Water ran down my chest as I rubbed the bar of laundry soap on my cold arms. I could feel one of the guards staring at my bare ass while I showered. He must have been disgusted by my rolls of fat that had accumulated on my back. Out of all the places the prison weight could've settled in, it just had to go to my upper back. No matter how frugal I had to be with my money, I always made room for the 99 cent honeybuns. My breasts were still firm and round, but not bigger. I wasn't allowed to buy razors through the commissary, so a jet black bush had sprouted in between my legs.
The Zote soap left a gross residue on my skin, like a bad aftertaste one gets after eating cheap food. At least with the meals we were given in the chow hall, I could rinse the taste out afterwards with my Starlite mints and snacks from commissary. But this aftertaste couldn't be masked so easily. Prison had changed my definition of the word, "clean." There was always a thin layer of oil that I couldn't scrub off of my skin. Maximum security prison didn't allow products from Lush or Sephora, like I had back home. "Clean" used to remind me of clear water in basins, and the scent of mint. Now, all it meant was that my scalp wasn't burning from built up grease.
I put on my dirty towel, and stepped out of the stall only to be confronted by Officer Erik Thanan.
"You took too long," He said. "Next time, make your shower shorter."
I looked up at his curly brown hair. He couldn't have been older than twenty-five years old. That was the first time I noticed that his eyes were green. His snub nose and shaved face made him look like a schoolboy dressed up as a cop for Halloween.
"I'll remember that next time, Thanan," I told him as I walked back to my cell.
As much as I hated the gaudy orange uniform, I was glad it was baggy enough to hide my weight. It was a freezing January, but I didn't have enough saved to buy sweatpants or sweaters. Who knew being a prisoner was expensive? I caught my reflection in the plastic mirror, seeing a distorted silhouette. The skin on my face had turned grey. My hair was perpetually disheveled, while the hair on my limbs had grown thicker and softer. I looked like a vacuum had swallowed me whole, and then spit me back out.
Officer Thanan was outside in the hall, patrolling my block. He placed back and forth, scanning the area all while his hands were on his waist. He was ready to strike at any moment if an inmate dared to challenge him. I pictured him being thin and frail underneath his uniform, and therefore not muscular enough to defend himself if needed.
I turned my head, seeing if I could make out the time on the giant analog clock since I didn't have a watch. Thanan's big head blocked my view with his curly hair.
"Something I can help you with, Inmate?" He asked.
"What time is it?" I replied. "I can't be late for my meeting."
He moved closer to me, "You have a meeting today?"
"Yeah, at Five O'Clock PM," I informed him.
He looked me dead in the eye, like he didn't believe me. He was standing so close to me that could smell the mint on his breath. This wasn't the scent from the mints we prisoners had access to, but a stronger smell like fresh mint used in a kitchen at home.
"I'll take you there, now," Officer Thanan insisted.
We ended up in a secluded corridor outside the meeting room. He told me that I needed to be strip searched before I could go in.
"Take everything off," Thanan commanded.
I did what he asked, and I took off my uniform.
"Everything includes underwear, too," He said.
I unhooked my white bra and slipped off the state-issued white briefs.
I could feel my nose going red from the coldness of the room. My arms and legs were starting to shiver.
He stood there, glaring at my torso, avoiding eye contact. Thanan ran his hands up my legs, stopping at my thighs.
"You can get dressed, now," He declared.
Group therapy consisted of fellow inmates gathered in a circle with the psychologist leading the session. Dr. Carson was a tall woman with mouse brown hair who always seemed to wear different variants of the same pinstriped power suit.
"Delilah, it's your turn. Tell us why you're here," Dr. Carson instructed.
"I was twenty three. I was fresh out of college. I was working as a dominatrix, making a good living and I had a couple of regular clients. This one client, Brian, was seeing me up to four times a month."
I could see Dr. Carson's face when I said I used to be a sex worker. She shifted in her chair, and uncrossed her legs.
"So I was in the hotel room," I continued. "In the middle of our session, the door breaks open. Brian's wife, Karen, barges in and all hell breaks loose."
"Go on," the doctor said.
I ran my hands through my frizzy hair. "The next thing I knew, Mrs. Karen M. Roth was screaming at me, calling me a whore."
"How did that make you feel?"
"Confused!" I said. "She was more mad at me than at her cheating husband!"
"So, how did you end up here?"
"Mrs. Roth started hitting me, throwing punches. I fought back in self defense, and ended up choking her until she passed out. Hotel security was alerted, and they called the police. The police saw a bottle blonde on the ground, and me in latex with a black eye."
"Delilah, you have to admit that your anger is part of the problem."
"I do not have anger issues. This whole sentence has been unnecessary."
"You strangled a woman with a chain!"
"It was the chain from my Mickey Mouse pocket watch!" I exclaimed. "Karen was trying to kill me!"
"You could have taken a life!" She screamed. So much for not judging.
"Look, Mrs. Roth didn't die. She even lied on the stand, and Brian was too chicken to testify. I'm sure she's back in the suburbs, thriving off of all the sympathy."
