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She Sends Kisses	By : Prophecy Category: -Buffy the Vampire Slayer > FemmeSlash - Female/Female > Buffy/Faith Views: 3032 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy and I do not make any money from this story.

Chapter List
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Part Six: Subtle, Sister

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You wanna see what it's like down here

in this pool of someone else's rules, well

jump in, take a swim or just sit in this pit

squishing bare toes in someone else's bullshit,

we do it all the time.

- Alix Olson, 'Subtle Sister'

I remember my intake.

You spend about five hours in R&D talking to shrinks, doctors, and nurses. Sit in a cell with all the other intakes that day. Get strip searched and tossed in the shower before getting your state-issued clothes, some sheets for your bed, and all the basic hygiene crap. Back to the cell. Then they give you a couple of stacks of paper that you won't read, and talk to you and the other newbies for awhile about behavior, rehab programs, contraband, gangs, phone privileges, and sexual conduct. Back to the cell again, where you sit until they assign you to a housing unit.

You spend the next thirty days there, going to orientations, hearing about the different programs they offer, taking aptitiude tests and psych tests and every other kind of test you can imagine. Then they assign you a counselor, who's either gonna be your best friend or your worst enemy. They decide what custody level you're at, which has a pretty big influence on how much of an eye the guards are gonna keep on you.

More paper, where they decide what factors in your life brought you here, and whether those are gonna be a factor when you get out.

Then there's Intake Day.

It's not called that officially, of course. That's just what we call it when they bus in the newbies. The rest of the population is locked up as the newest wards of the state do the walk of shame down the hall to their cells to the tune of "Fresh meat!" and "Nice ass!"

Usually I'm laying on my bunk reading while Jay snores above on intake day. I figure it's humiliating enough without everyone staring at you and screaming.

Today's different, though. If I did my math right, aside of my GED tutor being proud of me for once, it means that Buffy's gonna be coming in today. If this is even where she's coming. Soon as the trial was over, the news anchors quit covering the story, which is how it always happens.

The news turns you into a villain and doesn't let you tell your side. See, it's easier for people to cope if they think of us as monsters instead of people. They think they want to hear our sob stories, but they're not listening. Zoom in on a crying face in a courtroom, and they say it's faked for sympathy while the defendant is asked to recap their violent childhood. Every chick in here's got a sob story, and the courtroom's the last place that cares.

I'm not saying I don't deserve punishment. I'm saying back in the day, I would've walked a barefoot mile over hot coals to have someone act like they cared.

The point is, no one gives a shit about us. That's why it's dog-eat-dog in here, because everyone wants to feel like they're worth something. The only way to feel like that is to beat down all the people you know are better than you. Sometimes I think prison makes more sense than the rest of the world.

And sometimes I think it's exactly the same.

Whatever.

This intake day, though, my book's somewhere under the bed, and I'm leaning against the bars to look as far down the cell block as I can, just like everyone else. The fear coming from behind those heavy metal doors is so strong you can practically taste it in the air. The new girls are terrified, and it's making even the most seasoned inmates stir-crazy. Like animals in a zoo.

The guards take up positions every ten cells or so, and the excitement in the air thickens as a loud buzzer goes off, signaling that the doors are about to be opened.

And then, there they are. A long, straggling single-file line of frightened looking women. They're all cuffed in front so they can carry the few things they have, and there's a few guards escorting them. A few hands reach out from the cells, grabbing at the girls, and getting smacked with a billy club for their effort.

I already know this block is full, so I light a cigarette and wait patiently for the line to pass by. A few young girls at the front already have that half-glazed look that means they'll be in the nut house or dead before they serve out a full week. I recognize one or two of the older women as frequent flyers. Some people just can't cope with the outside, so they go and do something else stupid to get tossed back in. Towards the end of the line, a couple of elderly women shuffle along slowly, and like I always do, I wonder how someone could live to be seventy or eighty, and then end up in prison for the last couple years of their lives.

It takes a few minutes for me to realize that the line's long since passed, and the catcalling is even starting to die down, and I didn't see a single blonde head the whole time.

Buffy's not here.

She's not here, and I'm so disappointed that I could scream.
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She Sends Kisses