My feet crunch over the gravel, echoing in the silence around me. Tucking my hands into my pockets, I force myself forward one foot at a time. My eyes drift up the wall that's keeping people in, and in a way, probably keeping people out too.
The walls are brick, double fenced on the inside, and lined at the top with barbed wire. Guards are peering out from two towers at the corners, while the front of the prison is speckled in two foot by three foot square windows, with ghostly faces begging to be set free.
I can't see much, no defining features, nothing to really identify the person inside, but the eyes. I can see each set, their gazes like ghosts.
I can't fucking believe my brother is here.
It's her fault, it's all her fault.
Clenching my teeth, I crook my jaw in frustration as I approach the front the gate. It angers me that he's here. It angers me that I'm here. It makes me so fucking mad that this is my life right now.
As if either of us haven't already been through enough. Now, we have to deal with this.
Not once have I ever felt like I've had any control over my life. It's always been in someone else's hands, being led by someone else's decision.
The giant gate buzzes, gliding open as I approach. I go through the motions. Dropping my stuff into the small tray as I walk through the metal detector, the guards pat me down, and I wait for them to check my shit. Grabbing the pen, I sign my name in the book, same as I have for the past two months.
I take a second to check the register, quickly running my eyes over the names, but I don't see anyone else I know. It's habit at this point, I check every time I come. I don't know why, it's like I keep expecting to see our father's signature.
It's stupid. He's never going to come.
I shouldn't be surprised, I already know I'll never see our father's name in this book, no matter how many times I search for it. I'm the only person who ever comes to see Harlow. Just me.
We really only do have each other.
Another buzzer goes off, and another barred gate slides open. I'm ushered into the visitors’ room, busy with wives and kids as they talk to their loved ones or wait their turn. Some women are crying, others are yelling, the sounds blocked by thick glass partitions.
I look down the row of individual boxes that house a single phone and chair, until I see the one with my brother. Sitting down, I take the phone, lifting it to my ear. Clearing my throat as our eyes meet, he gives me a fake smile.
I know it's fake as shit. He isn't happy. There's no way he can be fucking happy. This isn't a vacation, it's fucking prison. But he puts on the same smile he's used since I was little; the older brother, I got this and I'm strong, smile.
“Hey,” he says, his voice scratchy and dry.
“Hey,” I say back, doing my best to sound strong like him. “How's it going?” My tone is lower, less believable, but it sounds way better than I feel. I fucking hate this shit.
Harlow shrugs his shoulder and cracks a small smile. “Orange is becoming my new favorite color, I guess.” Looking himself over, he looks back up and shrugs again. “How are you? You don't look too thin, so someone must be feeding you, and I know it ain't him.” He says “him” with a layer of disgust I fully understand.
“I'm not an invalid, Harlow, I know how to take care of myself.” Rolling my eyes, I shift in the chair and lean closer. “I am eighteen now, you know.”
Flapping a finger, his grin widens. “That's right, happy birthday. Sorry, I can't give you a proper birthday beating, you'll just have to wait till I get out.
“Yeah, thanks, I appreciate that.”
“It wouldn't be right if I didn't. What kind of brother would I be?” He chuckles, but his smile fades as his eyes dull. “And how's. . .” he pauses, sucking in a sharp breath, “Did he do anything for your birthday?”
“Dad's the same, some things don't change. And no, why would he? Has he ever paid any attention to a birthday, or Christmas, or any shit like that?”
Harlow grunts, twirling the phone cord around his finger. “Well, at least things haven't changed much, I guess. Some things are always dependable, even if they suck.”
I nod and stay quiet, keeping my eyes on his. He cocks a brow, tipping his head, knowing I want to say something else. He might not know what, but he knows there's something on my mind.
My eyes say it all. He's always been able to know what I'm feeling from the look in my eyes, ever since we were kids. Three years is all that separates us, but Harlow has been more of a dad to me than our own blood father.
“What?” he asks, pupils expanding as he presses the phone closer to his ear. “Say it already.”
Swallowing hard, I fiddle with the cord. The words are on the tip of my tongue, and I have to force them out. “I saw her.”
“Who?”
“Her.” My foot is tapping fast, making the rest of my body shake. “I saw her.”
And I almost kissed her. . .
I don't say that. I can't. My brother would lose his shit.
“And?” he asks.
“And what?”
“There must be more. So, fucking tell me already, stop acting like I can't handle hearing what you have to say.”
“I never said you couldn't handle it.”
“You don't have to, I can see it on your fucking face, dip-shit. Spit it out already.” He's short with me, nostrils flaring as if his patience is being tested.
“Nothing really, she goes to my school, that's all.”
“You're surprised?” The tips of his fingers rap on the tabletop. “Where else would she go? There's only one fucking high school in this shitty town.”
“Yeah.” Hanging my head, I look up under hooded lids. “She came and saw me during my community service.”
“Why?” he asks, his voice firm.
“I don't know, she just did.”
“Did you talk to her?”
My mouth opens and I let out a scoff. “A little, but what was I going to do? I couldn't yell at her to go away. The officer was right there watching everything.” Holding out my arm, I glare at him. “The last thing I need is him going back to the judge with some complaint.”
“Right, the last thing you need. . .” Harlow grits his teeth, his pupils turning to pin pricks.
The way he says it makes me feel bad instantly. He's stuck in here, while I'm lucky enough to still be free. A little community service, and my debt is paid as long as I stay out of trouble between now and the end of my five month service.
“I'm sorry, Harlow, I didn't mean it like that. I'm not trying to sound entitled or anything, I know you're stuck in here, and this shit sucks.”
Chewing the side of his cheek, he taps his thumb against the table. “You're mingling with the enemy, Max. I hope you realize that. If she comes back again, tell her to get fucked. It's that simple.”
I'm quiet for a moment, a second too long for my brother. “You hear me, Max? The bitch doesn’t feel bad about any of this. For me, for you, she doesn’t give a shit. She's the enemy.”
“Yeah,” I say, shaking my head. “I know, I know what she is.”