Amber Easton

Green; such a twisted color.

Out of all the hues in the world, the hunter-green shade of the door in front of me right now seems to be the worst one of them all.

I notice the paint starting to peel off the door that's trapped me into this Solitary Confinement.

It feels like days that I've been sitting in this dark room, and it's gotten me doing these stupid things like counting all the bricks of the wall or drawing random shapes in the dust collected on the cement slabs.

I've also realized I've got major claustrophobia.

With all this time wasted in here, I've caught myself zoning out multiple times with my chest being tight. Only when the officers slipped some food and soap through the tiny slot in the door, I managed to snap back to reality with my head between my knees or some other frightening position.

To top it all off, the noise around here is the biggest mind-fuck of all. I mean, seriously; there's always someone banging on their door, and begging to let them out.

There's also one woman who can't stop singing 'Jailhouse Rock' by Elvis.

"The warden threw a party in the county jail,
The prison band was there, and they began to wail."

The woman sings for the (literally) 100th time, as I have memorized all of the lyrics to the song by now. I swear, if I'll have to listen to it for another round, I'll actually jab this block of soap in my ear to stop the noise.

"The band was jumpin', and the joint bega—" The woman begins again, but is interrupted by another voice I haven't heard in days.

"Would you actually shut the fuck up?" The voice echoes through the air, and it takes me less than three seconds to realize it was also coming from the spot the vent is placed in the wall next to me.

There's no fucking way.

Maybe I'm hallucinating already?

"The band was jumpin', and the joint began to swing

I knock on the bars, the sound loudly echoing until a curse word responds on the other end. "New York?" I whisper into the space, my lips feeling chapped.

After a few seconds of absolute silence, the voice is back. "Damn, Hollywood. You good?"

The guards must've really messed up to put us both in cells next to each other, so for the first time in this building ever, a relieved smile creeps up my face, as I whisper, "I think I'm going crazy."

"Me too." She laughs out, her voice being more tired from the last time I'd heard it.

"I read somewhere that distraction is the best medicine. We should find ways to divert our attention elsewhere." I say, laying on my back now, the cement ground sending shivers down my spine.

"I already am." Her voice echoes through the space between us, leaving me confused. "Can't you hear? I'm carving a figurine out of soap."

Now that I listen closely enough, I can hear small engraving motions over the loud bangs and singing. "You know how to carve shit?" I look for my block of soap, my fingers roaming around the ground for a moment in the darkness, before hitting the hard object.

"Yeah. My brothers taught me how to do it." She mutters, and I feel my eyes widen at her bringing up her family.

"That's... nice." I cautiously work around the subject, trying to understand how far I can go with it. Out of boredom, I attach the block of soap to the bricked wall and start scraping it up and down at an angle, sending specks flying everywhere.

"I mean, they're kind of the reason I'm in jail." She admits, and I don't know how to respond to that, so I just continue to scratch the soap, this time trying with my nail.

My silence is enough for her to continue, "My parents... weren't quite the caring type. They chose other substances over their kids. I guess family was merely blood to them."

The only sound I can make is an encouraging hum, making her go on with her story, "Which left me to look after my brothers — considering I'm the eldest one."

My heart hurts from just listening to her pain, but she lets out a bittersweet chuckle, "I swear, you'd instantly fall in love with my youngest brother James. He's got the bluest eyes and the most contagious laugh. He's only 7 but could make the whole room swoon at his grittiness."

"My 'parents' were barely home, leaving us with no money or food. I swear, they'd forget about us every once in a while, so I had to go and steal something from malls or supermarkets." Her voice is back to being serious. "Sometimes it'd be just food I'd snatch, but other times I'd steal things that could give good money at pawn shops. That was until some security-camera footage caught me doing incriminating stuff... and now I'm here."

"They keep writing me letters but I just can't bring myself to read them. I mean, stacks of envelopes are on the desk in the other cell, and I probably won't even get to them now." She sighs, anxiously telling me the things heavy on her shoulders.

And then, like a hammer to the heart, I can practically hear a teardrop slip down her cheek, falling down to the concrete ground, as she raises her voice, "I'm just so fucking tired, Hollywood. I just want my brothers back, possibly run away with them. I mean, I deserve to go to college, right?"

My lungs feel like giving out from the way her voice breaks in the middle of sentences, as she's gone into a hyperventilating episode. "Shhh..." I try in a hushed tone, "We'll be alright, okay? You'll get to go to college, and see your brothers again soon. The clouds will iron out, eh?"

"Here." I try again, as she keeps quiet this time. I push the small piece of soap through the bars of the vent between us. The shape is a bit warped, and the lines are way too thick, but I feel like it's overall pretty spot on. "I tried my best at carving. Keep it, if you can."

I hear some ruffling on the other end before she sputters out a small laugh. "What's that supposed to be?"

Her question has me cackling because I thought I'd done a pretty decent job. "I-It's supposed to be a butterfly. Obviously, only if you narrow your eyes, and use your imagination well enough."

"Hell no. A butterfly's supposed to look like this;" She shoves a tiny figurine through the confined space. I take it between my fingers, tracing it along the beautifully carved lines. Seriously, my breath is almost taken away by how thin and careful the strokes are.

"It's not finished yet, but you can keep it." She drags out, "It kinda has holes in them, but you can smoothen them out sometime. Right now, its wings are broken, so the creature's stuck."

"Just... Promise you'll fill the holes only when you've finally found actual happiness on this world somewhere — that way you'll finally set the butterfly free." She asks in a serious manner.

"Okay, I promise." I find it easier to agree to her terms now that we aren't eye-to-eye. I tuck the figurine in my sock for safekeeping.

"Hollywood?" She starts again, this time the sad tone gone, "What's the first thing you'll do when you get out of jail?"

I think long and hard to come up with something, but I get stuck when the realization I've got nothing left to do hits me.

I think about the figurine I just received, and feel a small smile tug at my cheeks. "I think I'll get a tattoo — a butterfly one. What about you?"

In contrast to me, she's got her answer thought out already. "I'm definitely dying my hair blonde. I can't stand the sight of myself anymore."

We continue to talk about random things we'd like to do; I keep listing unimportant things whereas she mentions significant ideas like trying to get custody over her brothers, making me wish my whole heart she succeeds. I also tell her why I'm in jail, spilling every single detail to try to get ahead of time.

Once we've finally fallen into a comfortable silence, I stare up at the ceiling, seeing pure black over my head. Narrowing my eyes, I feel as though my mind is playing tricks on me, making me see little dots of light yellow. The sight is very pretty, actually.

"Hey, New York?" I snap us out of the stillness, "Do you know what shape a star is in real life?"

She seems to be amused by my question, chuckling when answering, "Yeah. It's like a circle."

I'm immediately taken back by her answer, scrunching up my eyebrows. "Are you sure? Why are we taught that they have 5 edges, then?"

My question has her pondering, before she unsurely answers, "...I don't know."

"So what? Stars are basically just thousands of small suns? That it?" I feel myself getting more drawn into the conversation.

"Well, no. It's a mix between the moon and the sun. It's the most beautiful kind of event there will ever be to exist, actually." She finally responds with a deep answer, which only partially makes sense to me.

Totally confused, I sigh. "You know what? One day... I'll marry the fuck out of someone who takes me to see stars. Then I'll know for sure."

"Sounds like a smart choice." She sarcastically deadpans.

"Well, my dad's always told me that if a man ever will have enough patience to teach me to play the guitar, he's a keeper." I fight back. "All the rest isn't that important."

"Even if he's a serial killer?" She asks again, obviously very amused by our conversation.

"I'm here, aren't I? Nothing worse can happen." I laugh, my back starting to hurt from the hard ground.

"...True." She sighs, and the smile can distinctly be heard in her voice.

With all this talking between us, it makes me wonder why she decided to come to Solitary Confinement with me. I mean, we could've come up with anything else that would've put only me here, but she chose to kiss in order for the both of us to get taken away.

"Hey, New York? Why did you co-" I'm about to ask her about this situation, but I'm interrupted by the clang of keys on my door.

"What's going on?" I hear a muffled voice from the vent, but I don't have the time to respond when the guard's having me go against the wall to cuff me.

In just a matter of seconds, I know what's going on — this is my opportunity to take the deal.

"Easton, you will be taken to the interrogation room to go over the details of your case." He pulls me out of the suffocating space, taking me to the now-familiar door.

I don't even have the chance to say any kind of goodbye when I'm already sitting down next to the table to talk.

I feel the detective walk into the room with Brandon's father by her side. They remind me again how I can be released if I sign the contract to keep quiet about this whole situation, meanwhile still having to compensate for the conveniences like hospital bills.

The information doesn't really register in my tired mind, as I just keep thinking about the two lives I could possibly have. Going over both of them, the choice doesn't seem too hard anymore.

Moments after... I sign an NDA.

I sign away my truth that way.

I sign up for freedom that way.

I can go home.

With the drop of the pen, I raise my sight, watching the two people in front of me have their faces glowing from success. Right before they leave that room, the father mutters, "Could've done this much quicker and easier, if you hadn't been that stubborn."

He tucks his folder of contracts in front of his stomach, sighing. "See you in court next week, Easton."

Baffled, I sit in front of the table, trying to comprehend what just went down.

Though, I'm not given much time to do so, when I'm already taken back on my feet and pulled back to the place to collect my stuff. Just before I change back into my old red dress, my hand meets the carved piece of soap in my sock to be put in my pocket now.

I check my phone, the empty battery bar flashing on the screen, meaning I can't contact anybody.

After going through the protocol, and following all the necessary steps, I'm standing before the exit door. With my hand reaching the handle, I freeze.

What now?

Where the fuck do I go from here?

I lost my love for red the moment I stepped into that car.

I lost my love for orange the moment I dressed into that awful jumpsuit.

I lost my love for blue the moment I shared a look with the police officer dragging me into the isolated cell.

I lost my love for purple the moment I noticed the crescent moons left from nails on my skin.

I lost my love for white the moment I had no choice but to stare at the walls out of boredom.

I lost my love for pink the moment I snatched the lighter from the guard's pocket.

I lost my love for green the moment the doors and walls started closing in on me.

I lost my love for black the moment I was left in complete darkness.

Yellow is all I have.

~~~

I jostle awake, having to force my lungs to work properly.

I slowly take in my familiar bedsheets, the scent of my home lingering in the air gradually bringing me back. I try blinking a few times but it doesn't stop the black spots overtaking my vision.

Being aware of the dim lighting from the window, I conclude it must be around 3 am. I reach for my phone, the fluorescent light making me dizzy. Multiple voices ring through my head, all of them somehow tracing back to the phone app.

Without any second thought, I tap on the contact with 'H' being in the name slot, the air becoming filled with noise.

He picks up on the second beep.

"H-Hello?" His voice is gruff like he's just been brought out of sleep. "Amber? Is everything all right?"

Surprisingly enough, his concerned voice makes me even more anxious, being the reason why I can't push any words out of me.

With more seconds of silence passing, I feel more tension crawl up my spine and a weird smog in my throat form.

My thumb lingers over the red button.

"Should I come ov-"

Without having any words said, I end the call.

Good job, Amber.

***

Hope I didn't rush this chapter too much! THE JAIL FLASHBACKS ARE DONE!

You have no idea how much important information was put into this chapter!

Hope you're doing well! Also, please, avoid getting in jail??

OH also if you're still interested in the prison stuff, I recommend you check out Jessica Kent or Christina Randall! (Most of the information I learned about this topic was from their YouTube videos!)