4 - Elio’s POV

How fitting it is for the gates to my prison to open on my birthday.

It's almost a cliche; reborn on the day I was born. Except I really didn't fucking care for things like birthdays and symbolisms anymore.

I never thought this day would come.

I'd tried to appeal my sentence multiple times, about six in the first year. But something kept blocking it. I never even heard back to be told it was rejected, and as the years went by I lost all hope. I had resigned myself to spend the full forty years in prison wasting away, paying for a crime I didn't commit.

I stepped out through the gates, slowly. Then I walked out of the premises, bare, with clothes from the lost and found.

The last few years had been rough, especially because there were a couple men I put away in there with me.

They pushed me around, stealing the measly trinkets I earned and took the opportunity to needle me. I took it in stride for the first two full years because at night I cuddled up with the idea that I'd soon be out of here. That my appeal would go through and I’d be able to leave and I didn't want to jeopardize that.

It didn't.

And one day in June, my third year incarcerated, I snapped. I just couldn't take it anymore. I fought back against two of my most ardent assailants, landing all three of us in the infirmary, me with a broken nose and both of them with multiple broken limbs.

I got a lot of my privileges revoked for the rest of the year for it but people left me alone after that, except a few new busybodies that I had to beat down a little too in the coming years.

Slowly, my mind sunk into itself.

I had nobody. The whole precinct hated me, as they should if I'd actually killed those girls. But I didn't and every scalding, insulting letter I received was a personal jab.

I almost couldn't believe they believed I did it. Every last one of them.

My dad, a policeman, was killed in service when I was seventeen, and already training to be one. My mom died while I was in prison, three years ago and it was the funeral home who tracked me down to tell me and ask for money for her burial.

I couldn't even fucking go. My appeal to attend her funeral, to see her for the last time, was denied.

I kept the piece of paper with the location of where she was buried ever since, promising myself that I'd make it there even if my bones could no longer carry me.

That was where I was headed now, to see Ma. I'd take flowers with me, and for her, because I know she would want me to, I'd pray.

That would be the last time.

My saving grace came from the same lawyer that lost my case ten years ago. He called up one day, saying he felt guilty. That I was the first case he ever took and he believed me when I said I didn't do it, he just couldn't prove it.

He did now, although I'm not sure how. But I suppose lies crumble if you shine a bright enough light on them.

There certainly was less resistance this time. Commander Campbell had retired and Reed had taken his place shortly. And now, Reed was Deputy Governor Campbell, someone who wouldn't bother with such a thing, powerful and untouchable.

But we'll see about that.

I have nothing else to live for. I care no more if there was a God, nor did I care for his heaven or his hell.

Here is all I know, right now is all I have.

And I would have my revenge.

_

Manon’s Pov

My hair fell around me, a blonde waterfall as the barber shaved it off, noisily chewing gum in a way that was driving me crazy.

But I didn't say anything, because this place was cheap, fast, took cash and most importantly, wouldn't remember me. They had much more pressing things in their dark, depressing days.

He turned towards his buddy, laughing at something the dingy man said in Spanish. I didn't understand it, my Spanish was limited to only greetings unlike my French and Italian, but because of it he nicked my scalp, just by the ear.

I winced, surprised at being hurt at this moment. But I immediately schooled my features. Showing pain meant more pain. I showed the world only what I want them to see, at all times.

“Sorry about that, bro. Thank God I didn't buzz your ear off huh?” He joked.

God.

I hated God.

All my life, he would let me dip my tongue into the water, to taste how refreshing it was, but he would yank it away when I tried to take a sip. All I’d ever gotten was a moment’s reprise before I would be forced to crawl into a hole smaller than the last.

“Yes, it's fine. Just finish up, please.” I had somewhere to be, somewhere important.

He nodded and went back to work, the only sound the squeaks of the overhead fan. He was done quite quickly, and gently pushes my head around as he dyed it.

I stared at my pretty hair scattered on the ground of this nameless hovel, the last vestiges of my old life. But I don't even feel sad. It was a physical physical representation of the past nineteen years, years that I was trying to escape.

The dye burned on the small wound on my scalp but I did not complain. It would be over soon.

I stared at myself in the mirror when he had washed it off for while.

I looked very different. From long, flowing blonde hair they never let me cut to basically a bald man. My patrons could walk right by me in the streets.

Good. That's exactly what I want.

I paid and then walked out. My motel was right by; an uncomfortable, almost smelly place. But it was also cheap and I need to use the money I had wisely.

I had the worst sleep last night. It was hot, even with the window open and the fan going. The bed was lumpy and the sheets could have been fucking sandpaper with how much they scratched. I wish I had the forethought to pack my silks but I guess I’d better get used to it now.

I took a bath, tied up the clothes I was wearing in a plastic bag and tossed them out while on my way. Hands in my pocket, head down, I asked people I passed for directions until I'm told I'm standing on Parkinson's street.

I was almost there. The first step to finding the rest of my life.

Asking a woman who has a baby in her hands once more to be sure, I followed her directions down a piss-stained walkway. I thanked her, but she was already walking off.

I had learned to not be excited about things before they actually happened, which was the only thing stopping me from skipping. I will soon be free—

I slammed into a something, halting my train of thought. What the fuck?

I stumbled back, my body trying to right itself from the impact. My mouth pulling down into a frown, I looked up to see what the fuck I had run into.

A man.

He looked rugged, with a weathered grey jacket over blue jeans. His brown hair was swept away from his face, a messy style that pointed to having been done in a hurry. The face had a stubble; scraggly hair that had just begun to grow in. His eyes were a hard green, and he had no smile lines around them.

He did, however, have deep lines for the frown he was now sporting as he looked down at me. His lip twitched as he shoulders past me, muttering, “Watch where you're going, boy.”

Boy…?

I bristled at the tone, at the dismissal, and at that fucking word! I was no boy, not anymore.

I heard his footsteps walking away.

Besides, he bumped into me.

I was tired, so tired, of being pushed around and disrespected. Of being the cup where everyone could just spit into or the scratching pad who everyone could work their anger off on, even when I didn't do anything wrong!

But that didn't have to be me anymore.

I got away, I escaped. And I'd be damned if I let some idiot on the street feed his ego off me.

“Why don't you watch where the fuck you're going, asshole?”