Worth It

As my gaze dropped to the ground and I searched distractedly for my fallen Kindle, I felt uplifted and revitalized. I couldn’t wait for him to come back and steal more from me.



I think I knew, even then, my life would never be the same again.



The electronic belch of the prison gate rang to notify guards on the other side whenever the doors were about to open. It was meant to be a warning. Caution. But to me, it was the sound of freedom, because today, they blasted for me.



As I stood before them, the obnoxious wail echoed between my ears with a piercing intensity. It made my hands twitch at my sides and nerves rattle like loose change in my stomach. Then metal grated on metal as the gray steel began to peel apart, slowing baring the world beyond.



Color assaulted me. A pristine azure sky, bright yellow taxi with a white puff of smoke coughing from the tailpipe, glistening silver gates, a piercing red stop sign down the block, and grass as green as the moss that grew on the trees in the woods behind my childhood home.



I’d been eighteen when I’d stepped behind bars. For six years, my world had been nothing but grays and browns, blacks, and inmate orange. So I had to wince against the blinding onslaught of fresh, new color until I lifted my hand to shield my eyes.



Sunlight warmed my chilled palm and it sent a ripple of anxiety down my spine. I tried to control my erratic breaths and slow the whiplash of my heartbeat, hide the overwhelming insecurities.



I hadn’t expected quite this level of emotion. What perplexed me most, though, was that the overriding sensation wasn’t even relief. It was fear. I no longer knew this world. I wasn’t prepared to step into it. I didn’t even know if I wanted to be a part of it. But I sure as hell didn’t want to stay here.



Wiping my hand over my face to clear my expression, I took a step forward, my first toward freedom.



The guard next to me nudged my arm. “Hey, Parker.”



The heels of my shoes collided with the floor, jerking me to a halt. Expecting him to hitch his chin toward the belly of the prison and drag me back to my cell—telling me this was simply a test run, I wasn’t really being released today—I did nothing but stare blankly when he pulled a folded bill from his pocket and extended it my way.



When I only blinked at the cash, he jabbed it at me again, like some kind of jousting stick. “Buy yourself some new clothes, will you? You look like shit in those.”



My gaze darted from the money to his face, back and forth, a ticking pendulum of indecision. I didn’t understand.



I started to shake my head, so he sighed. “Just take it already.” He glanced away, uncomfortable with his gift. “It’s only twenty bucks. You’ll barely be able to buy a meal with that.”



My eyes flared. If you couldn’t even buy a meal with twenty dollars these days, I wasn’t prepared for life on the outside at all.



And there went the acid in my stomach again.



“Come on. I know you need it. I’m the one who pulled your possessions. You have exactly eleven cents in your pocket.”



I swallowed and slowly reached for the cash. “Okay, thanks.”



He glanced away. “Don’t get too excited, it’s not much. I wish I could’ve helped more. You’re a good kid. You never belonged here.”



My throat closed as I studied him. I was going to miss him. He’d been the only source of nice I’d had in the last six years, and I was probably never going to see him again. I opened my mouth to thank him, to say good-bye, to...I don’t know. But nothing I thought to say sounded even remotely effective enough to convey what I really meant.



“I...” I glanced down at the money. “It’s more than I expected.”



Shit, that sounded awful.



The guard laughed softly and nudged my shoulder. “Go on. Your ride’s waiting.”



I glanced at the taxi, then back to him. “Good-bye.”



He nodded. “Stay out of trouble. I don’t want to see you back here again.”



“Yeah.” He didn’t have to worry about that. I sent him a small wave before half walking, half jogging toward my one and only state-funded cab ride to a destination of my choice.



My clothes stretched and pinched as I moved. I’d grown enough that the hem of my pants fell well above my ankles and my shirt was so tight the seams groaned, protesting each step.



The last time I’d worn this very outfit, I was being arrested for raping Abbott Bainbridge’s only daughter.



“Where to?” the cabbie asked as I opened the back door and slid in.



I sat there, staring at him. Where to?



Why had I not thought of an answer for that question until this very moment? All morning, ever since I’d been informed I was being let go, I’d only been concerned about getting free; I hadn’t even thought about what I’d do when I actually was free.