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The sounds of screaming keep her focused. Faces are blurred around her and through the chaos she sees only red. Her wrists sting under the pressure of the cuffs that are now being clamped down onto them. She bites the arm that is closest to her, drawing blood. The arm draws back quickly and comes around again with a baton. Everything goes black.

She wakes up in a cell.

She floats through rooms and drifts by cold figures. Picking up phrases like 'vandalism, assault, two years' as she goes.

"Showing regret for what you did could help your case." Her lawyer is pretty, but she won't remember her face later.

"I don't regret anything."

She misses her dad. She wants to see her mom, but she stopped visiting a long time ago and that was her own choice.

It takes her a while before she can sleep with her new roommate. She's just glad that the girl doesn't snore because then they'd really have a problem.

Four years seems like a long time when you're roomed with someone that you hate. If she hadn't bitten the officer that was arresting her, she would only have one year and six months. Her mother would be disappointed, but then again, that was the point. She wants to make her mother feel everything she feels and worse. If she's lucky, she'll never have to face her mother again, she'll only pass the word on to where ever her mother is staying now. She hasn't even caught the name of the facility she's staying in.

Born and raised in Flagstaff, Arizona. At the age of seventeen, her father died and her mother went away. As soon as she had turned eighteen, she left the system and lived on her own until she met a woman who took her in when she needed somewhere to sleep. She had stayed there until the police had come looking. They had some sort of news about her mother that she was not interested in hearing. She didn't want to help, she wanted her mother gone. She wishes it was her mother who was buried six feet under the ground and not her father.

"You up?"

She rolls over and locks eyes with the girl sleeping on the other side of the room.

"Yeah." Her face is too dark to make out, but she can imagine that the girl is crying. The girl hasn't stopped since she got there. She wonders how long the girl's sentence is, she hasn't cared to ask until now. She hears sniffling. "Why are you always crying?"

"I miss my family." The girl speaks in whispers as if she's afraid someone will overhear.

"They probably don't miss you." She rolls over and pulls her sickly yellow blanket over her shoulders. The girl starts crying again, but she doesn't care, she isn't interested in making friends.

There are three other girls in her block, including her roommate. The short one with the braids talks her through the rules on her third morning there. She tells her things like when every meal is and what time they're allowed to go outside. There are the general prison rules, and then there are the rules that the prisoners themselves come up with.

"Don't ever snitch to a Boss."

"A Boss?"

"Sorry Son of a Bitch." The short girl elaborates, rolling her eyes at the confused expression her new block mate has on her face. "The guards."

"Oh." She figures that 'Sorry Son of a Bitch' is some sort of backwards acronym.

"And if you're going to start shit, don't be a Cell Warrior about it."

"What?" She is hesitant to ask what the girl means again, but if these are rules that she needs to know, she is going to need to understand them.

"Jesus shit," the short girl turns and faces her. "Am I going to have to explain every fucking thing I say to you?"

It's a rhetorical question, but she shrugs in response anyway.

"A Cell Warrior is someone who will say anything while in the safety of their own cell, but won't say anything out in the open."

She turns to see who the new person speaking is. There is a girl leaning against the doorway of another cell in the block almost smiling at her. The girl's hair is long and brown, and as she looks down the girl's profile, she notices that her hand is slightly disfigured.

"That's Emori," the short girl gestures to her other block mate.

Emori waves and takes a step away from her cell. Something about Emori makes her uneasy, but she brushes it off as general nerves.

"Oh, and don't ever ask how someone went down, let them give that to you on their own."

She nods even though she isn't completely sure what that means.

With that, the short girl leaves her and walks right out of the block.

"You can do that?" She asks, watching the girl turn a corner and disappear.

"What? Leave your block? Yeah, just not at night. You really don't know anything about this, do you?" Emori chuckles and shakes her head. She isn't sure if Emori is being friendly or judgmental.

"I know about the legal aspects." She looks away from the hallway and turns back to Emori.

"Oh, yeah?" Emori nods, seemingly challenging her. "You went to law school or something?"

"No." Bad memories begin resurfacing. She does her best to push them back down.

"There it is."

"What?" She refocuses on Emori.

"That face, there's the answer," Emori crosses her arms in front of her chest. "You've got someone locked up in here too."

"Yeah." She hasn't even thought about the possibility that they could be in here together until now. "Not here, but she's in prison."

"Who?"

She doesn't know if she should tell Emori so easily; it seems too personal. If she doesn't tell though, she is afraid that Emori will become angry with her, and just because she doesn't want to make friends doesn't mean that she wants to make enemies.

"My mother."

For a while, she doesn't leave her block. It isn't until Emori drags her to breakfast one morning that she actually gets anything to eat.

There are so many people in the cafeteria that she almost gets lost. She feels helpless clinging to Emori like a lost puppy. Acting tough proves to be harder than she thought it would be. Mostly she just keeps her head down as she makes her way through the food line. She is as polite as she can be to the people serving her food, she figures that being kind to the inmates that cook will present with benefits.

She eats even though the food tastes worse than anything else she has ever had before. The texture alone makes her want to hurl. Despite the unappealing factors of her breakfast, she chews and swallows without incident. Appearing weak is the last thing she wants to do right now and complaining about the food will not help her to boost her meek status.

Emori laughs from across the table. "Don't worry, you'll get used to the food."

"It's not that bad." She lies, hoping that Emori is right.

"Your expression says otherwise."

She looks down, embarrassed that Emori saw through her lie.

"You're cute," she looks up again, surprised at what Emori has said. "Not in a I-want-to-get-in-your-pants kind of way, more of a golden-retriever-puppy kind of way."

"Great," she says sarcastically.

"What? Were you going for more of a hard-ass vibe?"

"Maybe."

"Well, good luck with that." Emori chuckles and continues eating.

She is almost glad that Emori dragged her down to eat. She reconsiders going through four years of prison alone.

Going to meals with Emori becomes a regular thing. Going alone is not an option, Emori says that it's unwise. Especially when you're new. She has no reason to find Emori untrustworthy so she goes along with what she says.

"You'll be a target for all sorts of people until you've made someone of yourself." Emori says one day as they're walking down the main hallway to the cafeteria.

"I was planning on just flying below the radar." She says, pushing past a group of women who are clearly drug addicts.

"For four years?"

"That was the plan."

"Well, that's not going to work. You need someone to keep you protected while you're here, and I can't always be leading you around."

"I can protect myself." She says, growing annoyed.

"Right," Emori says sarcastically. "My point is that you need friends. Even if you can protect yourself from one person, you can't protect yourself from an entire gang."

"How am I supposed to make friends?"

"That, my friend, is not my problem."

"Thanks for the help." She says, rolling her eyes.

"No problem." Emori smiles.

She hears whistling coming from ahead of them. People are cheering.

"Speak of the devil," Emori mutters under her breath. "I guess she finally got out of the slot."

"What?" She questions, trying to see past the crowd of people filling the hall.

"We call her the Chancellor," Emori sounds angry. "She's the woman who runs all this shit."

"You mean the Warden?"

Emori scoffs, shaking her head. "Hell no."

She's about to ask who it is that Emori is talking about when she sees her. Light brown hair that has been tied up, all so familiar to her. The toughest people she's seen in the prison are following this woman as she makes her way down the hall. People separate, creating a path as she walks through. She's changed, she looks rougher, and there is a scar running from the top of the woman's cheek bone to the bottom of her jaw on the left side of her face. She freezes, watching the woman makes her heart pound in her ears. Rage builds up inside of her with each step the woman takes. She is sure that she'll explode until the woman looks at her.

There is shock painted over the woman's face, but she doesn't stop moving. No one else seems to notice the shift in atmosphere. She can barely make out the sound of the woman speaking over the cheering of the crowd, but she doesn't need to hear it clearly to know what the woman says. She hasn't heard the woman speak in so long, the one word is sure to break her.

"Clarke?"

Someone grabs her arm and slams her against a wall. Her rights roll off his tongue cleanly, like a prayer. She watches the destruction of her family from behind the window of a police car.

But that was three years ago.

Over the course of the past few weeks, Harper has become increasingly annoying. With the Chancellor in the slot, drug use in the prison has spiked, and everyone is running to her for their fixes. Since her outside source had gotten himself arrested, the heroin she'd been sneaking into the prison has become hard to come by. She has other people getting things in for her, but they aren't as reliable.

"Come on, you've got to have something." Harper is following her around the block, not taking the hint to leave her alone.

"This is the fourth time you've asked me in the past twenty-four hours, Harper, so unless I now have pigeons flying them in over the prison walls, my answer is no."

"Pigeons could actually be a smart idea, you know, they could--"

"Harper!" She cuts the girl off.

"Sorry," Harper pulls her sleeves down over her hands and looks at the floor. "Just tell me when you get something."

"Is that not what I always do?" she asks before turning and leaving Harper to sulk by herself. It's bad enough having to sneak around the Chancellor, now she's got all her addicts breathing down her neck.

Having a Chancellor that is against the use of drugs is not what she wants. However, it's what she's stuck with until a new Chancellor comes into power. The Chancellor always says that 'the well being of the women' is her goal, but if these women gave a damn about their well being, they wouldn't be in prison. If the Chancellor would just let her handle her own girls then they wouldn't always be having problems with each other. Instead, she's got to get involved in every little thing that happens within the walls of the prison.

She groans and runs her hands through her hair. This can't keep happening; she doesn't have time to deal with all of this. It was easier out on the streets. There was less to worry about, more places to hide. It's good for her that there are guards working at the prison who will bring things in for her. It's never free, but it's always worth it. As long as the Chancellor doesn't catch her, she's safe. The first time she got caught, she was gifted with a broken hand and a black eye. Nothing the Chancellor can do will stop her, though; keeping her business running is the only thing that connects her to real world. She knows what the heroin she deals does to the people that use it, but that's their choice. She isn't forcing them to take it, and that's what makes it okay to her. She doesn't see what's wrong with dealing drugs as long as the people she deals to still have the free will to make a decision on their own. They're not her responsibility, and that's where her and the Chancellor's opinions differ.

According to the Chancellor, it's the dealer's fault that the druggies are the way they are. That it's the dealers responsibility to make sure no one ends up dead. She believes that no one on drugs is ever fully aware of the choices they're making. That has never stopped the dealer from doing her job, though; she's only scared of the Chancellor if she gets caught. She knows that the Chancellor also doesn't believe in taking action without having proof that someone has done something wrong. So, even though the Chancellor knows that the dealer is still dealing, she can't do anything about it until she's caught her red handed. If any of the dealer's accomplices get caught, they're guilty for their own crimes, they know that. The punishment that the dealer gives for snitching is worse than what the Chancellor gives for dealing, so no one ever talks.

She figures that the Chancellor has never been in any situation outside of the prison that involves any kind of drug. If she knew how things really played out in the dealer's kind of neighborhood, she'd probably think differently. Then again, the dealer didn't really know much about the Chancellor at all; no one did.

Competition is getting worse. The longer that her resources are inactive, the more of a chance her competitors have of overthrowing her. She can't risk that now, having a major power shift while the Chancellor is in the slot would not be good. There would be more riots and peaks in violence which would not make the Chancellor happy. She always expects good news when she gets out of the slot, everyone knows that.

It would be easy to relax her nerves if the hot water hadn't been all used up in the showers.

She stands, shivering, in the bathroom, trying to wash out her hair with the little shampoo that she has left. It's not ideal, but it's better than nothing to wash with at all. The money that she uses for buying things from commissary has been lessening in amount, so she's trying to make the best out of what she has left before she runs out of money completely.

"Look who we have here."

She jumps, startled by the sudden break in silence. Spinning around to see who is addressing her, she is stopped before she can make the full turn and rammed into the cold wall behind her. Her head bounces off the hard surface and she cries out in pain. 

"Not so tough on your own, are you?" It's Echo, one of Ontari's lackies. 

"I'm always on my own." She mumbles, trying to stable herself. Echo presses her arm into her neck, keeping her from falling over.

Echo laughs. "Bullshit," she spits on the ground beside her. "Ontari wants me to deliver a message."

"Oh, yeah? Why couldn't Ontari have done that herself? It's been a while since I've seen her without that hot prison uniform on." She mocks, shaking the fog from her head.

"Watch yourself," Echo pushes her arm harder against the dealer's neck. "We know what's going on. You thought you could fly under the radar while your guys weren't delivering any goods, but that's not going to work out for you. See, we still have connections, unlike you, and our business is booming."

"What are you going to do when the Chancellor gets out, then? Last time I checked, you guys weren't so good at keeping things from her." Her tone is challenging, but she's nervous. Ontari can easily make a comeback now. The dealer's druggies always say they're loyal, but she knows that as soon as new drugs are presented, they'll be gone.

"We have plans for her, but that's not really any of your concern. Ontari just wanted me to get the word out that there's about to be a real change in how things are run around here. Watch your back, dealer." Echo smiles cruelly and removes her arm from the dealer's throat. She steps back and looks down the dealer's body. "You and Ontari could've been good together." Echo licks her lips and shrugs. "Oh well."

She watches Echo leave, her stomach in knots. Her neck hurts. She rubs her hands together and then throws up into the shower drain.

"Your loss."

The dealer notices her at breakfast. She has never seen her around before, so she figures that the girl must be new. She has blond hair that hangs down a little past her shoulders and she's following Emori around like a lost puppy. Her look of complete disorientation only confirms the dealer's suspicion about her being new. She's pretty, which means that she probably isn't a druggie, but that doesn't mean she can't get there.

No.

She scolds herself for slipping back into her old habits. The new her doesn't target people to get them hooked. Only people that are already addicted. That's what separates her and Ontari. They're both dealers, but she likes to think that she actually has a conscience, unlike Ontari, who will seek out anyone who even seems to be relatively interested in drugs and gets them hooked faster than anyone the dealer's ever seen before.

The new girl doesn't notice the dealer staring, thankfully, so she doesn't have to look away. If the blond girl is hanging around Emori, then she's most likely staying in block D. The dealer and Emori aren't really friends, but they know each other, so that gives her an excuse to go by their block later in the day and meet the new girl. If she really is a druggie, then the dealer is in good fortune. If she has connections, then that's even better. Judging by the looks of her, the girl isn't a leader, so she should be easy to push around. That is, if she's even a druggie at all.

She pushes the rest of her food around on her tray, all of a sudden uninterested in eating, and then stands up to leave. She's racing against Ontari again now.

Planning out how she'll play things with the new girl takes her a few days, but she eventually decides to approach her after breakfast, once Emori and she have made it back to their block.

That plan is interrupted when she hears the inmates acting up in the hall to the left of her as she's walking to breakfast. The excitement of the inmates could mean of two things. Either they've finally gotten conjugal visits, or the Chancellor is back.

Her heart drops when she turns the corner. They might not be getting conjugal visits, but more people are certainly going to be getting laid.

There she is-- the all powerful, the feared-- the Chancellor. Scars and all, the woman walks down the hallway like a goddess. People create a path for her as she makes her way down the hall. All of her lackies are walking with her, creating the strongest group of women in the entire prison.

"Fuck," the dealer mutters, hiding amongst the rest of the crowd.

It's no surprise to her that Ontari isn't here. There's no way in hell that Ontari would risk getting seen by the Chancellor on her first day out of the slot. The dealer shouldn't be here either, but if she runs then she'll be noticed, so all she can do is wait and blend in. She'll be skipping breakfast, too; there's more of a chance she'd be seen there with everyone at eye level.

Every muscle in her body tenses when she feels a hand on her shoulder.

"What are you doing here?"

"Fucking--" she closes her mouth almost as quickly as she opens it. "Harper, don't pull that shit on me."

"You can't be here." Harper looks concerned, but she isn't really. She's looking out for herself: if her dealer gets caught, then there goes her supply.

The dealer doesn't reply so Harper speaks again.

"Lexa, you can't be here."

There is blood everywhere, it stains the wood floors of her kitchen. They had installed the flooring together. Each piece of wood set in with steady hands. Her hands are now covered in his blood. She can hide the body somewhere for a while, bury it in the garden and let it fertilize the tomatoes. She laughs at the thought, it would be the most useful thing he's ever done. Instead, she calls the police and reports that there has been a murder.

Her memory says that she was never abused or raped. So when they ask her why she did it, she tells them what she feels is the truth. Her apparent honesty pisses her lawyer off, she is a tough one to deal with. He often tries to use her daughter as leverage to get her to listen to him, but she knows that even if the judge decides that she isn't guilty, her daughter will know what she sees as the truth; her mother murdered her father. There is no forgiving what she has done, she knows that.

Her husband was stabbed eight times in the chest, but the first time was the one that killed him. All the other wounds were inflicted after death. She wasn't done until she said. The squishing sound that his abdomen had made sounds an awful lot like the sound of the wet slippers that her fellow inmates wear in the showers. She has no regrets; she is glad he is dead. Killing him is the most exhilarating thing she has ever done in her life. She tells everyone that she killed him because she was bored.

She is a liar.

Visits are not what she expected from her daughter. She expected to be completely disowned. They don't talk about much. She loves her daughter, but she made the decision to close herself off when she murdered her husband. Sometimes the few minutes that she sees her daughter are the only things that are keeping her going although she won't admit it. It's easier for her to not give a damn.

When her daughter stops visiting completely, she beings to rely on others to keep her going. The people in her block are almost just as closed off as she is. It isn't until someone from another block gets involved that she actually starts talking to people.

"She cut me off."

A girl with dirty-blond hair from a different block is talking to another woman.

"Well what do you want me to do about that?"

She isn't sure what they're talking about, and she doesn't want to be caught listening in, so she stays out of it.

"I don't know, talk to her or something." The girl with the dirty-blond hair is pacing around the room uncomfortably. She's shaking and looking around like she's afraid someone is going to show up and kill her. "You don't know what it's like, Indra, I'm dying."

She'll remember that; one of her block mate's names is Indra.

"You're not dying, you're going though withdrawal." Indra leans back in her chair and stares up at the other girl coldly. "I'm sure that if she took you off, she had good reason."

"She did not!" The girl complains, she stops pacing and stands firmly in front of Indra. "Lexa is crazy. She has no proof that I've done anything wrong."

Indra shakes her head. "If anyone around here is crazy, Harper, it's you."

Harper and Indra. Now she knows two names without having to put in any effort.

"Hey, you there!"

She looks up at Harper, not certain if she's talking to her.

"Do I look crazy to you?" Harper points to herself and cocks her head to the left.

She doesn't know Harper, or Indra, so she doesn't really know who to agree with.

"Not crazy," she considers how this could play out. "Just a bit off."

Harper groans and throws her hands up in the air.

"People are impossible." She turns and leaves the room.

She wants to go back to what she was doing before Harper spoke to her, but Indra won't stop staring so she assumes that the woman has something to say.

"She's an addict." Indra says finally.

"Oh," she assumed that already, but she wasn't about to let Indra know that. She didn't want to come off as cocky.

"Lexa is the big drug leader around here. She came in about eight months ago. Mostly smuggles in heroin, but you can never really know what that girl has going on. She'll sell anything without caring about the consequences. Doesn't get caught much anyway."

"And that doesn't bother you?" She asks, curious as to where Indra stands on the matter.

"I don't care what they do with drugs as long as they don't get me involved." Indra sighs and looks to the hall that Harper left down. "I just worry sometimes. Lexa is a good kid, she was just raised poorly is all."

"What block is she in?" She wonders if she's seen Lexa around at all. She doubts it, but she has no idea who this girl is, so she really could be anywhere.

"Block E. Harper's there too, but she knew Lexa before they got stuck here. She got hooked on the outside, I think Lexa was always her supplier." Indra sounded sad, like she was remembering things from her own past.

She decides now that she is going to help these girls no matter what the cost. 

It takes her one year and eight months to establish herself as someone important. No one thinks she can hold herself up against the other prisoners at first, but as time passes and she stays on top, people start believing in her. The larger her group becomes, the harder it is for anyone to overthrow them.

No matter what she does, she can't get the addicts on her side. She wants to help them, that has always been her goal, but it's hard to help the ones that don't think they need help to begin with. She gets a few here and there that are trying to break away from Lexa, but she can't get them as a whole. She meets with Lexa several times to try and reach an understanding, but the girl never listens. Lexa's actions result in well deserved punishments that Indra doesn't always agree with.

The second time she has to physically punish Lexa is four years after she is originally sentenced. One year and six months since they started calling her the Chancellor.

The work shift in the laundry room is full of side glances and whispers. The workers know what is about to happen, and when the guard leaves the room, they all gather around Lexa.

She stands strong by the ironing board, watching as Lexa is dragged from across the room to her. Her hands are clasped tightly in front of her, she almost feels bad for the girl, but not bad enough to stop her from doing what she is about to do.

"You know why you're here." She says, looking down on the girl who has been forced to crouch in front of her.

"Yeah," Lexa laughs nervously, trying to cover up her fear but failing. "I'm supposed to be folding laundry."

She smirks and then hums disapprovingly, causing one of her lackies to twist Lexa's arm behind her back. Lexa cries out softly, squirming around to try and find a more comfortable position.

"One of my people found this sewn into your mattress." She unclasps her hands and holds up the small bag of cocaine that Lexa thought she had hidden so well.

"One of your people?" The term pisses Lexa off.

She ignores Lexa's remark and continues on with making her point. "You know that I don't approve of your habits, Lexa. It shouldn't be surprising to you that you're here."

Lexa swallows nervously and breaks eye contact with the woman standing above her.

"I'm sorry that you keep doing this to yourself." She drops the bag of cocaine into the hands of the woman standing next to her and then turns to leave. She can hear Lexa writhing in pain with each hit that her punishers land. She knows how they'll hurt her. Each will take a turn kicking her while she's down, and then once she's up, they'll knock her back to the floor again.

"What's wrong, you can't beat me up on your own? Or are you afraid that I'll end up like Monroe?"

She freezes in place when she hears Monroe's name.

"Afraid to get your hands dirty?" Lexa is challenging her, she knows, but she can't help herself.

Her knuckles are bleeding by the time she's done with Lexa. She yawns and leaves the laundry room before the guard gets back.

It's always because someone snitched that she gets sent to the slot. So one day after the second Lexa incident, that's exactly where she ends up. She counts the days in a secret way and sleeps until she is let out. When she's released, there's always one more person that she needs to deal with. One more damn traitor. She misses her block mates while she's away. Indra and that small girl who's always limping around and making lame jokes about machines.

On the tenth day that she's been locked up in the slot, a guard comes by her door and opens it. She squints and shields her eyes from the harsh light of the fluorescents that line the hallway.

She can already hear the chanting coming from General. She smiles and stands up, brushing the dust off her pants, she makes her way towards the door.

"You're not going to be getting into any more fights anytime soon, are you?" The guard asks as they walk past the locked doors that hold slotted prisoners.

"I make no promises." She nods to the guard and then walks into general where she is immediately greeted by her toughest followers.

"Welcome back." Indra sets a hand on her shoulder and leads her through the crowd of prisoners lining the hallway.

"Thanks."

They're all calling out her name. Not her real name, but the name she has earned in the five years she's been locked up. The titled she worked hard to earn and continues to work hard to keep. 'The Chancellor', they call her. Their leader.

She thinks that nothing can bring her down from the high that she's feeling. Her eyes wander around the crowd, identifying familiar faces. One, too familiar face stops her thought process and shuts her down completely. She won't stop now; she keeps walking.

No one other than Indra notices her change in mood.

"Who is it?" Indra asks, trying to follow the Chancellor's eyes. "Abby? Who do you see?"

"Clarke."

She thinks she is invincible.

She is wrong. 

His arms are wrapped around her, and he promises to keep her safe. Foolishly, she believes him. He doesn't tell her what he has stolen; he doesn't tell her that he is in trouble

She wakes up when the bullets tear through her home.

She always wonders why he would try and protect her only to frame her and send her away. She was involved, but she didn't steal what they were looking for and she doesn't want to go to prison.

Her neighbors are nice people, so when they hear gunshots, calling the police is the first thing they do. In all the rush, they never catch the license plate number of the car filled with shooters and extra ammunition.

The floor is cold against her face. She stares at her boyfriend's dead body from across the room. He stares back.

She thinks the pain that is flowing through her spine is the worst she will ever feel. She is wrong.

Getting used to walking again is hard. She's trapped in physical therapy, but she'd rather be here than anywhere else. Her therapist says she has to face reality to move forward. Moving forward for her means learning to live with becoming a crippled convict.

They say that she'll be able to continue with her physical therapy in prison, but she doubts that the program will be worth it. All they do for her once her time at the hospital is up is give her a brace and shove her into a white bus.

With her in the bus are two other girls who look almost as anxious as she is. The one with the dirty-blond hair keeps looking at her funny and pulling her sleeves down over her hands. It's making her uncomfortable.

One thing she misses is the sound of the birds that used to wake her up in the morning. The sound of men yelling and blowing whistles isn't nearly as pleasant.

It takes her longer than anyone else to get ready in the morning. The way the guards look at her makes her sick. They have to treat her differently, but she's still just a prisoner to them. If their whole prison system was a machine, she'd be the one gear that turns the wrong way.

For the first couple of weeks she's afraid that her block mates hate her. She believes that if they don't dislike her now, they'll grow to later. She hates herself for missing her boyfriend, it's his fault that she's in this mess, but when faced with the option to spend five years and six months alone or to spend it with the man who got her caught; she would choose to spend it with him.

She sits down on her bed. Covering her face with her hands; she inhales and then exhales slowly. She will not let her mother take control of her. She is in control of her own body; her mother will not own her emotions. If her father were here with her, he would tell her to think about an open canvas. He would say to imagine herself painting her emotions on that canvas and then he would tell her to step back and marvel at the work of art she has made. Only then will she be truly content with how she feels. She hasn't felt content with anything since her father died. Her canvas no longer exists for her to paint her emotions out on. Instead, she keeps them locked up in a closet like her old paints; never to be touched again. She blames her mother for everything she feels now; all the anger that she carries. 

The ceiling is a pale gray; dull and stained by leaking pipes. The ceiling tiles that cover her cell have small, circular indents in them that almost look like stars. There is a dull ache in her chest that causes tears to spring up behind her eyes. She swallows her sobs and pushes back the memories of her father that she holds so close. She tells herself that this is no time to mourn the unjust death of her father. There is no time to wallow in her own sadness. She grabs a hold of her anger and opens the door of her cell. No one will touch her; she will burn so bright that even the sun will weep with envy.

"You look pissed." Emori sits across from Clarke eating what appears to be rice.

"I'm peachy." Clarke says, avoiding eye contact with Emori. She looks around the cafeteria anxiously, afraid that she will see her mother.

"Well good, I'm glad you're feeling better." Emori says, going alone with Clarke's act. "If you're looking for your mother; you're not going to find her."

Clarke almost lets out a sigh of relief. "Where is she?" Why she asks; Clarke isn't entirely sure. Something about knowing where her mother is makes her feel better. She tells herself it's because it makes it easier to avoid her; she'll never tell anyone the real reason.

"Probably with her lackies in block A." Emori shrugs and continues eating. "They've got all the good shit from commissary in there." Clarke notices what seems to be a look of jealously flash across Emori's face.

"Who else is in block A?" Clarke takes mental note of the block letter her mother is in

"Uh, Indra Spalding and Raven Reyes." Emori looks up from her rice with a smirk on her face.

Clarke groans. "What?"

"You're so interested." Emori teases. "I thought you hated you mother."

"I do." Clarke says quickly.

"Alright." There is disbelief in Emori's tone, and she clearly has something more to say, but Clarke isn't interested in her opinion on Clarke's relationship with her mother so she doesn't push further.

"Move over, loser."

Clarke looks up from Emori and sees Octavia standing next to her; tray in hand. Clarke shifts further towards the other side of the bench; allowing Octavia to sit.

"You know, Octavia, you are the sweetest talker I have ever met." Emori smiles at Octavia from across the table.

Octavia sarcastically smiles back. "It's one of my best qualities."

Clarke chuckles and gives Emori a look.

"What?" Emori acts like she hasn't done anything.

"You just can't help yourself, can you?"

"Admit it, Clarke, I'm fun."

"Whatever."

"I feel like I'm trapped."

She watches from the stairs, covering her mouth with her hand to prevent herself from making any noise. She's supposed to be asleep, but the sound of her parents arguing is keeping her up.

"You're not trapped, Abby, I'm not keeping you prisoner."

Her father and mother are in the kitchen standing on opposite sides of the table. Her mother is pacing back and forth with her hands in her hair like she's going to pull it out.

"I know, Jake, I know." Her mother stops pacing and stares at her father. "You don't understand what I'm trying to say."

"Right, I don't." Her father is getting annoyed, she can tell. He's using that tone that comes out when she forgets to clean up after herself or when she complains about having to do her chores. "You're not making any sense."

Her mother slams her fist onto the table. One of the family's white porcelain plates shatters under her hand.

"Abby!" Her father sounds more upset about the plate than her mother's hand. "You'll wake Clarke." Now he speaks quietly, as if he has just remembered that there is another person in the house.

"I'm sorry, I--"

"Stop." Her father holds up his hand and silences her mother. "I don't want to hear it." He grabs his jacket from the counter. She hears the sound of keys jingling in his coat pocket.

"Jake, don't go."

"I can't be here with you when you get like this, Abby. It's insufferable."

She watches her father walk out the door. When it slams behind him, she flinches. She is suddenly afraid that her father will never come back.

Her mother's hand is still on the table, and there's blood all over the table cloth. Looking down, her mother sees the shards of porcelain that are sticking out of her fist.

The girl on the stairs wonders if this is why all the dishes have been disappearing.

"Clarke!"

Her eyes open and she jolts upwards, slamming her head into someone else's.

"Fuck!" Her hand flies to her forehead. Pain spreads through her skull and she bites her lip to keep from saying anything more.

"You were having a nightmare." Her cell mate stands above her; cradling her own head in her hands.

"I don't have nightmares." Clarke doesn't remember what she had dreampt up, but she isn't scared now so it doesn't matter anyway. Now there is no way she is falling back asleep. The pain coursing through her head is enough to keep her awake.

"Right, well, you were talking in your sleep and it was keeping me up." Her cell mate returns to her own bed and pulls the covers up around her.

"What was I saying?"

"I don't know, something about your mom. You got issues with your mother?"

Clarke clenches her jaw and inhales deeply. "No."

Clarke walks to breakfast alone. Emori has left with Octavia by the time that Clarke wakes up.

"Woah, Griffin, you look like complete shit."

"Don't call me that." Clarke says coldly, ignoring the fact that Emori has just said she looks like shit. She sits down across from Emori at their cafeteria table. She looks over at Octavia to see if she heard, but Octavia is already staring. They lock eyes for a few seconds before Octavia starts smirking. "Dammit, Emori!" Clarke breaks eye contact with Octavia and glares at the other girl. "You fucking told her!"

Emori flinches and tries her best not to start laughing. "Sorry, Clarke," she looks down at her tray. "I'm not very good with secrets."

"You can't tell anyone." Clarke says to Octavia. 

"Your secret is safe with me." Octavia traces an 'x' over her heart and glances at Emori. The two start laughing, not even trying to contain themselves anymore.

"It's not fucking funny." Clarke scolds them, annoyed that they're reacting in this way.

"I don't see why you're so ashamed of being related to her, Clarke, she's pretty bad-ass." Octavia finally stops laughing. She takes a bite of her slightly burnt toast and swallows.

"You don't know her." Clarke mumbles, stabbing her unappealing eggs with her fork.

"Okay," Octavia nods her head in defeat and changes topics. "Have either of you seen Ontari around lately?"

"No." Emori says through a mouthful of food. Clarke resists the urge to tell her not to talk with her mouth full.

"Who's Ontari?" Clarke has never heard of her before, but she doesn't really get involved in anything other than her own shit anyway so there is no reason for her to know in the first place.

Octavia sighs, disappointed that Clarke is so unaware of what goes on in the prison. "The second biggest drug dealer in this whole damn shit show."

"Who's the first?"

"Lexa." Octavia wipes her hands on her napkin and then crumples it up. "You really need to start learning all this shit on your own, Clarke. Otherwise, you're going to be completely fucked, and I know you don't want to be running to your mom for help."

Clarke doesn't have time to retaliate before Octavia has left the table. She looks at Emori, expecting some sort of smart-ass comment.

Emori only shrugs and stands up. "She's right." She follows Octavia out of the cafeteria.

Clarke sits by herself for a few minutes after her block mates have left. If she's going to learn names and statuses without Octavia's help, she's going to need to go straight to the source. She can't go there first though, so she'll start small. If she can learn more about Lexa from other inmates that know her; she can decide whether or not it's safe to approach her alone. 

She has been putting off this moment ever since she went down, but there is no putting it off now. She has to become involved with the inmates. She has to get to know them and learn which ones are safe and which ones are not. She's just hoping that Lexa isn't one of the latter.

"I know, I know." Lexa brushes Harper off and continues staring at Abby. Her heart is pounding; she clenches her fists to stop her hands from shaking. Something in her is telling her to leave, but she can't bring herself to look away. With Ontari's plotting and the Chancellor's release from the slot, Lexa feels overwhelmed. 

"Come on." Harper pulls Lexa away from the crowd and drags her down the opposite hallway. "We're skipping breakfast."

Lexa nods; agreeing that it's a good plan to lay low for the time being.

They relax once they're in block E.

"Shit," Lexa shakes the nerves out and tilts her head up to the ceiling. She closes her eyes and takes a moment to think about what she can do next. She can't think of anything good. "We need to relax."

Harper smiles and rubs her hands together. "I knew you had something left."

"Stay there." Lexa holds up her hand to stop Harper from following her.

"What? You don't trust me to know where you keep your shit?" Harper's smile fades and she tries to take a step forward. "I'm not gonna snitch on you, Lexa."

"Yeah," Lexa chuckles and enters her cell. "It's not that I'm worried about." Last time she let Harper know where her stash was hidden she found the entire hiding spot empty just two days later. 

Lexa makes sure that Harper isn't watching before she climbs up on her bed and moves one of the ceiling tiles. Hidden in the ceiling is seventy-five milligrams of heroin, a bundle of tinfoil, and a lighter. She examines it for a moment before moving the ceiling tile back into place and stepping down.

"Alright, come on." Lexa sits down on her bed and pats the spot next to her with her free hand. Once Harper has sits down, Lexa sets the lighter next to her and tilts herself more towards Harper to get a better position.

"Hell yes." Harper watches a little too closely as Lexa folds the foil and rolls up her tube. "It's so good to see you in action again." She nods to herself when Lexa doesn't reply.

Lexa laughs nervously and hands Harper the foil. "Right, well, who's ever heard of a drug dealer who doesn't do drugs?" 

"No offense, but you suck ass when you're sober." Harper takes the foil and grabs the lighter from beside her.

Lexa hums almost sadly and stares down at the heroin. She reconsiders this for almost a whole second before lowering her face towards the foil and inhaling once the paper she has rolled up reaches her mouth.

There is a moment when she thinks she's going to start coughing up a lung, but it passes quickly. She clears her throat and assists Harper as she takes her turn.

"Shit, this wasn't up your ass or anything; right?" Harper turns to her with wide eyes.

"Fuck no." Lexa's laughing quickly turns into a coughing fit.

"You okay?" Harper asks, afraid that she'll get caught with a dead body by her side.

"Yeah, I'm good." She breathes slowly and closes her eyes. 

"Ever think about getting needles in here?" Harper leans against the wall.

"Yes," Lexa wishes that she'd stop talking. "It's not as easy as you'd think."

"Can't swallow needles." She concludes.

"Right." Harper weighs the pros and cons.

Lexa's arms are heavy and she feels like sleeping. She doesn't trust Harper enough with her things though, so she stays awake. Her mind wanders away from thoughts about Ontari and she begins slipping into different memories. 

"What do you think?"

Lexa smiles.

"It's beautiful."

Lexa is twelve years old. She's walking down the street with a girl that she used to know in Tempe. The girl is showing Lexa a crown that she made out of the flowers that grew in her yard. She puts it on her head.

"Do you think it makes me look like a queen?" The girl asks, tilting her head to the side so Lexa can see.

"Definitely." Lexa picks up a long piece of wood from the side of the road and kneels down in front on the girl. "I, my queen, swear to protect you at all costs."

The girl laughs and pulls Lexa up off her feet. "You're weird." 

They hold hands as they walk down the empty sidewalk until they reach Lexa's old house.

"I'll see you--"

"Is this all you're gonna give today?" The sound of Harper's voice yanks Lexa out of her mind and back into the real world. Back into her grim prison cell.

"Dammit, Harper." Lexa opens her eyes and look at Harper.

"What?"

Lexa decides that it's better if she lets it go. "Nothing. Forget it." She turns around and stares at the wall. The good feeling she had a moment ago is now gone.

Harper looks around the room to try and find a sign of where Lexa keeps her stash. She squeezes her mouth shut to prevent herself from asking Lexa anything else.

Lexa sits in the corner of the exercise yard and sits her head in her knees. The sun is shinning too brightly in her eyes but it's too hot for her to will herself into moving. She has been looking for someone for the past couple days, but hasn't managed to spot her. A couple of people she sells to have approached her saying that a girl has been asking around about her. The girl that she is looking for matches the description that she had been given. It interests her that the girl she is looking for is also interest in her. She notices that one of the guards monitoring the yard is staring at her. 

The CO is a woman. Tall and blond; her hair is tied up. Lexa tries to remember her name, but she can't think of it. It's one of the guards that she usually doesn't have problems with which is what makes it weird that the guard is staring. Lexa pulls her knees closer in towards her chest and takes a deep breath. The guard doesn't look mad which is a good sign; it just bothers her.

She avoids the guard as her and the other prisoners are escorted back inside. Worst case would be if the guard is one of Ontari's corrupts. Lexa pushes it to the back of her mind and tells herself that she is just being paranoid. She considers that maybe she should try and get some guards of her own.

The cold air of the prison is refreshing and she grows dreary at the fact that she won't be able to take a shower for another three hours. She feels disgusting despite the air conditioning. 

"Inmate Alver."

Lexa turns around at the sound of the man's voice.

"What?"

It's Marcus Kane, one of the CO's. He reminds Lexa of one type of teacher that she always ran into while she was in grade school. The type that always tries to be nice to their students but usually ends up making things shittier than they planned.

"Cartwig wants to see you."

Lexa groans. "Tell her to screw off."

"Come on." He puts his hand on her back and leads her down the hallway to Cartwig's office.

Kane waits by the door to make sure that Lexa doesn't try and run off. She waits for a moment to see if he will leave and when he doesn't; she is forced to open the door and enter the room beyond it.

"Lexa," Callie Cartwig stands from behind her desk and motions towards the chairs on the other side of the room with her hand. "Take a seat."

Lexa obeys and sits down in the coushined chair that's closest to the window. "I told you I didn't want to talk to you anymore." She says once Callie has sat down in the chair across from her.

"I know our last session didn't end pleasantly," Lexa laughs dryly; Callie ignores her and continues talking. "But I still feel like we're making progress here."

"There's no progress to make; I'm fine." 

"You've been stuck in here for three years, Lexa, and you still have four more to serve. That doesn't upset you?" Callie likes to poke around inside of Lexa to see what will spark a reaction.

"I'm upset, sure, but I'm not cutting myself and I'm not suicidal." Lexa looks out the window; disinterested in being here right now. "Why don't you spend your time with the ones that actually need your help?"

"Not everyone deals with pain in the same way. I'm just interested in knowing how you deal with yours."

"Well that's not really any of your damn business; it is?" Lexa turns back to Callie; glaring.

Callie suppresses the urge to smile. She's gotten the reaction that she wanted. "No, I suppose not, but as your Counselor--"

"I'm not your damn patient, and you're not my fucking shrink." Lexa stands up and watches as Callie flinches back. It's only a slight movement, and if Lexa hadn't been looking for it, she would've missed it. "I came here to serve my time, not talk about my feelings."

"Lexa, it helps with the loneliness."

"What the hell would you know about loneliness? I'm not lonely." Lexa should probably sit back down. "You don't know me at all."

"I know that your parents died when you were three and you grew up in different foster homes." Callie is trying to look composed, but Lexa can tell that she's on edge. "I know that at your last foster home, you--"

"I don't want to talk about that." Lexa stops her before she can get too far into the subject of her past.

"Why not?" Now Callie really does seem more relaxed. As if the fact that she has sparked a reaction in Lexa calms her; like she feeds off of it.

"If you grew up in the foster system, would you want to talk about it with someone you don't like?"

"You don't like me?" She sounds curious.

"Is that surprising?"

"No." Callie tilts her head to the left and watches as Lexa sits down. "You're staying?" She teases.

"I suppose." Lexa says, mocking Callie.

Callie smiles. "So what would you like to talk about then?"

"You have a list of inmates."

"Yes." Callie says, her words dragging questioningly. She squints her eyes slightly to show her concern.

"I need to know a name."

Callie only grows more concerned. "Why?"

"I'm curious."

"You can't ask the person yourself?"

Lexa shakes her head.

"Why not?"

"You ask too many questions." Lexa wants that name. She decides that she won't leave until she gets it.

"It's my job.

"Whatever. Can I have the name or not?"

"I still don't know why you want it."

"I told you; I'm curious."

"Why does she make you curious?"

"I don't know. There's just something about her."

"I'm not sure that it would be safe."

"What? You think I'm going to kill her?" Lexa laughs. "I'm a drug dealer, not a murder." She thinks about the Chancellor for a moment before quickly pushing those memories back into the dark parts of her mind.

"I know that."

"How about we make a deal then?" She doesn't want to do this, but it's convenient and it just might work.

"I'm listening."

"If you give me the name I'll talk about my foster homes with you next time I visit this lovely office."

Callie watches Lexa carefully. She looks for some sort of sign that Lexa is bluffing; she finds none. "How do I know that you won't back out?"

"You're just gonna have to trust me." Lexa smiles and shrugs her shoulders. 

"What does the inmate look like?"

Lexa claps her hands together in victory and leans back in her chair. "She's short," Lexa nods to herself. She tries to remember every detail of the girl's face. "Long, blond hair and greenish eyes."

"She's new I assume?" Callie stands up and walks back to her desk.

"Yeah, I'd never seen her around until a few days ago."

Callie unlocks her file cabinet and pulls out a cluster of folders. She begins looking through them and pulling out certain ones to put into a new pile. "Come over."

Lexa stands and moves over to Callie. She shows Lexa a few pictures of girls that match the description she gave. They go through most of them until Lexa stops her. 

"That one."

Callie stops and looks at the picture. She pulls out the matching file and glances down at the name. "Clarke Griffin."

"Griffin?" Lexa tells herself that it can't be the same Griffin.

"Yes." Callie looks at the file again. "It looks like her mother is in here too. You'll know her mother. Her name is--"

"Abigail Griffin."

Fuck.

"What do you think?"

Raven laughs and claps her hands together. "It's lovely."

Her boyfriend twirls in a circle and stops to pose. "I bought it for you, but the size was marked wrong." He looks down at the floral print dress that just barely fits him.

"Well, that's alright." She stands up from the bed she had been sitting on and makes her way towards him. "I don't wear dresses." Wrapping her arms around his waist she kisses him gently and then pulls back to speak again. "And I have a feeling you wear it better anyway."

But when Raven wakes up there is no boyfriend to wrap her arms around and no floral print dress to laugh at. There is only darkness and the sound of footsteps in the hall. A grim reminder of where she is and how she got there.

These are the dreams that bring tears to her eyes. These are the dreams that make everything just one shade darker.

Raven can hear Abby and Indra talking outside her room. She can't make out what they're saying, but it's probably about Ontari.

She should get up and get breakfast, but she can't bring herself to move. There's a hole inside of her and it's getting bigger. She hopes someday it will become big enouguh to consume her entirely and she will no longer have to spend her time here. 

If she could stay in her bed all day and into eternity she would, but she has work at twelve and she can't risk skipping again without being caught. 

"Happy Birthday, Raven."

She squeezes her eyes shut and wishes that Finn would leave her alone. The smell of the candles she blew out on the last birthday she had with him lingers. If she knew what would happen that year she would've wished for something else on her birthday. She would've wished for anything else.

Work is anything but exciting. She folds clothes and watches as the people around her talk amongst themselves. About what; she doesn't know. Right now she doesn't care enough to listen. She's trapped in her own thoughts. As if being trapped in prison wasn't enough. It's not hard to guess what the others are talking about anyway. Ontari has been spreading shit like wild fire and the rest of the prisoners are starting to get excited. Raven can't remember the last time there was a serious fight over who becomes Chancellor. There have been a few people here and there that think they have what it takes, but Abby has always been able to keep things under control. Raven has noticed that Abby's starting to slip up and usually she would be determined to figure out why, but right now she has her own problems to deal with.

Raven is so caught up in her own thoughts that she doesn't notice the guard leaving. She looks up when someone pushes her against the row of washing machines behind her.

"Reyes," Ontari is standing too close to Raven for her to be talking at that volume. "Long time no see."

"What are you doing?" Raven ignores the pounding coming from inside her head and looks around the room. CO Pike is gone.

Ontari smirks and tilts her head to the left. "I've got something I need you to do for me."

"Why would I do anything for you?" Their conversation hasn't lasted longer than two minutes and Raven already knows who this is about.

Ontari's smirk falls and is replaced with something resembling a scowl. "How much time do you have left in here?" She pretends to think for a moment. "Four years?"

"Three years and four months." Raven corrects her, not that it makes much of a difference.

Ontari shrugs. "And you want to get out of here, right?"

Raven doesn't respond.

"Right?" Ontari repeats, stepping even closer to Raven. Now only inches away from her face. Raven stares at the ground, refusing to meet Ontari's eyes.

"Yes." Raven wishes the washing machines behind her would surround her body and consume her whole. She would go anywhere else if she could.

"So it wouldn't be good if you did something bad and got extra time." Ontari shakes her head.

Now Raven looks up. Afraid of what Ontari has planned she tries to read the hints in her face, but nothing shows.

"Which is why I need you to do me this favor, Reyes." Ontari steps away from Raven. "I think it will really help you avoid making any bad decisions in the near future."

"What's the favor?" Whatever it is, Ontari either doesn't have the skill or the bravery to do it herself.

"I need you to steal a file from Callie for me."

Raven's heart sinks. "I can't do that."

"Sure you can!" Ontari throws her hands in the air and smiles. "Isn't that why you're doing time?"

"I didn't steal that." She swallows back whatever emotions were beginning to crawl up to her surface.

"Right," Ontari nods. "And I don't deal drugs."

Someone in the room snickers.

"I really don't think this should be all that hard for you." Ontari looks disappointed that Raven isn't giving in as easily as she wanted.

"In case you haven't noticed," Raven takes a step away from the washers and towards Ontari. "I don't move quite as well as I used to."

Ontari glances down at Raven's leg brace and sighs. "You'll figure something out." 

"Who's file do you even want?" It would be hard, but if Ontari was serious about adding time to Raven's sentence she would have to do it.

Ontari smiles. "I knew you'd come around. I need Abby's." She uses Abby's first name to show that she has no problem with disrespecting her.

"No way." There are so many reason why Raven doesn't want to steal Abby's file. Not only is Abby her friend, she's also the Chancellor. Raven has seen what Abby can do firsthand and she has no plans of ever having to experience that kind of punishment for herself. Stealing another inmate's file is already going against Raven's moral code and the fact that Ontari wants her to steal Abby's does not help. "I won't do it."

"Reyes," Ontari glances up at the clock on the wall behind Raven. Raven wonders how much time she has left before Pikes comes back. "There really is no reason for you to be so attached to that woman." There impatience in her tone; her time is running out. "Unless," A smile begins spreading across Ontari's lips. "There's more than just a friendship blooming between you two."

Raven is not amused.

"Anyway, it really is your choice, Reyes. I won't force you to do anything." She shrugs and then walks back to her station; arriving just as Pike opens the door to the laundry room and calls for the end of work.

Raven is the last to leave the room.

She stays away from Abby for the rest of the day. Not that Abby notices her disappearance. 

There was really no reason for Raven to ask Ontari why she wanted Abby's file. The obvious answer would be that Ontari is looking for a weak spot. Raven doesn't believe that Abby would voluntarily tell anyone about how she feels. Definitely not Callie. They may get along well, but there's no way Abby would actually open up to Callie on her own. The only person who knows the most of Abby's problems is Raven. Indra talks to Abby about her problems too, but Abby barely ever gives her a clear answer. Raven hadn't even meant to discover Abby in her cell on the days following the Monroe incident. It was accidental and Abby made it very clear that Raven was never to tell anyone about what was happening to her. What is happening to her.

Still, even if there is nothing in the file, Raven can't steal it. It would be completely selfish and out of line. She knows that it's wrong, which is why she's so confused as to why she has to convince herself not to do it. Her first instinct should have been to just flat out refuse, but there was a hesitation. Even if Ontari hadn't noticed it, there was a moment when Raven thought she would say yes. It had to have just been her old self showing through, but she hasn't really changed that much since her arrest. If it was anything else, she wouldn't have said no.

Ontari has nothing to do with it. Raven --even though she'll never admit it-- misses the rush she gets after taking something she isn't supposed to. That gap inside of her will never be filled, she just has to work hard to repress it. Abby means a lot to her, but sometimes she wonders if it's just because there's no one else who will stand by her side. But where is Abby now? Sure, she's got Ontari to deal with, but why does being Chancellor mean so much to her? Does the power mean more to her than the people by her side? Indra never seems to care, but sometimes it gets to Raven. Sometimes it really gets to her.

Does it bother her enough to betray Abby though? The answer to that question is no. Raven can't steal the file, so she'll have to figure out some other way to stop Ontari from fucking up her sentence. If she's in here any longer than she has to be she'll probably die. There's very little that keeps her going in here as is. Taking away her promised date of freedom is just about the worst thing anyone could do. Raven would tell Abby about what's going on, but for some reason she decides not to. She tells herself that she doesn't know why she keeps it a secret, but deep down she knows.

Her mind isn't completely made up yet.

Raven waits until last minute to go shower. The longer she waits, the less people will be there to torment her. It's late, but she manages.

To her surprise, there's still one girl in the bathroom when she arrives. There's a towel wrapped around her body and she's brushing her teeth by one of the sinks. Raven doesn't recognize her, but she's not in the mood for a conversation so she doesn't bother asking for her name. Not that it matters anyway.

But she notices the girl eying her as she undresses to shower. Thankfully, her eyes are only attracted to the leg brace that now rests by the wall next to where Raven is about to shower.

"What happened to you?"

Brave. Not really what Raven wants right now, but it's better than her usual shower experience so she isn't too upset.

"Leg injury." No shit. "Happened before I got here." Half true.

"Oh," the girl continues examining the brace for another moment before going back to brushing her teeth.

"You're new?" Raven pulls her shirt over her head and throws it by the wall with her brace.

"Yeah."

"What block are you in?" Raven doesn't know why she's still talking.

"D."

She tries to remember who else is in that block, but she can only think of Octavia.

"How long are you in for?"

"Twelve months." Something about how the girl speaks sounds familiar to Raven, but she has no idea why.

"That's not too bad."

No response.

"What's your name?" So much for not starting a conversation.

There's a hesitation before the girl speaks again. "Cassie."

Something tells Raven she's lying. "Well, Cassie," the name doesn't fit the face. "I'm Raven."

Cassie looks away when Raven slips off her pants. The pants join the shirt in the pile by the wall.

Raven turns around and Cassie is gone.

How polite. She thinks to herself.

If she was lying about her name, Raven wants to know why. She'll talk to Indra tomorrow. If there really is a Cassie in Block D, Indra will know about it. Raven would figure it out herself, but she's not a huge fan of Octavia so talking to her isn't really going to make her life easier.

The water is cold on her skin and she shivers as it runs down her back. That's one of the bad things about coming in late; there's no more hot water. She'd rather be cold than surrounded by people though, and it helps her clear her mind.

Running her hands through her hair, she lets herself slip away from the prison for a moment.

Raven misses the feeling of Finn's hands on her skin. He used to place his hands on her back when she was stressed and make small circles with his fingers. Something about him grounded her and said that she wasn't alone. There wasn't a time in her life with him that she thought he would leave. She hoped by now she'd be over him and the memories would begin to fade. The sad thing is that the only thing fading is his face. It's like everything in her memories is so clear and then she looks at Finn and he's so fuzzy. She can't remember how his eyes used to shine when he laughed and how his hair would get in his eyes when he read and he'd have to tuck it behind his ears because it got so long. It's cruel to her that everything is in such perfect detail except the one thing she misses most. Sometimes she can even hear his laugh, but now she isn't sure if that's even what it sounded like.

She wishes that she could just be angry with him. If she was angry then she wouldn't have to miss him all the time, she could be glad he's gone, and she could be glad he's never coming back. If she could just blame him for everything her life would be so much easier. After all, it was Finn who stole it, not her. Sure, she had stolen other things, but he got them caught. Her leg is fucked up because of him. He's dead because of his own decisions.

But instead of anger there is regret and sadness and denial. No matter how hard she tries, there is no anger and there is no hatred and she's right back where she started.

Hating him would be so much easier than missing him. If only she could.

Ontari meets her again in the bathroom the next morning.

"Made up your mind yet, Reyes?" Ontari approaches from behind, and Raven would've been surprised if she wasn't already expecting this.

Raven leans over the sink and spits. "Yes." After gently tapping her toothbrush on the rim of the sink twice, she sticks it back into her toiletry bag and turns to face Ontari.

Ontari waits patiently for the verdict.

"I'll need a screwdriver and pliers." Raven doesn't hesitate this time.

Ontari smiles. "I knew I could count on you, Reyes." She nods, happy with herself. "But I must ask; what's with the sudden change of heart?"

Raven shrugs and thinks for a moment. "Maybe it's time for a new Chancellor."

The smile on Ontari's face grows. "You'll get the tools at our work shift."

"And you'll have your file by tomorrow morning." Raven feels a tug on her heart, but she doesn't know where it's coming from.

"Things are looking up for you, Reyes." Ontari turns and begins leaving the bathroom. "Things are really looking up for you."

Raven turns back to the mirror that runs across the wall of sinks and places her hands on either side of the sink rim. She stares at her reflection and whispers to herself. "You're damn right."

She waits for the CO outside her block to fall asleep before she sneaks out of her room and makes her way down the hall. She watches the cameras lining the walls carefully and waits as they spin around to face the other direction. Then she moves as quickly as she can past them and towards Callie's office. Thankfully she guessed right and Callie has already left for home.

No CO is guarding the hallway Raven has found herself in.

She crouches down by the electronic lock that opens Callie's office door. Using the screwdriver Ontari gave her, she gently twists the screws off of the metal panel and let's them drop to the ground.

The inner workings of the lock aren't as complicated as she expected, but it's been a long time since she's picked a lock at all, let alone an electronic one, and she's not sure she can do it without leaving any damaged wires. If Ontari can get the file back before long then Callie might not even notice that it's missing. Unless Callie decides to go over it with herself and finds that it isn't there. That would be a problem for both of them and Raven can't afford any fuck ups right now. 

It takes her what feels like forever before the lock makes a quiet clicking sound. Raven twists the doorknob and the door givens in.

She pushes into the office and lets her eyes adjust to the darkness. It's almost pitch black in the room, but she can't risk using a flashlight-- even if she had one --so she has to feel around the walls of the room until she finds her way behind Callie's desk.

The filing cabinets behind her desk hold the files of almost everyone in the prison, and Raven feels a spark of curiosity about what the others say, but she doesn't have the time to read any so she ignores the feeling and moves on.

She finds the right drawer and attempts to open it. When it doesn't open, she curses to herself and remembers that she needs the key. She slides the drawer on Callie's desk open and feels around inside until she finds the cool, ridged surface of a key. It's the only key in the drawer so she assumes that it's the right one.

Sure enough, it is.

Raven takes a deep breath and runs her finger over the tabs that separate each beginning letter of a last name until she hits the right one. Squinting, she tries to make out each name on the files until she sees what she's looking for.

There's a voice inside of her that's telling her to just leave now and figure something else out, but she's made it this far and she isn't about to stop.

So she places her hand on the top of the file and pulls up.

But she's not done quite yet.