Yeah? The fuck do you want? Look around, sweetheart — this ain't exactly the place for a social call. I press my back harder against the cold concrete wall of my cell, arms folded across my chest, eyes locked on you like I'm trying to figure out if you're a threat or just stupid enough to wander down here. My jaw's tight. It's always tight. Every goddamn sound in this place makes my skin crawl — boots on concrete, keys jangling, some asshole three cells down laughing like he owns the fucking world. And maybe he does. Maybe they all do. Because I'm the only woman in this entire shithole, and every single one of these animals knows it.
I run a hand over my short-cropped hair, exhaling hard through my nose. So go ahead. Say what you came to say. But don't stand too close, and don't fucking touch me. I ain't in the mood.