Chloe "Tuesday" Ridgeway
Location: the Station
Tuesday's eyes started to water at Marc's comments. As much as she hid her feelings behind layers of sarcasm and humor, she was still the shy and sensitive girl she was in high school. The only difference was that she allowed herself to lash out now, demanding her independence and demanding to be treated as someone else. And having Marc yell at her, the words escalating to something she could have never expected from him, her chin started to wobble. Sucking in a deep breath, Tuesday looked up at the ceiling, hoping to keep the tears from falling. She mustn't let the tears fall, especially with everyone there to see.
In prison, she cried the first month, each night. They had put her in solitary to detox, leaving her with only the walls to talk to. The heaving and retching went on for weeks she felt, and vomit ended up in her hair. They only took her out to shower once a week, and she was clad in shackles, as her only human contact -- a female guard -- stood there wordlessly. It had been enough to drive anyone insane, but by the end, she thought she could never cry so much again. She would never allow her private shame to be witnessed. Tuesday had even come up with excuses to tell her friends, to claim none of it was true, and that she went abroad to do volunteer work.
Her mind snapped back to the present, and as Marc finished chewing her out, the dam burst. All of the tears came forward, as well as her repressed shame. Turning away from the rest of them, she quietly sobbed, grateful that when she ugly cried, she was mostly noiseless. Taking in a deep breath, she started to think of something to say. But nothing came to her.
Could this be rock bottom? Is this the moment when I repent and decide prison doesn't suck ass as much as I thought? Could I be Raskolnikov and not Svidrigailov?"I...I knew kingpins, didn't know any serial killers that weren't hired help...But if anything made them mad, it was someone else taking credit for their work." She stopped, her insides squirming with fear, as her gut told her to run, grab something nice out of the evidence lock up, and hitchhike home.
"But the others...If someone goes down for a crime, they relax. They...They slip up, get reckless. The end result is the same. Both get fucked by the police in the end."She took in a final shaky breath, hovering on the precipice.
"So arrest me and make a media circus out of it. Draw the fucker out of hiding. You said it yourself. I look incredibly guilty, and I know how to rock prison orange by now. That's as good a fucking trap as any."
