6

Elise

As I step off the transport vehicle and into the correctional facility, I can't help but feel a sense of dread wash over me. I know that the next four years are going to be difficult, and I'm not sure if I'm strong enough to survive.

I'm led to my assigned room, and I'm told that I'll be sharing it with three other inmates. I try not to let my nerves show as I enter the room, but I can't help but feel anxious as I take in my surroundings. The room is larger than I had expected, with four separate beds placed in all four corners of the room. There is an adjoined bathroom and toilet connected to the room, removing my fears about having to bathe in a public space.

Currently, there's no one else in the room, but the other luggages and other stuff arranged beside or on three beds, I'm likely the last person to join.

My bedspace has the number given to me etched into a small rectangular metal sign above the bed. 0145.

I'm just starting to unpack my things when I hear a commotion in the hallway. Curiosity pulls me out to see a group of inmates gathered around a figure on the ground, shouting and jeering. As I get closer, I realize with a start that it's one of my co-inmates, and she's being attacked by another inmate. The girl's face is already messed up, with an eye swollen shut and her nose bent in a way that is definitely not normal.

I'm not going to be the quiet, fearful girl I used to be back home. Even if this isn't a good place to be, I'm going to use it as a motivation to become even better.

Without thinking, I rush forward, trying to pull the assailant off of her. But I'm no match for her strength, and she easily throws me aside. Another inmate shifts, focusing on my form. She runs her tongue over her lips as she points a tiny knife in my direction.

Just as she takes a step towards me, I feel a hand on my shoulder, pulling me back. The lady looks above me and stops in her tracks, before pocketing her knife and walking back into the crowd of fight-watchers.

"Leave it," a deep voice says. "She can take care of herself."

I turn to see a tall, muscular guy standing next to me. His grey eyes are dark and intense, and I can feel the power emanating from him. His long, wavy hair frames his angular face in an almost feminine way, giving attention to his pouty, pink full lips.

It's him again. Why does he keep showing up every time I'm in trouble?

"You again?" I ask. My voice shakes, but not necessarily because of fear. There's a faint stirring in the pit of my belly that shocks me as I look at him.

"I'm Lazarus," he says, his voice calm and controlled. "And you should stay out of this. These fights happen all the time, and they never end well for fighters and those unlucky enough to be dragged into it." He rolls a shoulder, and my eyes don't miss the way his white shirt clings to every curve of his pectorals and abs.

I swallow, then nod, too terrified to argue. I can't believe what I've just witnessed, and I'm not sure if I'm ready for the brutality of life in the correctional facility.

"Thank you," I tell him, then leave his presence, eager to return to my room.

A little part of me hopes to see him again though. There's something about him that I can't place my finger on.

As I approach my room, I'm met with a disturbing sound coming from behind the door. There are moans and the sound of bodies moving against each other. My heart races as I try to process what I'm hearing, and I can feel a sense of panic rising in my chest.

I hesitate for a moment, not sure if I'm ready to face whatever is happening on the other side of the door. But curiosity gets the better of me, and I slowly push the door open. It's a deja-vu feeling washing over me.

To my surprise, I find two men and a woman tangled together on one of the beds, laughing and joking around in a manner that I don't think should be appropriate. They're in various states of undress, but thankfully, aren't naked. Still, it's way too much skin than I'm used to seeing.

Sure, werewolves are naturally unrestrained when it comes to some desires, but this is actually getting on my nerves.

Like a taunt, an image of Jared and my foster sister engaging in the same act floods my mind, further inflaming my emotions. I'm tired of people always doing whatever they want in such a way that I always end up on the wrong end.

I lean against the wall, trying to process what I've just seen. I can't believe that this is happening, and I'm not sure if I'm ready to deal with the reality of life in the correctional facility. But I know that I don't have a choice. I have to face whatever comes my way, no matter how difficult or gross it may be. I take a deep breath and steel myself for whatever the future may hold.

My life belongs to me now, and I'll do all that I can to take control of it. No more cowering and biting my tongue.

I push from the wall and grasp the doorknob again. I clear my throat as my fingers tighten around the knob. The moans on the other side of the door aren't as loud as they were before, so they're either finishing up or getting ready for another round.

Either way, I'll give them hot trouble. If I want to be respected, then I need to stand my ground.

I twist the knob and push the door open.