Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 73311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
With that he walked away, disappearing around the side of the clubhouse as if he’d never been there at all.
Leaving me to drive all the way to the prison, wondering what in the hell had just happened.
Had I just made a friend?
Ghost was one to talk. I didn’t think I ever saw him smile either.
***
“’Bout time you got here,” Tyson grumbled. “This has been the shittiest day from hell.”
I snorted.
“Tell me how you really feel,” I mumbled, putting my lunch in the fridge and headed to the desk where Tyson was still kicked back and watching TV.
“I just did,” he groaned and dropped his feet. “There were fights early this morning.”
“There are fights every day,” I countered.
I worked in a minimum-security prison with felons. Felons who had medical conditions that prevented them from being housed with the other criminals in general population, otherwise known as genpop.
Did that mean they couldn’t fight? Hell no.
They fought constantly, and if I had to guess, it was even more than normal felons seeing as these guys were treated like little toddlers who couldn’t get around.
“This day was different, and it’s visiting hour in thirty minutes, so it should be nice and fun for you,” he laughed.
I rolled my eyes.
Visiting hours usually meant that one or two fights would break out over something stupid.
“Fucking wonderful,” I muttered.
Once I secured all of my belongings in my locker, I walked to the oldest time clock in creation and clocked in, dropping my time card in my slot beside the clock itself.
“What time do you get off?” I asked.
“As soon as Richards gets here…speak of the devil.” Tyson stood so fast his face went white.
“What was that about?” Richards grumbled as he walked past everyone.
“I’m ready to blow this hellhole,” Tyson informed everyone as he walked to the time clock. “This place is a fucking nuthouse today, and it’s not even nine in the morning.”
Tyson and Richards were guards, while I was a medic.
I didn’t have to go out and do the dangerous stuff like they did. No, I got to stay in the infirmary, watching television and doing whatever the hell I wanted, while they had to break up the fights and got their toes run over by wheelchairs.
“Yay,” Richards said as he closed his locker. “Exactly what I needed today.”
I ignored the rest of their conversation and went directly to the infirmary to relieve the other medic, an older gentleman named Hoss.
“Hey, Hoss,” I called as I made my way into the room. “You’re free.”
Hoss stood, grinning.
“Thank God,” he mumbled. “Tyson tell you this place was a freakin’ madhouse?”
I nodded my head.
“He did,” I confirmed.
“Well, good luck to you,” he called. “I hope your day won’t be as exciting as mine.”
I hoped not, too.
However, shit like that rarely worked out.
And I was right.
Four hours later, I was standing in the middle of chaos.
“You have to do something for her!” the little boy screamed.
“I will,” I muttered. “Stop screaming in my ear and let me look at her.”
The little boy backed off only far enough that I could get down to my knees in front of the woman.
A woman who was exceptionally beautiful… and, as it turned out, also my neighbor.
“What happened?” I asked quietly, pulling back the bandage so I could get a better look at the source of all the blood that was covering her blouse.
The woman stared at me with apprehension.
“Rod didn’t mean to do it,” she informed me.
Sure he didn’t.
“Just tell me what happened,” I ordered.
“I tripped over him and hit my head on the table,” she lied.
I rolled my eyes.
Sure she did.
“You don’t believe me?” she asked, guessing by the look on my face.
“I believe you,” I lied.
She harrumphed, and I had to hide my smile.
She was a cute little thing. However, every time she looked at me her face would get all scrunched up…kind of like it was doing now.
She was a pixie.
Short, small-statured, with a cute bob of blonde hair, she was everything that I wouldn’t go for.
I would chew her up and spit her out.
Her breasts, though…those didn’t fit with her tiny body. No, they were more fitting for a freakin’ Victoria’s Secret ad.
Not that I was looking at her breasts…or the way the blood from her head wound dripped down between those beautiful specimens.
“I’m fine, promise,” the woman lied.
“Can you tell me your name?” I asked, bringing out my pen light and shining it in her eyes.
“Yes,” she replied stiffly.
I resisted the urge to laugh. Barely.
“What is your name?” I repeated.
“Imogen,” she responded reluctantly. “And let me go ahead and say that I’m a twenty-nine-year-old female interested in men. Single. The month is June. It’s one oh three in the afternoon…What else do you want to know?”
My mouth twitched. “I definitely don’t remember age and sexual orientation being in my paramedic training as the litmus test to ascertain whether or not the patient is alert and oriented.”