T H I R T Y T H R E E

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~ Graham ~
~ day 72 ~
C H E Y E N N E

"Its been two weeks," the psychiatrist mumbles, the space between his eyebrows crinkling as he read through my file. I'm sure it was filled with incident reports that I managed to get since our last session. I fiddle with my shaky fingers, listening to the chains linked around my wrist and ankles clink. "It doesn't seem like you're settling in well with the other inmates."

"I'm supposed to get along with other criminals?" I ask slowly, narrowing my eyes at him. I had been in here two weeks and went through about 2 psychiatrists already. The first one had managed to anger me by poking at my personal life for the past few months. I wanted to avoid thinking about that for however long I was going to be in here which I knew was going to be a long time.

I hadn't had the patience for the other who had the most monotonous voice in the world, worst than any college professor. Her voice drove me crazy. The only tolerable thing about this psychiatrist was his patience with me and his accent. It was pleasant to listen to.

"That's not what I meant," he chuckles, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. "You got...6 incident reports since the last time I saw you. What's up with you and the inmate across the hall from you?"

I scoff, slumping in the uncomfortable metal seat and roll my eyes. "Do I have to talk about that asshole?"

"Once you do, we can get you back to your cell," he chimes, tilting his head. I sigh, pressing my lips together as I thought about talking to my psychiatrist about him. I wasn't really pressed to get back to my cell. It wasn't exactly the Four Seasons in my block and Griggs and the other guards made sure of that.

"What do you want to know?" I ask, sitting up and folding my hands. I watch as he spreads out the six write ups on the table and picks up one in specific, reading it.

"Well," he starts, a chuckle escaping him as he reads the paper. "I want to talk a remark you made that caused you to begin arguing across bars."

I smile, remembering what I said. It was only a few days ago. "He was calling me everything but my name. I made it clear to him that I don't like pet names. Then, he wouldn't shut up, trying to get me to tell him why I don't like pet names. Tried to get me to tell him why I was in jail. He was acting like an annoying kid brother. I started getting aggravated so I turned to the lady guard outside his cell and began to beg her to let him out of the cell. 'Please, please, please. Release him. Puh-lease. You're depriving some village of its idiot'."

The psychiatrist lets out a laugh, making me laugh as well. He waves his hand, signaling for me to continue.

"It even made the guards laugh. They may hate me, but I'm the best form of entertainment they're gonna get in here," I sigh, shaking my head. "Anyway, I guess it embarrassed him so much, he started yelling at me. Threatening me, cursing at me. He was red as a tomato and was basically foaming at the mouth. But, as you know, I'm not scared of anyone, especially not him. I started yelling back."

"It took 4 guards to calm down the both of you," the psychiatrist recalls, setting the write up back down. "When they opened your cell to give you your...punishment, you tried to attack him. They gave you another week of meal suspension."

"Yeah," I mumble, resisting the urge to gag as I recall my once daily meal replacement for the past couple of weeks. "You said you could help me with that?"

"That was only if you exhibited good behavior," he says quietly, gathering up all the papers. I narrow eyes, watching him stand. I didn't want to get angry with him, but this conversation went south fast. He glances at me, reading my expression of anger and disappointment. "Um, I'll write up some paperwork. Get you eating some real food by Sunday."

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