“Benson, you get one phone call,” says an officer.
I try to dial my friend Rebecca, but there doesn’t appear to be a ringtone, so I’m not sure if it’s even going through. Either way, it’s the middle of the night, and she doesn’t answer.
Fuck.She’s probably the only person who could bail me out, and now I’ve missed my chance.
I glance around at the officers. “Can I try another number?”
They shake their heads.
“Please?”
“No. Just calm down,” one of them says, the rest of them nodding in agreement.
Jesus. They must all be fun at parties.
I’m directed to pick up a mat and a blanket, escorted to a cell, and the door clangs behind me as my eyes adjust from the bright hallway to the darkened cell.
And this time, I’m not alone.
CHAPTER 66
POLYNEEEESIA!!
MARGAUX
The cell is overcrowded. Built for two, it holds five of us.
The walls are stark, the concrete cold underfoot. The temperature hovers somewhere between chilly and unbearable, but the discomfort barely registers next to the tension coiling in my gut.
Roaches scuttle across the floor—fat, confident creatures that seem to thrive in this confined hell. Two women have claimed the narrow bed platforms, while the rest of us are left to find spots on the floor with our flimsy mats and thin blankets.
I’m super stylish in my paper shorts and top, no shoes. And I don’t want to think about what substances might be on the floor.
The cellmates are a mixed bag. The white woman, who calls herself Moonracer, is tweaking, her hands twitching as she mumbles to herself. The other three are Polynesian women with an air of seasoned resilience. They’ve been through this before.
I’m the outsider here, and I know it. My ginger hair and pale skin might as well be neon signs flashing‘not one of us’.
There’s a metal toilet and sink, just like I’ve seen on TV. It’s weird, seeing jail in person. I mean, I had an idea of whatit would be like from binge-watching60 Days In, Love During Lockup, Orange is the New Black, and various other TV shows and movies, but actually being in a cell hits different.
In any case, I’m intimidated. Scared.
“Do you know when we’ll be let out?” I ask, my voice hesitant.
The obvious leader of the group, a broad-shouldered woman with tattoos winding up her arms, sizes me up. Her dark eyes narrow slightly before she responds. “Court’s in the morning. The judge will decide. What’re you in for?”
I hesitate, but decide to tell the truth. “Domestic abuse. The guy who fractured my skull called the cops on me and said I pulled his hair.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Jesus. Are you still with him?”
“No,” I reply quickly. “I mean, the skull fracture happened months ago. I didn’t even know about it until the hospital scanned me on the way here. But this… this changes everything. It has to.”
Her expression softens, but only slightly. “Wait. You’ve got an accent. Where’re you from?”
“New Zealand,” I say, the words tasting foreign on my tongue in this place.
Her face lights up. "Oh my gosh—POLYNESIAAAA!She’sPOLYNEEESSIIAAAAAN!!!"
Relief washes over me as the tension in the cell shifts. I’ve passed some invisible test— been granted inclusion into this unlikely sisterhood.Thank fucking god.