried to be quiet and didn’t mean to wake me up. Then she goes, “You’re the one that was up all night, not me.”

I said, “Oh, so that means you can’t respect my schedule because I’m a night person and you’re not?”

“How come you can rustle papers and shit like that, but I can’t?”

“Nancy, you told me it didn’t bother you, so I assumed it was OK. As soon as you tell me it bothers you, I’ll stop doing that while you’re asleep.”

She had told me that all she does is sleep and to make all the noise I wanted to while she slept because she’s a heavy sleeper, but just like with most phony people, she’s obviously not what she said she was. Now the radio even bothers her, but just while she’s trying to fall asleep, she says. After that, it doesn’t matter. So I keep it turned down till I hear her breathing like she’s sleeping.

Another thing is that when she first came in here she was constipated which is great when you have to live cramped up in such a tiny room, but lately she’s turned into a regular little shitaholic! She’s grossing me the fuck out, and I swear – if this bitch doesn’t quit her shit, I’m gonna plug up that butt hole of hers really good with a pad or something!

Wednesday, February 21, 2001

Nancy’s at Medical now getting an inhaler for her own asthma. I searched through her stuff to see if she had the juice packet I’m missing and I didn’t find it. She either drank it without my noticing, or more than likely, commissary fucked up and shorted me one.

Some DO I’ve never seen before that was breaking for Laborde, asked me what I’ve been doing. “Now that’s a stupid question,” I said to the DO. “What do you think I’ve been doing? Playing with myself?”

As always, I enjoyed my visit with Tom yesterday, but was sad to hear Cocoa died. All that’s left now are Gizzy and Freddie, but I’m sure they’ll be gone when I get home.

I told him I wanted to reapply for disability even if the PO were a sweetheart to save as many of the $40 monthly fees as possible, but he said we’d still have to pay that.

Figures. The freeloader always wins.

He started planting vegetables. Things like peas, asparagus, tomatoes, cauliflower and more.

Vasquez was on yesterday and the day before. That woman is “the bomb,” as they say. She’s so cool. She told us a little about herself and gave us extra lunches on both days.

She was telling us that part of their training at the academy requires them to be maced with pepper spray and stun-gunned so they know what it’s like.

Ugh! I can’t imagine going through that shit!

Yesterday was funny because I woke Carol up when I was chatting with Silvia, Mindy and Lisa. She was pissed! Good, because she woke Marilyn and I up so I owed her one.

Lisa said she sleeps all night and is up all day. Forget it. I don’t want her as a celly.

I slept better last night and feel a bit more comfortable with Nancy now that I’m getting to know her.

Both sides of the original earbuds are shorting. So I tried the newer pair again and both sides work! Guess I can hold off on getting another pair.

Merci beaucoup, Nancy! Nancy swiped the pen I’m writing with from Medical. It’s so nice to be able to write with a pen again, although it’ll be even nicer to type on my computer!

I almost feel guilty for telling her I’d have Tom call her friend for her to have her remove her long-distance blocks, when in fact I never even gave the number to Tom. I didn’t think she’d be here long, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized she would be here for a while. She was arrested on a probation violation which escalated to assault when she fought that cop, so now she’ll be bound over for trial unless she pleads guilty, but even if she pled guilty, she’ll be here for at least a month. Maybe even a few. She’ll know more when she talks to her public defender, or as she more appropriately puts it – public pretender.

We’re hiding the pen inside her mattress. There’s a hole in the seam and we jam it in there which is a place not even Palma would look. We agreed that if we get caught with it, the person it’s on at the time has to take the fall for it while the other says they know nothing about it. So if I get caught with it I’ll say I found it on the dayroom floor. I’d probably get on restriction for 10 days.

Arajo’s turned out to be OK, though her liking me is far from mutual. Yeah, she’s given me the eye a couple of times. I came back from visitation crying and she asked me what was wrong. I told her I still had 68 more days, and she said that’ll go by real fast and told me a little bit about when she was in the army and it was her first time away from home when she was 26.

I had warned Nancy that Arajo would treat her like shit till she got to know her, but Nancy might’ve sunk her chances. She had the balls to ask the 6’, 200+ pound bull butch if she was a butch, and Arajo was not happy about it. Nancy had asked her earlier about going to Medical for a breathing treatment. As I expected, Arajo wasn’t the least bit sympathetic any more than Johnson was when I tried to tell her that no, I wasn’t just having an anxiety attack as she insisted, but was having trouble breathing too, and needed to go to Medical for an inhaler. She asked Nancy, “Why are you having trouble breathing? You’re talking.” Then she looked up at me questioningly and I just shrugged. Nancy still insisted she needed to go and Arajo said she’d call Medical, but we knew she never did. Anyway, Arajo said in response to her question, “For someone who’s having trouble breathing, you sure do ask rude questions.”

I must admit it was pretty funny, and Nancy was like, “Well, it’s an honest question!”

Although Nancy and I have had a few laughs, I still don’t think she’s all that good of a celly. I wish she’d leave or something. Later, when Arajo caught me crying again after Nancy had fallen asleep, she came in and asked what was wrong and I told her I was homesick. I also mouthed, “I don’t like her,” and pointed below me. She’d said she’d tell the next shift, whatever that means. I mean, what are they going to do? Move me tonight? Or move Nancy?

It turned out that Rylel was on next. She asked me how I was. By this time, although I was exhausted, I felt better. I told her she could shut our lights off. I crashed around 1:00 and got up at 9:30. We both slept later. She napped for a little while today, too.

Nancy has court tonight and was a little wound up, so she got off while I stayed up on my bunk so she could have some privacy. She loves to play with herself from what she tells me. She loves women, too. Like most people, she likes equals. I like opposites. She likes white girls around her size. I usually prefer Hispanic, Indian, or something dark that’s bigger than me. I like them to be at least 5’ 3”, preferably taller. The tallest woman I’ve been with was 5’ 6”.

Nancy likes redheads. Yuck! Redheads suck. The only good-looking redhead is Johnson, but I’m thinking of becoming one myself when I get out. Not bright, fiery red, but a deep, dark coppery red.

Nancy and I were singing earlier. She’s actually not that bad.

She made me a paper box (I put the aspirin the DOs pass out in it) out of magazine pages. She made the box out of a picture of ballerinas I picked out, and the lid with a picture of a girl in a bikini. We were both drooling over that body! The flat stomach, the straight, thin thighs…

“At least you still have that hourglass shape,” Nancy told me.

Yeah, a rather exaggerated one. I’m about 36-28-36. I miss my old measurements of 33-24-33.

Nancy loves licking pussy, she told me, but that’s mostly because she’s the dominant one in relationships, unlike me. It’s something I’ve never done before or even cared to do. I’ve been the receiver as far as that goes.

Right now, though, I’d be content just to have Palma come in here and give me a hug and a kiss and chat with me for a while. Her undivided attention would be sufficient enough since I can’t just go home now.

We’ve been judging the DOs. She said she’d do Wilder.

How boring.

We both agree Kahn’s OK and that Espi’s one gorgeous 50-year-old, though I wouldn’t want them. She thinks Bryant’s gay, but I never would’ve pegged her for being gay.

I totally dig Johnson. She’s not that butchy. She still has long hair. Yes, you can tell she’s gay, but she’s not dyky like Arajo is.

We were debating whether or not Palma’s part Indian. I don’t think she’s part Indian. I think she’s part black. Especially because of the kinky hair. Indians don’t have kinky hair.

Anyway, if you swipe something like a pen in jail and you don’t intend to use it much, it becomes money. Nancy said she wanted to sell it and I told her I’d buy it from her. (it’s full) I’m buying her a few bucks worth of treats, but she says she’ll share them with me anyway. She might get money on her books soon because she remembered her friend’s address. Good. Then Tom’s not calling won’t matter. I’m keeping the pen under my mattress where it’s out of view, but if Palma’s ever on again, or if I do go back to A, I’ll keep it on me.

Fucking LaBorde noticed my extra towel because I was dumb enough to forget to cover it, so there goes my pillow again. I’m getting pretty known for extra towels and rubber bands. I get them – they take them. They know just what to look for.

Got a letter from Tom. It was shorter because he wanted to get those doll pictures out to me. So now I have a good variety to show people. He said he’d look for jokes online. That’d be cool.

A part of me misses A Tower. I know Palma’s been there way more often than she’s been here, there’s the mice, of course, and as funny as it may sound, I slept better there than here.

Thursday, February 22, 2001

There’s a security override in effect right now. I hope Tom isn’t here yet waiting for me!

Starting on the 26th, Tom will be able to sign up for a whole half-hour visit if he wants to. We get a total of 1½ hours a week, but we were only allowed visitors for a half hour at a time. Not anymore. He can see me for an hour on Tuesday if he wants, and a half hour on Thursday.

Jill came by to ask people if they wanted to stay or not. I wonder why she never asks me. My 90 days are up on 3/7, and I’ll put in a tank requesting to remain in Ad-Seg for the duration of my sentence.

Nancy returned at 3:00. It was great to be able to sleep till 1:00, even if I had to get up for clothes exchange twice. The last time I slept late and woke up on my own was when Ida went to court.

As predicted, Nancy will be here for at least 60 days. It looks like, according to her public pretender, she’s going to get 3 years for the violation and about a year to run concurrently with that for fighting that pig.

Nancy said she was sure she fucked up her friend’s address, then found it on some paper, so I gave her another envelope and a piece of paper. She says she’ll pay me back. I’m not worried about it. It’s cheaper than bugging Tom to call her.

Tom said he might be here earlier, but I guess not because it’s already close to 4:00.

I wish I had more to write about since I don’t want to listen to music and miss hearing the call for my visit (Nancy’s asleep now, so she couldn’t listen for me).

I’m scared shitless right now, even though Mena and Nancy say I shouldn’t be. Tom never made it to visit me today. There was a security override and no reports of car accidents, according to Mena, yet I’m still worried. Mena let me call home at 8:20, but there was no answer. I hope to God he was asleep and unable to hear the phone! I’d die if anything happened to that man! Mena says I’d have been notified by now if anything had happened, but being the worrywart I am, all kinds of possibilities run through my head, like what if he’s in that house dead from a heart attack and no one knows yet?

A part of me almost feels like telling him that as much as I love seeing him, just write till I get out and don’t visit because it drives me crazy with worry when he’s late or doesn’t show up.

Because I slept so well today, I know I won’t get shit for sleep tomorrow. Nancy crashed after dinner and I know she’ll be up early and I know she’ll wake me up, too.

Half the pod hates us now. Everyone in the big cell next door, and probably the one downstairs too, isn’t too happy with us. Nancy’s considering signing herself out to the dorms because she can’t stand being with so many kiddy molesters. She was yelling out the door at Myra, then we were both yelling at the religious quacks for holding up dinner when we were starving. It was totally rude of them.

Mena came in and lectured Nancy about judging Myra.

When we finally got our dinner, Mindy, Lisa, Silvia and Carol next door, yelled at us for yelling at the religious ladies. The thing they were particularly mad at was my telling them to beat it because we were hungry. They yelled at Nancy for that and I let Mena know that I was the one that had said that.

“Tell them,” she told me.

So I went up to their door and tried to tell them, but before I could get more than a few words out, Mindy was screaming for me to get away from the door, slapping at it in a threatening way. That’s when Mena yelled, “Hey!” and opened their door. She yelled at them, saying they were just as bad and told them all to shut up.

If anyone has to hate me while I’m here, I’m glad it’s those in big cells so I don’t have to worry about getting stuck in there with them. I’d hope they’d be threatening me if someone tried to put me in with them, but if they didn’t, I’d either remind the DO that they did earlier or I’d do the threatening myself. Again, a part of me wants to go back to A, but I don’t want to have to have 2 cellies.

Ad-Seg can be so crazy! Nobody fights like Ad-Seg girls do.

Friday, February 23, 2001

Talked with Tom at Mary’s house. Boy, was it a relief to hear his voice! I knew I didn’t see him because of the security override and I knew I’d have been notified if anything bad had happened, but hearing his voice made a world of difference as far as calming my nerves was concerned.

He said everyone was told to leave and all he heard was a couple of DOs saying 100 was rocking. I’m sure they were referring to the hole which is A100. Could’ve been B100, but I doubt it. It certainly wasn’t M100. That’s Alpha. M300 is juvi, and we’re M200. “The Princess Dorm,” as it’s commonly referred to.

“Are you going to tell your husband I’m coming on to you?” Nancy asked me.

“Well, of course. I tell him everything.”

No, she’s not going to rape me or anything like that. She’s just horny as hell and wishes we could take care of each other. Sorry, Nancy, I’m just not attracted to you. That’s very complimentary of her to tell me how much she likes my “porcelain doll” face and my lips that she says she can imagine kissing, but she doesn’t cut it for me. She just doesn’t turn me on one bit. Also, although I know we could time our activities without getting caught, it’d feel weird to have sex in jail.

Nancy said she recognizes Tom from his picture and that she saw him cruising the Mesa area looking for hookers and that she ripped him off when he thought she was a hooker. Right! And I ripped off Gloria Estefan after she went down on me after thinking I was really Linda Ronstadt. Why would a guy who’s hardly ever horny anyway, go all the way to Mesa for a piece of ass? Not that I’d give a shit if he did as long as I was always his #1. Nancy and I go back and forth between fighting and getting along and she said this when she was pissed at me, so that alone tells me something right there.

She’s taken to begging more and when I put my foot down and let her know she wasn’t going to take advantage of me, she called me stingy and was even going to have Lopez put her down in 2 which is empty. That’s how it is around here when you don’t want to end up spending a fortune on all your cellies and be responsible for them; you get called stingy, but she can call me that all she wants. She’s not getting anything else from me.

She bit my dead batteries, saying that makes them last longer because it condenses them. It seemed to help, but only through a few songs.

She asked Lopez about the racket behind us. They’re setting up new female and male tents (N and O). O’s going to be the women’s tents, and Lopez says she connects the word ovaries to O so she remembers that O’s going to be for women. A and B towers are female, C and D are males, E is women, F and G are males, H is male tents, I is female tents, J, K, L and M are all female.

Saturday, February 24, 2001

Another day of fewer than 8 hours of sleep with a zillion interruptions. Nancy woke me up 3 times. The first two times were for her meds and to go to the bathroom, so I can’t blame those on her. The third time, though, she was tossing fiercely and yawning and sighing really loud, like so many people here seem to do. At least it wasn’t too early when she decided to get all fidgety. It was coming up on 10:00 and our hour out. I didn’t say anything to Nancy, although I’m sure she could tell by my attitude that I didn’t appreciate her noisiness waking me up. There’s no excuse for this shit. I also didn’t say anything because I knew it wouldn’t do me any good and it was her birthday. She also filled out a form to get out of here. So, she’ll be leaving soon and then I’ll have to deal with someone else’s shit for a while. Fortunately, someone gave her a couple of books that she says are her kind, so that should keep her quiet and out of my hair till she leaves.

If I’d known better upon coming into this jail, as Nancy did, I’d have complained of back pain at Medical to get a lower bunk slip. Hopefully, I’ll never have to go to Medical again, so I won’t bother. And besides, I’m two-thirds of the way through my time.

Now the two big cells really hate us! Chambers, who I’m now kind of attracted to, was on yesterday. At one point, she gave Mindy a pair of panties to give to Nancy, which she slid under the door. Nancy was pissed that they were being dragged on the floor and Mindy was threatening her, saying that unfortunately, she didn’t have the keys to the cell, etc.

Chambers came up and told us all that if we said anything more, we’d be rolled out to A Tower (wouldn’t hurt my feelings all that badly).

To back up a bit, I was just waking up and turned towards the door to see who was on when I heard keys jingling. Just as I did this, Chambers passed by, then she doubled back and said hi and asked how I was. “Just getting up,” I told her.

How nice of her to go back just to say hi to me! I don’t know what it is with this white, blond-haired, blue-eyed exception, but she’s so cute! Actually, I think her eyes are gray and her hair is a light sandy brown. Also, she’s only 18 and I’m never attracted to anyone that young. I like the 30s-40s group.

Later, Chambers and I exchanged more jokes. I told her one, and she told me about this couple who was expecting a baby. When the woman went into labor, the doctor explained that there was this new machine available to put some of the pain onto the husband and take some off the wife. So the doctor started by setting the machine at 10% and the woman felt better, yet the guy felt fine. The doctor upped it to 20% and still, the guy felt OK while the woman felt even better. At 30% the guy still felt OK, so he told the doctor to go ahead and up the machine to 100%. “You sure?” the doctor asked. The guy said he was sure and the doctor upped the machine to 100%. The woman had the baby very easily and the guy never felt an ounce of pain. Then when they got home, they found the mailman dead on their doorstep.

So now two DOs know I like them and another knows about it. She knows about Palma, anyway. Yeah, Chambers was going by when I called to her from up on my bed, but she didn’t hear me. Nancy was at the door, though, and she yelled out, “Hey, Chambers! Little Miss-I’ve-Got-A-Crush-On-You has a question for you.”

This is when I asked her age. Chambers blushed but came back anyway. I wasn’t as embarrassed as most people would’ve been, but I was caught off guard and laughing my ass off at the same time. It was funny if you ask me, and I do like those I like to know it, although they usually never do. I knew Nancy was the type to say something like that, but I didn’t know she was going to say it at that very moment.

I guess she wasn’t offended because she still talked with me and smiled at me, as usual. Maybe next time she’s on, I ought to say I’m so very very sorry about what Nancy said, just to see what she says. I hope she’s on tomorrow! I don’t know, though, if I could call this a crush. It’s not like I picture us in intimate situations. I just like her and think she’s cute, that’s all. She’s a little too young and not attractive enough for a girlfriend.

Chavez is on now. She’s one of the ones I can tell is about to do a walk before she even leaves the tower, because I hear the door separating the pods unlock by the controls in the tower. Some unlock them with their keys as they’re going through, and others do it up front from the tower.

Nancy was reading, then dozing, then playing with herself, and now she’s bleeding. She says she just finished her period too, and thinks she may be having a miscarriage.

God get rid of a crackhead’s baby? That’ll be a first! She already has 3 boys in Indiana, though, so he didn’t do it soon enough. Why he gives kids to the wrong people isn’t my only question. Why give them to people who are going to do a significant amount of time and not be able to be there for them?

Nancy got Chavez to call Medical for her, but she’s totally lost it. God, I want her out of here! I’m sick of her moods. I understand it’s her birthday, she may be miscarrying, and she’s in jail, but that gives her no right to snap at me and take it out on me. She’s lucky she can take me or else I’d be beating the shit out of her.

Nancy’s not pregnant. She had a pregnancy test twice in the last week and they were both negative. She doesn’t believe it, but stress and age makes us irregular. She says a tubal pregnancy wouldn’t show up in a pregnancy test and that it’s not normal for her to bleed after a period. Well, it wasn’t normal for me to spot a week or two before my period. Now it is. Still, I want her out of here!

Nancy and I had an interesting talk with Lopez last night. Lopez said she did remember to say hi to Palma for me and that lately her week has consisted of A Tower, Medical and Escort. I wish she’d escort when Tom visits because then Tom could probably see her.

What I meant by when I said a DO knew about my crush on Palma was that Nancy told Lopez I have a crush on her. Lopez didn’t seem the least bit shocked. Crushes in this place are plentiful, anyway. There’s got to be tons of them with the hots for Palma. I can see where some would describe her as a little too masculine and even mean-looking with her distinct features and jet-black hair and eyes, but lots of people get off on that, and she’s still feminine enough at the same time. I realize more and more that I don’t seem to be as into the ultra-feminine scene as I used to be. Tom would probably say she was harsh-looking and ugly, but most women who have ever been attracted to other women would drool over her.

I can already smell the weenies I figured we’d be getting tonight because the last two dinners were OK.

M202

And now I’m down in 202, the least private 2-cell. At least it is a 2-cell and at least I’m alone, even though my next nightmare will be rolled in any second.

No, Nancy didn’t leave Ad-Seg yet, but she did threaten me. As I figured she would, she denied it to Chavez. And this is the same person who said she’d never lay a hand on me and that fighting doesn’t solve anything. The same person that wanted to lick my pussy – ugh!

The reason I didn’t get into it with her is that I didn’t want to get an assault charge or lose my visitation or commissary. Also, I knew it was my ticket to being alone, if only for a few days, even if it meant losing the pen. I just wanted to get away from her and her moods! Lastly, as tough as I’d like to think I can be, and despite all the cellies I’ve had that I could beat up and that I admit to bullying around a little, I don’t think this one was one I could’ve beaten. It bothers me, either way, to be forced to cower down to her, in a sense, to get what I want, but that’s life sometimes. It wasn’t easy to do, either. It took every ounce of strength to keep myself from hurling myself at her, and if this had happened somewhere else and under different circumstances where I had nothing to lose, I would’ve in a heartbeat, whether or not I thought she could take me.

Chavez’s timing was perfect. She was on her way by just as the little fuck was threatening to rip up every journal page with her name on it if I didn’t do it myself. At first Chavez was like, “But you guys have been together almost a week.” Then she looked at Nancy and said, “Well, you have made threats before.” Then she told me to roll up and to go down to 2. Not fair, if you ask me, since Nancy was the one that made the threat and she was the one with the lower tier/lower bunk slip, but life isn’t fair and I wasn’t about to argue. I just wanted to get away from the madwoman!

Nancy became more and more unpredictable. One minute we’d be engaged in an intelligent conversation and the next she was either crying or bitching about something. Her moods were unbelievable. This was bordering on schizophrenia without the evil voices.

I don’t remember what started it. Something about her insisting I was too lazy to work. Farming ain’t “real” work and neither is homemaking, she said. Also, “You’re using Tom, who works really hard for you.”

Then she starts talking to herself for the first time, telling herself to shut up.

My response to that was, “Yes, why don’t you for a change and not judge those you don’t know or who live differently than you do.”

That’s when she threatened to yank me off my bunk and beat me up, telling me that when I go to A Tower, she’d follow me there, I’m worthless, etc.

Believe me, I’m so fucking fed up with these sick fucks here that a part of me does want to go to A Tower and I don’t care if this is considered to be a luxury dorm or not. But I don’t want to give up being in a 2-cell either, even if those damn tent doors do sound like earthquakes in here.

I knew my luck would run out.

The good thing about having the whole pod threaten me through the vents like they’ve been doing is that I have the luxury of being on the bottom again. They’re not going to stick any of these people in here with them threatening to kill me, so I don’t have to worry about being moved in with them so someone else can have my lower bunk. The only ones that aren’t in on this shit are Lisa, Mary, Brandie, and the two that are in 5. It’s mostly Myra and Mindy, as usual. I’m letting each DO that comes on know about this shit, too.

Chavez had yelled at them to shut up. For a second, the thought of hauling off at them verbally myself appealed to me, but you know what? I really don’t want to know they exist. They’re not worth my time and energy, so I tune them out with the radio. I could snitch on Nancy for having 3 blankets and a pen, but these people aren’t worth snitching on any more than they’re worth yelling at.

I learned a lesson tonight – never tell anyone in jail if you’re keeping a journal! In fact, every 5 sheets of paper, even if it’ll be a little more expensive since I can fit more than that in one envelope, will be mailed out. In fact, I may even do daily mailings. And on third shift only when no one’s out that could snatch it like I snatched and tore up that tank order when they butted into my trying to call Tom last night, which I’ll get to later.

The losers in the big cell must’ve heard Nancy saying she wanted everything with her name ripped up (doesn’t she know all I’d have to do is rewrite the shit?) because they were talking about it. Until I tuned them out with my radio, I heard something about how I can’t publish it because I didn’t ask for their permission. I most certainly could if I changed names. What’s the matter with these kiddy lickers? Afraid of the truth being written/known? Do they really have that many dirty secrets to hide? Obviously so, for them to be this paranoid.

I got a kick out of how right after Myra called me a crybaby, she started crying and whining about how jail’s getting to her.

Yeah, there are a lot of hypocrites in here.

I hate this cell’s location because of how it’s downstairs and right under the see-through stairs. Not much privacy, but private as hell compared to the big ones. This room has no trap door, for some reason. The vent was already blocked with a brown commissary bag, so I didn’t have to deal with the hassle of blocking that. I like the sink better in this cell. The water gets hot fast and the stream of water arcs up higher, giving it more pressure.

I was surprised we got 3 OK dinners in a row. A burrito with rice, bread, veggies and a chocolate cupcake. It seems that all we get is chicken, beef or chicken patties, burritos and hot dogs. We never get anything like fish, macaroni or spaghetti.

The lunatic upstairs said that chewing on the wax wrapper of the cupcake was like chewing gum, and surprisingly, it was. It was better than Styrofoam, but nothing like the real thing.

About last night’s shit from 4 while I was still with Nancy – they wouldn’t let me ignore them any more than the freeloaders would. They all sang and yelled really loud so my voiceprint wouldn’t match when I was trying to call Tom. I told Lopez - either open the door and let me have a go at them one by one (believe me I was mad enough at that point to take every single one of them) or shut them up somehow. Nancy and I then filled her in on how Chambers said they were to be rolled up and sent to A Tower if they kept their shit up. By then it was chow time, and after talking with them and us, she let me out to make the call, keeping the tower monitor on, but they didn’t dare utter a word.

I wonder how Palma would’ve handled it if she’d been the one to be on that night and not Chavez? Would she have moved me, or would she have handled it the way she handled my not getting along with Tina, even though we never threatened each other, and said she’d only move me after she let us get into it, then maced and written us up? I hope not! I doubt it, though, at this point because now she knows and likes me, and this is a different situation.

I am so, so tired. I just want to go home! I want out! How can God do this to me?! And why?!

Anyway, I better try to get some sleep before the next bitch with a schizophrenic attitude comes in to steal what little sleep and peace I can get around here.

[alocalband]

What Happens in Vegas Bennguin, 3k, Mature Also on AO3

A few of the boys are still lounging around the pool even though the party’s died down. The rest of them drunkenly found their way into Jamie’s hotel room for video games and more drinking.

Jamie is loose and content on the bed, leaning back against the headboard. It’s the first time since the game seven double overtime loss that he hasn’t felt like throwing himself off a cliff, and he’s indulging the feeling. Drinking whatever shitty beer one of the guys hands him, watching Dicky absolutely mop the floor with Brett in Madden, letting Tyler be overly handsy and obnoxious beside him as he chirps the boys a little too loudly.

Eventually everyone breaks off to find their own fun. The sun’s still up, but they’ve been at it all day, so Jamie honestly wouldn’t mind just putting on a movie and then sleeping all the way up to their flight back tomorrow.

Tyler ends up the last one in the room with him, still sitting on the bed beside each other, as Janny determinedly heads out the door on his way to an ill-advised hookup that Tyler won’t stop falling all over himself laughing about.

Once Tyler’s able to catch his breath, he snorts and shrugs. “Well. ’What happens in Vegas,’ am I right?” he grins and takes another swig of his beer.

Jamie is just sober enough to know the next words out of his mouth are a bad idea, and just drunk enough to say them anyway. “Hey, does that mean-- Like, if I were to tell you something while we’re here, we could just leave it behind when we get back to Dallas? Just, you know, pretend I never said it?”

Tyler laughs again and nudges Jamie with his elbow, raising a crooked eyebrow. “This you asking for a free pass to rip me a new one? Go for it, man, I can take it.”

Jamie frowns. “What would I want to lay into you for?”

“I don’t know. Lack of scoring? Snagging the last beer?” He raises said beer up for emphasis, and then knocks back the rest of it.

“If I’m pissed at anyone for lack of scoring, Seggy, it’s myself.”

The change in Tyler’s expression at that is immediate, from drunken goofball to Serious Business Alternate Captain mode in .2 seconds flat. Jamie’s kind of in awe of the way the look highlights just how much Tyler’s grown up in the years since he got to Dallas.

“Hey man, we talked about this. We both had slumps. And we both did a lot of good shit too. If you start beating up on yourself again, I swear I’m gonna--”

“No, Segs, I’m not-- I’m good. You don’t have to worry.”

An easy smile tugs at Tyler’s lips as he slips right back into being pleasantly inebriated and carefree, slinging an arm around Jamie’s shoulders as if to emphasize that. “I always worry about you, Chubbs.”

He says it so casually that the words really shouldn’t make Jamie feel like he just got run into the boards.

But that breathless, helpless feeling that Tyler always manages to inspire in Jamie without even trying doesn’t excuse what Jamie does next.

“I’m gay,” he says.

Because he’s an idiot.

Tyler blinks dumbly at him for a couple seconds, and then starts to laugh.

And then abruptly stops when he sees Jamie is obviously not gonna be laughing with him.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, pulling his arm off of Jamie’s shoulders.

Jamie swallows thickly at the loss of its comforting weight, wondering if that’s his answer to the unspoken question of, Is that okay? Are we still good? He suddenly feels a lot more sober than he did thirty seconds ago.

“Stays in Vegas,” he reiterates, trying not to pass out in fear of how the rest of this conversation is going to go. Why the fuck did he finally say it out loud. And to Tyler of all people, the one guy it would pretty much devastate Jamie to get a bad reaction to this from.

Tyler puts both hands up, wide-eyed. “Of course! I wouldn’t-- fuck, are you actually serious right now? Chubbs, it’s been years. And you never--”

“It’s the NHL, Segs,” he interrupts. “And with the C... Obviously none of the guys can know.”

“They wouldn’t--”

“You don’t know that.”

Tyler looks down at his now empty beer bottle, picking at the peeling label for a long moment.

The prolonged silence is doing nothing to help Jamie’s looming panic attack. “Look, if you’re uncomfortable, it’s fine.” It’s really not, but Jamie is used to hiding heartache. “Like I said, we’re gonna pretend this whole conversation never happened, right? Nothing has to change.”

God, he hopes nothing changes. It would fucking break him if Seggy started treating him differently because of this. Damn it, why did he open his mouth at all?

Tyler’s eyes are still downcast. But then he sighs and leans over to set the beer bottle on the night stand. When he straightens, he locks his gaze with Jamie’s, his expression almost solemn. “Are you seeing anyone?”

The question catches Jamie off guard. He frowns, his brow furrowed in confusion. “No?”

Tyler nods once, decisive. And then leans in and kisses him.

To say Jamie is shocked would be an understatement. His whole body locks up, frozen, and his thoughts stutter to a halt. He doesn’t even have the presence of mind to catalogue the feeling of Tyler’s lips on his before Tyler is pulling back with a small frown. “Shit. Did I read that wrong?”

Jamie just stares at him, unable to process what’s just happened.

“Ah fuck, I’m sorry, man. I totally thought--”

“You kissed me,” Jamie manages.

Tyler looks at him like he thinks Jamie’s being intentionally obtuse. “Yeah? Duh? And I woulda done it a bajillion years ago if I thought I wouldn’t get punched for it.” He leans a little further away from Jamie. “Wait, am I gonna get punched for it?”

A hysterical little laugh bubbles up out of Jamie. He never thought this was a possibility, never allowed himself to even imagine...

He grabs a handful of Tyler’s T-shirt and reels him back in.

This kiss is long, slow and searching, the both of them active participants moving together like they already know exactly how the other will respond. Like the sixth sense they have on the ice somehow miraculously also applies to this.

When they come up for air, panting against each other’s swollen lips, Jamie has to squeeze his eyes shut tight and grip Tyler’s hips with bruising fingers to try to ground himself.

“What happens in Vegas?” Tyler asks breathlessly, but with a sort of timid caution that lets Jamie know what he’s really asking.

“It doesn’t have to. If you... It doesn’t have to stay here.”

“You sure?” He’s got one hand in Jamie’s hair and the other resting on Jamie’s thigh, slowly inching its way higher.

“Do you wanna know exactly how long I’ve been trying not to fall in love with you? Because it’s been a while.”

Tyler laughs, delighted. His face is so open and bright with his joy that Jamie can’t help but kiss him again. He wants to wrap Tyler up in his arms and never let go. He wants to be the cause of Tyler’s joy for the rest of their lives.

“If you need the receipts on how long I’ve been mooning over your stupid ass just ask Spez. He’s been throwing balls of tape at my head in the locker room every time I get too obvious about it since day fucking one.”

“Good to know.” Jamie grins. And then, a nervous stutter of his heart: “So Spez is cool with...”

Tyler purses his lips into something not quite a frown but close enough. It looks a little sad. “You know, a lot of them would be.” Jamie opens his mouth to argue, but Tyler beats him to it. “Just consider it, Cap. But not now. Right now the only thing I want you considering is my dick.”

Jamie doesn’t have the chance to roll his eyes and groan at that because Tyler heaves himself up to straddle him and start kissing again in earnest. And then Jamie’s groaning for an entirely different reason, bucking his hips up against the hard line of Tyler’s growing erection beneath his swim shorts.

Jamie tugs at Tyler’s shirt. “Off, off,” he pants against Tyler’s mouth. “Can’t believe you put a shirt on at all today.”

Tyler leans back and pulls she shirt over his head, while Jamie does the same with his own. “You keep your hotel room too cold,” he whines with an over the top pout.

Jamie gives him an unimpressed look. “You’re from Canada. You make a living being on ice.”

“Okay, okay, quit fucking chirping me and get naked already,” he says around laughter, like he’s never had this much fun. Jamie feels the same way. Being turned on while making fun of each other is a unique concept for him in the bedroom and he doesn’t know why it’s never been like this before. Maybe because he’s never had sex with someone who was a friend first.

Tyler rolls off of him so he can take off his shorts and then toss them clear across the room while Jamie eases out of his own. When Tyler turns back to face him, Jamie pounces and pins him to the bed with all of his weight.

“God that’s hot,” Tyler breathes, pupils blown.

Jamie grinds down into him, causing Tyler to close his eyes and throw his head back with a low groan. Then Jamie reaches down between them and takes them both in hand.

There is always something about watching Tyler without clothes on that feels like watching a performance. He is so fully aware when even a random phone’s camera is nearby, or where everyone’s eyes are immediately drawn whether they want to be or not. But it is very much a show, even at his most relaxed. Like he’s certain that no one in proximity would ever look at him as more than what he wants them to see: something to admire, to covet, to watch.

This is different. This feels like the show is just for Jamie’s eyes alone, and if anyone else were to try to intrude, everything about Tyler would shift. This is a Tyler just for the two of them. A Tyler that knows that Jamie’s lust is about more than just his body.

Neither of them last long, and thank god because Jamie’s embarrassingly hard just from getting to put his dick anywhere near those abs.

Tyler comes with a choked off shout. Jamie is so surprised by the fact that he goes first, and so turned on by the face Tyler makes, that he’s coming himself seconds later.

Tyler strokes him through the aftershocks. And when Jamie starts to softly whine at the overstimulation, he shimmies up the bed until they’re face to face, heads lying on the same pillow.

For a long moment the only sounds are their labored breaths and the muted noise of the strip outside the hotel room window. The further from the high of his orgasm Jamie gets, the more worried he is about what’s going through Tyler’s head. He admitted to an attraction to Jamie, but that doesn’t mean...

“...Hey,” Tyler says, oddly cautious, like he’s dipping his toes into water he’s already certain will be too cold.

“Uh, hey,” Jamie shoots back on reflex, a little too short for the situation, a little too closed off just on instinct. Shit. He can feel the air in the room shift to something wary, and this whole thing is about to get blamed on alcohol and fucking Vegas, isn’t it?

Tyler studies Jamie’s left shoulder for a long moment, pointedly not meeting his eyes. And then he rolls over so he’s on his back, several inches of space between them. He keeps his gaze on the ceiling as he says, evenly, “Okay. So. I’m gonna go.”

Jamie reaches out for him before he can second guess himself, wrapping a hand around Tyler’s tattooed forearm to keep him from getting out of bed. “Wait.”

“It’s fine, man. We don’t have to--”

“You said ‘since day one.’”

Tyler swallows thickly. “I did. And you said ‘falling in love.’”

Jamie nods. “I did.”

A small smile starts to tug at the edge of Tyler’s lips, and he does a poor job of tamping it down. “Well then I guess I’m not going anywhere, am I?”

His tone is amused and hopeful, but there’s enough of a question in his eyes that Jamie feels the need to confirm what he now suspects is true. He pulls Tyler into him, and Tyler falls against his chest without resistance. Jamie kisses him, quick and firm. “I’m keeping you for as long as I can get away with.”

“Might be awhile.” he smirks a little, playful and coy.

Jamie smirks right back. “Good.”

They manage to fit a couple more rounds in, along with room service and an HBO doc that Jamie is going to remember exactly zero of thanks to Tyler’s rudely talented mouth.

Jamie wakes up the next morning to Tyler having stolen all the blankets, burrowed down into them, his face hardly visible while his forehead is pressed into Jamie’s shoulder. It’s possibly the best way Jamie’s ever woken up, even with the mild hangover.

At the airport, waiting for their flight back to Dallas, Jamie finds himself in line at Starbucks next to Klinger. The guy is very obviously hungover, so are the rest of them, and looks like he’s going to fall over if he doesn’t get some coffee into his system in the next five minutes.

Jamie can relate, even if he’s more just tired than hungover, and so doesn’t chirp him when he yawns twice in a row and then nearly stumbles backwards into a shelf of travel mugs. He does laugh though, to which Klinger rolls his eyes and slugs him the arm, but he’s got a smile on his face.

“Hey, you have fun last night after we left? Or did you just stay in and watch TV like the old man you are?” His tone is teasing as they shuffle forward in line, though still a good six people away from the register.

Jamie considers his answer for a moment, and then considers John. His other A. Dependable and honest and just... a good guy. A guy Jamie trusts.

“Nah, I hung out with Seggy. He kept me pretty busy.” He doesn’t imbue any innuendo into it, his tone light. But he figures if Tyler really has been that obvious in the past, that maybe Klinger will read into it anyway.

And judging by the way John’s eyes widen slightly as he stares at Jamie and Jamie stares evenly right back, it looks like he was right. “Oh.”

Jamie purses his lips and waits, heart in his throat.

But then Klinger grins and punches Jamie in the arm again, only this time hard enough in his enthusiasm that Jamie winces. “Fuck yeah, man. It’s about god damn time.”

Jamie laughs and throws an arm around John to pull him into a side hug. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

He glances over at where the rest of the guys are sitting at the terminal several yards away, immediately homing in on one body in particular. Sunk down low in his seat, limbs sprawled out wide, nodding his head along to whatever music he’s got coming through his air pods. Tyler looks as relaxed as ever, and so casually, effortlessly gorgeous that Jamie can’t believe he gets to have that.

No, not just have, but keep.

And maybe even get to tell a few people about it. Have people be happy for him out in the open, instead of solely in his most rare and hidden and buried fantasies.

It doesn’t feel real, especially beneath the hot desert sun streaming in through the big windows and the slot machines making noise at the other end of the causeway. But Klinger wrapping an arm around Jamie’s waist and hugging back, laughing delightedly against Jamie’s shoulder, solidifies it. Helps Jamie feel even more confident that this definitely doesn’t have to stay in Vegas.

He gets to take this feeling home with him.

[snarky-badger]

Hey, love your beautiful writing and how you portray venom as a cat (fucking love that shit!). If your open for story ideas, what about a reader who has sever anxiety and depression and is having a panic attack at the house after a long, mentally draining day? How would Eddie/Venom react to this? What would they try to do to make the reader feel better? Maybe some fluff to calm them down? (I’ve been having a ruff time mentally lately and need some Eddie/Venom overprotective fluff :>)

I hope this is alright!

Warnings for mentions of depression, anxiety, panic attacks. Just in case.

You’d once heard someone describe depression as a cancer of the soul.

Which, in a way, was true. It was inoperable, but could be controlled with medication, sometimes even wiped out completely, the patient going into a ‘remission’ of sorts.

It was a constant battle, and you were tired of it. Some days were better than others, naturally. But lately, too many problems had been piling up, weighing you down, making you teeter on the edge of an overwhelmed breakdown.

You could usually hide your mental illness behind a mask of cheerfulness. A carefully crafted costume of smiles, jokes and a fake upbeat attitude that hid the darkness within.

But work had been stressful - more than usual. Working in Customer Service at a Wal*Mart meant that you dealt with people at their most annoyed. Usually you could handle the complaints and snide remarks. Usually.

But being screamed at that afternoon by an irate man had started a chain reaction, a spiral into depression and anxiety and self-loathing that you failed to to control. Once the reaction started, everything else just piled on: you’d dropped food onto your blouse - forcing you to wear it all afternoon amidst jokes from your coworkers -  had been forced to work at a cash due to someone else calling sick, had your shift extended by six hours, got sworn at by some woman, learned that your next two shifts had been cancelled because you’d logged in too many hours the week before, and then missed the last bus on your route.

Walking home in the dark, all you’d wanted to do was find a hole, curl up in it, and die.

The apartment was dark when you finally reached it almost an hour later, feet sore, a headache pounding in your temples, and shoulders so stiff you could have had someone break a chair over your back with little consequence.

Sighing, you kicked the apartment door shut, toed off your sneakers, flicked on some lights, then went to get changed. Shucking out of that damned blue vest was like having weight lift off of you, and you chucked it into a corner before changing into some yoga pants and a tee shirt. The laundry basket was overflowing, and you cringed at the sight before ignoring it completely and heading for the kitchen.

You needed a drink.

There was a bottle of wine in the fridge, and you grabbed it, and your favorite wine glass, before rummaging through the drawers for the corkscrew, your irritation rising with every failed search.

Finally found it wedged behind a ladle. Your headache was getting worse.

The cork was stubborn, and you had to fight with it, tugging and pulling and cursing, and when it finally let go, popping out and spilling white wine over your hands, the recoil of the bottle knocked your wine glass off the counter, whereupon it shattered on the floor, sending shards of glass scattering across the tile.

You froze, staring down at the bits of your favorite wine glass. Slowly, like the the inevitable creeping of the tides, an unstoppable force rose in your chest. Inexorably, the first of many tears gathered in your eyes, your breath hitching in your chest, throat closing up. The first sob that left you was ragged, like a dying animal, and you crumpled, dropping down to sit on the floor, pulling your knees to your chest, your hands digging into your hair as you went utterly to pieces.

Eddie found you in that position who knows how long later, sitting amongst the destruction of every single last bit of you that had the ability to cope with life in it’s entirety.

Lucky for you, your boyfriend knew the perils of dealing with depression and anxiety. Dropping the bags of takeout onto the floor, he kicked the door shut then moved over to you, hands gently taking yours and pulling them out of your hair. Symbiote tendrils of the alien bonded to him gripped your fingers, giving you something to hold on to as Eddie deftly scooped you into his arms, picking you up like some lost, broken, thing, and carrying you over to the couch.

You were still unable to form words, just wheezing and shaking and sobbing and struggling for air, and you distantly felt him press a kiss to your forehead as he sat down, settled you onto his lap, and gently starting rocking you.

Blackness rose from Eddie’s skin, bleeding through the man’s clothing, the symbiote - Venom - reaching for you, wrapping you up in gentle warmth. One tendril rose to stroke your cheek and brush at your tears as you tried, helplessly, to even out your breathing, hiccuping as your diaphragm spasmed.

“Shh,” Eddie murmured to you, arms tighten around you as he pressed his cheek to your forehead, his stubble scritching across your skin. “It’s okay. We’ve got you.”

You clung to him, fingers gripping at his shirt and the symbiote, curling yourself into him. Pressed yourself as close as you could, feeling his arms cradle you, feeling the symbiote tighten around you, the sensations like an anchor, something solid and safe that you could use to pull what remained of your shattered psyche back together.

Slowly, you calmed enough to focus on Eddie’s breathing, the exaggerated breaths he was taking helping you to force your own lungs to match the rhythm. The symbiote shifted over your chest, undulating in time with Eddie’s breathing to help you keep track.

The extra oxygen helped calm you, your heartbeat slowing, the pounding in your head lessening as you slowly relaxed, your body drained and trembling, your mind brittle, unarmed and exposed, like a nerve. “I-I’m s-sorry–”

“None of that,” Eddie murmured to you, hugging you tighter, the symbiote massaging your back and shoulders, helping to calm the jitters that still made your muscles jump and quiver, the adrenaline from the attack still in your veins. “You want, Vee?”

You nodded, hesitantly, shivering when you felt the body against you grow, the symbiote tendrils around you leaving to add themselves to the mass of the whole. As soon as the transformation was over, a low, baritone, purring vibrated out of the massive form you were cradled against, one of Venom’s taloned hands rising to gently cup the side of your face.

“OUR POOR, MORSEL,” he murmured, licking at your face to clean up your tears. “DO WE NEED TO KILL ANYONE?”

“No,” you whispered, voice rough from crying. Sniffling, you rubbed at your eyes, then nuzzled into Venom’s chest, wrapping your arms around as much of his bulk as you could.

His purring ratcheted up a notch, one hand keeping you close while the other rose to your head, talons deftly undoing the braid you wore to work until he could run his fingers though your hair. The mix of the sound of his purring - a noise he only made for you - and the gentle sensation of him stroking your hair, talons tickling your scalp, helped unravel the last knots of stress and pain and anxiety in your chest.

It was only when you sighed, in exhaustion, in relief, that Venom ducked his head to nuzzle at you, fangs endlessly gentle as he nipped at your lower lip. “BETTER?”

“Yeah.”

“WANT FOOD?”

Slowly, your sense of smell came back, and you could almost taste the aroma of Burgers and Fries from the restaurant nearby. “Sure.”

Where another person would have gotten up to retrieve the takeout, Venom merely lashed a tendril out, reaching across the apartment to snatch up the bags that Eddie had dropped.

Black talons ripped open the bag before a can of soda was offered to you. You took it, feeling the condensation wet your palms as you cracked the drink open, taking a gulp of root beer. The cold liquid soothed your throat, and you sighed as you leaned your head against Venom’s chest again.

“Thank you,” you murmured, inciting a low rumble as Venom pulled a Styrofoam container out of the bag and ripped the cover off to reveal a pile of curly fries.

“SHH. DON’T HAVE TO THANK US,” he soothed, holding the container out to you and letting you snag a fry. A handful of the curled potatoes vanished into his mouth, his tongue licking at his fangs. “MM. WANT TO TELL US?”

“Bad day.” Venom offered you another fry and you let him feed you. “Everything sucked at work: got screamed at, had to work a double shift because they put me on the cash, then I lost two shifts because of the overtime they made me work last week, missed the last bus and when I got home I broke my favorite wine glass and everything just…” You mimed something exploding.

A grumble left him as he leaned down to nuzzle at the top of your head. “WE COULD HUNT DOWN YOUR BOSS.”

“Nah. He’s just as overworked as I am. I don’t think he’s seen his kids in a week. I just… I don’t know. I hate it there, but I need the job.”

Venom was quiet for a moment. “THEN LEAVE,” he rumbled, drawing your gaze. “DON’T STAY IN A PLACE THAT HURTS YOU, MORSEL. THERE ARE OTHER JOBS.”

You opened your mouth to protest, and he fed you a fry to shut you up.

“WE’RE SERIOUS, NIBBLE. WE HATE SEEING YOU HURT, AND THAT PLACE HURTS YOU. WE CAN’T DO ANYTHING… OTHER THAN ADVISE YOU TO LEAVE.”

“We won’t be able to make rent if I don’t–”

“NIBBLE. LET US TAKE CARE OF YOU. EDDIE SAYS THAT HE HAS ‘SAVINGS’, WE WON’T LOSE THE NEST.”

Your fingers clenched around the can of pop in your hands, the thin metal creaking a little under your grip. “…You’re sure?”

He huffed a laugh and gently caught your chin between his thumb and index finger, tilting your head up so he could kiss you gently. “WE WOULD NEVER LIE TO YOU.”

If you were honest with yourself, you’d only been staying at the Wal*Mart to make rent. It was soul-sucking, demeaning, and the workplace was as toxic as it could get. “You’re really sure?” you asked again, because you needed to hear it again.

Venom chuckled, a tendril brushing at your cheek. “WE’RE SURE, OUR NIBBLE. NOW, EAT, AND AFTER, WE’LL BRING YOU WEBSLINGING. MAYBE OUT TO YOUR FAVORITE SPOT ON THE BRIDGE? YOU ALWAYS SMILE WHEN WE GO OUT TO SEE THE STARS.”

The thought of never having to go back to work - past the two weeks you’d have to endure after giving your notice - made a massive weight lift off your shoulders.

Venom started purring again, offering you more food, and you relaxed as he fed you fries and then torn off pieces of the burger in the other container. It was pampering, is what it was. But, it felt nice to be taken care of - something that both Venom and Eddie excelled at.

You were drained, tired, still a little emotionally brittle, but safe in the knowledge that you had a rather powerful support team.

You could do this.

And if not, you could always send Venom to scare the shit out of people.

That was always a plus.

[imaginetonyandbucky]

Bucky is a janitor working at MIT, he finds Tony holed up in the lab, sick.

Night shift (1 of 2)

Bucky didn't hate his job. There were just a few things that really annoyed him. Like when he had to take over a shift from his colleague unexpectedly and therefore stay longer than usual to clean out the trash cans in the laboratories. At least the labs were almost deserted this late, but unsurprisingly even the brightest of students still made a mess and how they weren't able to put their trash into the trash can instead of right next to it surprised Bucky time and time again. Unsurprising was also the huge amount of beer cans hidden behind a staircase like nobody would find them there. Yeah right, somebody had to pick them up one by one and clean the spilled beer off the floor. Why couldn't they party outside then at least Bucky wouldn't have to scrub the floor.

Bucky was almost done with his round and he only had a few trash cans to empty in the engineering department, which had one advantage that he didn't have the risk of finding some hazardous material in the bins like in the bio or chem departments.  He was ready to call it a day and get home, take off his prosthesis, rub his sore muscles and relax with his cat but apparently his prosthetic arm had other thoughts and decided to clock out early with an unpleasant crack and a clank and then a tiny plink as a screw dropped out of Bucky's sleeve and onto the floor right before the trash can he had been in the process of emptying into his cart followed suit.

His left arm was dangling awkwardly from the elbow joint and Bucky cursed. It wasn't the first time this had happened, he knew that particular screw became loose after a long day at work but he usually tightened it after the work at home and everything was fine. The extra work must have messed it up more than he thought and now the screw was lost under a pile of soda cans, abandoned term paper drafts and granola bar wrappers. And right at the end of his workday too. This was not Bucky's day.

(Watch out for the break!)

After a thorough dig through the trash Bucky found the tiny screw but he soon realized he couldn't do anything with it because he didn't have any tools with him, which he usually kept in his cart, but since this was his colleague's section of campus this was also not his cart and of course his backpack where he kept a small multitool was in the janitors' office in his locker, which was all the way across campus.

There had to be another way. Bucky searched the cart he had but came up with nothing except grease and gunk from spillovers, expected from a cart for trash collecting. Bucky wiped his hand and sat down on the floor and pulled his malfunctioning arm into his lap. He mentally already prepared himself for the walk back to the office. It would add another half an hour to his shift at least and that didn't include tidying the mess he had made spilling the trash and then rummaging through it.

Except he was in the damn engineering department of the best university in the whole country, he'd be damned if he couldn't find a fucking screwdriver around here. He had the keys to all the labs after all and so Bucky got up, tugged his unresponsive left hand into his jacket pocket and started to look around. A few students were still running experiments here and there and he didn't want to bother them, most of them weren't too fond of the cleaning staff and had no hesitation to show it. Bucky looked for an empty lab and soon found one that was dark and deserted. To his surprise, it was unlocked but that wasn't too uncommon, it's the students' problem if their research or experiments get stolen by their classmates, not Bucky's.

He didn't bother turning on the lights, the dim lights from various apparatuses and the monitors that had been left on was enough to guide him around and he really just wanted to find a toolbox and take it with him so he could fix his arm in peace, he didn't want to get caught tinkering in the lab.

A noise made him perk up from where he had been looking through the lower shelves of some cupboards, he had thought he was alone in the lab but that had suspiciously sounded like...sniffling. He got up and walked around the lab tables and sure enough hidden behind some futuristic looking contraption was a student sleeping on his laptop surrounded by energy drink cans both empty and full. Now that Bucky got closer he could clearly hear the soft coughs the other made in his sleep.

A peak on the screen confirmed Bucky's guess that the guy wanted to pull an all-nighter to finish a paper. The title read "Using deep neural networks and sparse autoencoders for high-level feature generation in artificial intelligence" and he had been typing "ffffffff" with his left ear for 159 pages.

Bucky gently nudged his shoulder.

The guy startled awake, leaving a "fffffgjhkkkkkk" on the screen and a very visible keyboard imprint on his cheek before he doubled over into a violent coughing fit.

"Woah, there." Bucky rubbed his back and after several long minutes the coughing turned into wheezing and the guy was able to compose himself, grab an open energy drink and down it in one go after which he took a few long-ish breaths and finally looked up.  He first noticed his messed up document and cursed, then he noticed Bucky standing next to him.

"I'm allowed to be here." He coughed again and a shiver ran through his body. "You can't throw me out, no matter how good looking you are."

"Not really concerned whether you're allowed in here or not, buddy. You look like death warmed over, that's what concerns me." It was true, the guy looked horrible. His skin was paler than it should have been in the blue lighting from the laptop screen and he had deep circle under his eyes, his hair was a mess and he looked like he was going to cough his lungs out again any second. Bucky had also felt how hot the guy was when he had touched his back, he was definitely feverish. "You should be in bed with some Nyquil."

The guy waved at him and turned to his laptop. "'M fine. I need to finish the paper." He moved to open up another can of energy drink but he seemed he had neither the fine motor control nor the strength to do so. "Fuck." He dropped the can on the table and it rolled away knocking over other cans until it came to a rest against a pile of books.

"I came in here looking for something but I'm not going to leave you in that state," Bucky said. "Let me make you a tea or something, I know you folks always got a water kettle hidden somewhere, you always do."

The other swayed slightly, his eyes focusing and unfocusing on the screen in front of him, then he nodded. "Coffee."

Bucky rolled his eyes. At least it was a warm beverage. "Where?" He asked and then went to the corner of the lab the guy nodded towards. The water kettle definitely looked like it had been tampered with and Bucky hoped it wouldn't explode as he set it up. He looked through the cupboard and found several open packages of instant coffee powder as well as a sizeable stash of cup noodles. He prepared both which was tedious with only one hand available and it also meant he had to walk twice after he had finished both the coffee and the cup noodles but the guy looked grateful when he set both in front of him.

"Thanks." He mumbled as he drew in a long waft of coffee aroma, both hands around the mug. "Are you a student here too? Can't be, I'd remember someone as hot as you." The guy asked and Bucky had a to laugh a little.

"Do I look like a student?" He gestured to himself and the other concentrated really hard for a moment before he recognized the janitor uniform Bucky was wearing and with some effort, he squinted at his name tag.

"J. Barnes. So, Mr. Barnes, you don't look like the grumpy guy that usually mopes around here and tries to kick us out?"

Bucky groaned. "Please, I'm Bucky. I'm not old enough to be Mr.ed by college students. I took over a shift from a colleague. Anyway, I'll leave you to your paper, but please don't kill yourself with those energy drinks. I'm not paid enough to clean up a dead body."

Bucky turned to leave, he would need to find a toolkit elsewhere or just swallow the bitter pill and walk to the office, he already wasted a lot of time anyway it mattered little if he wasted more.

"I'm Tony." The student behind him suddenly said. "Maybe I can help you."

Bucky stopped and turned around. "Help with what?"

"You were looking for something." Tony wrapped his arms around himself and sneezed. "And if my deductions are right, there is something wrong with your prosthesis."

Bucky's mouth dropped open for a moment before he composed himself again. "How did you know?"

Tony shrugged, then grinned. "There was talk going around that one of the janitors not only looked incredibly hot but also had a bad-ass metal arm, a Hammer prototype as the rumors go, and you haven't used your left arm at all while preparing the coffee and cup noodles, thanks again by the way. So..." He trailed off and then gestured between them when Bucky didn't say anything. "Engineering problem," he pointed to Bucky, "genius engineering student." He gestured to all of himself. "Come on, get out of that jacket and show me."

Bucky was still too perplexed to say anything.

"I promise I won't steal any tech secrets in case you had to sign an NDA or something, not that Hammer has anything worthwhile to steal." Tony laughed.

Bucky couldn't believe his luck, this guy really was something and so he shrugged out of his jacket and fumbled it off his useless left arm. "Alright, I lost this screw earlier when I lifted a trash can and then my arm just collapsed and let's just say it wasn't a pretty sight and I have to do some additional overtime on top of the stuff I'm already dealing with." Bucky pulled out the tiny screw from his pocket and put it on the table. Tony pushed his books and the laptop aside, causing a bunch of empty cans to tumble to the ground which he didn't seem to care about. He blew his nose and motioned for Bucky to come closer.

"There's gotta be a chair around here, you don't need to stand around."

Bucky settled on one of the other chairs and placed his arm on the desk in front of Tony. "You know if you just give me a screwdriver I can do this myself. I did it a few times already, that thing just comes lose all the time."

"Oh, a recurring problem, interesting. Did you report that?"  Under a few coughs, Tony rolled his chair around and collected a small case from the table that has the futuristic looking apparatus on it.

"Do you know how hard it is to get decent customer support these days? Also, I want to keep the arm and I kinda have a feeling that if I tell them it keeps falling apart on me they will find a new person missing a left arm and give it to them instead."

"Ah... seems like a Hammer thing to do." Tony opened up the case and pulled out a few tiny tools, much more delicate than what Bucky used to use.

"You seem to know a lot about Hammer Industries."

Still sniffling Tony started running his fingers up and down the metal plates on the arm. "Comes with the business... engineering and stuff."

"The screw goes in here." Bucky pointed to the tiny hole at his elbow.

"Yeah I know, but that won't fix your problem of it coming lose all the time now will it?"

Bucky looked flabbergasted and Tony. "You want to repair the whole thing? Can you do that?"

"Can I? Of course, I caaaa- ahchoo" Tony sneezed violently but had the decency to move his face into the crook of his elbow. "That is if I don't die first. Man, this flue is killing me."

"You need to get into bed ASAP."

"Yeah yeah, after this and then the paper and then I need to work on the semester project and then maybe." Tony took one of the tools and inserted it in between the plating and wriggled it around. Bucky got a little scared, but Tony looked like he knew what he was doing.

The metal plate suddenly popped open and Bucky blanched. "Is that supposed to happen?"

"Yep, perfectly normal. It's an access hatch." Tony used a small flashlight to have a better look and poked around in the innards of the arm with a little brush. "You got some gunk in there, aren't you cleaning this regularly?"

"Uh.."

"I guess not. I'll do some rudimentary cleaning but I think you might have to come back so I can get everything polished and oiled. Didn't you notice some other malfunctions? Like loss of motor control?"

Bucky thought about it for a moment. "I guess hand movements get a bit janky sometimes, but I could deal with it. What do you mean I have to come back?"

Tony shrugged. "Can't spend 3 hours doing maintenance when I have to work on a paper too. Okay, see, here's the problem." Tony shone the light into the inner elbow and Bucky had to squint a little to see what he meant. There was a tiny nut stuck in between two cables.

"That's what's supposed to hold the screw." Tony picked it up with a pair of tweezers and then wriggled it into the innards of the elbow, with his other hand he replaced the screw. "That should hold it for longer than a day, but it's still not ideal if it came off once it's going to come off again. This is a fundamental flaw in the design, who allowed this to be tested on humans. It could have caused a lot more damage than just some scattered trash. Imagine if you were carrying something more valuable." Tony huffed. "Incompetent fumblers, all of them."

Without a problem Tony replaced the plate he had removed and Bucky was able to move his arm again. He tested the elbow joint a few times and opened and closed his hand too, everything felt a lot smoother all of a sudden. He hadn't even noticed that the arm was getting less responsive over time, he had just gotten used to it.

"Amazing, I don't know how to thank you." Bucky could hug the guy. He had saved him so much trouble by fixing his arm, but Tony waved him off.

"It was nothing and you already did enough for me." Tony put his tools away and started to devour the almost forgotten cup noodles, which even from Bucky's point of view looked extremely mushy. "I meant it though," Tony said in between slurps and sniffling, "you can come back anytime. I'm here almost every day or night, depending on your perspective." He turned to his laptop and started holding down backspace. "And I'll probably be here all night tonight." He signed and then started coughing again.

Bucky frowned, Tony was sick and he had really come to like the guy and cared for him. "Do you need to finish the paper tonight?"

Tony nodded then rolled his eyes backward and made a grimace before sneezing violently and this time he wasn't so smart to cover his nose and he sneezed right onto the screen of his laptop. Both men made a disgusted noise at the sight.

"I guess I could write an email and ask for a few days more, the professor likes me I think, likes my genius in any case." Tony sniffled pitifully and turned to Bucky, his eyes were watery from all the sneezing and coughing. "You think I should do that?"

"Yes! You probably should have done that hours ago." Bucky said adamantly, but Tony managed a small smile.

"But then you wouldn't have met me." He wriggled his eyebrows in what probably should have been a seductive fashionif it hadn't been interrupted by another sneeze. "You want to know what I'm working on down here, Chappie?"

Bucky didn't know what that had anything to do with it but he was curious what Tony was doing down here. "Yeah, sure, if you write that email after that. Kinda don't want to lose my new-found mechanic to the common cold." Bucky scooted a little closer, assuming Tony wanted to show him something on his laptop. "I'm not that smart though, so maybe you need to dumb it down."

Tony just grinned and pressed a few buttons and a small application popped up with the letters J.A.R.V.I.S in white written over a dark blue background, the icon underneath reminded Bucky of HAL9000 only the "eye" was a swirl of blue instead of menacing red.

"Jarvis?" Tony said.

"Yes, Sir?" A distinctively British voice answered from the laptop. Bucky's eyes went wide.

"Please write an email to Professor Stane explaining to him why I need a few more days to finish the paper for his class. Choose an apologetic tone."

"Of course, Sir, how many details do you want me to include?" The voice asked confidently.

"Nothing embarrassing."

"I will not include your close call with death then."

Tony rolled his eyes. "He's so sassy," he whispered to Bucky.

"I have composed a message to Professor Stane, Sir."

"Display it." The email program opened up and showed the formulated message, Bucky was impressed, it already had the address filled out and when he quickly read it he found it included all formalities. He hadn't expected that. He really hadn't known what to expect.

Tony read through the email as well and with a 'Send it' command it disappeared and the email program closed on its own. The whole progress only took a few seconds and Tony hadn't touched the keyboard once.

"Jarvis is an AI I developed. He's going to help me with research and taking over some boring tasks like scheduling or writing emails." Tony gestured to the computer. "What do you think?"

"Holy shit, that was amazing. He's like a real person!" Bucky was really impressed. "I mean, I know about Siri and Alexa but that's a whole step above that."

Tony tsked. "Forget these amateur AI's. I am aiming to have a real personal assistant who thinks independently and actually does work for me. With those others, you need to spend more time on maintenance than you actually save by using them." He shrugged and closed the document with his paper, then shut his laptop down and yawned. "I guess I'm done for tonight."

That reminded Bucky of his own night which wasn't going to come to an end until he cleaned up the mess outside and he groaned "I still have to work to do." He got up and pulled his jacket back on. "I better get going, I hope you get home alright and get better soon. Thanks again for fixing my arm."

"Hey, no problem, it was my pleasure, it's not every day I get to work on a prosthesis prototype." Tony flashed him a dazzling grin, he had relaxed now that the pressure of finishing a paper was gone. Bucky hadn't noticed how handsome the guy was and yeah, maybe he was going to come back not only for some additional maintenance on the arm. He really liked the guy.

They said their good-byes and Bucky returned to the pile of trash in the hallway which unsurprisingly hadn't changed at all, but Bucky finished the work quickly with two arms available and was able to call it a day, or a night rather, after half an hour and go home.