Page 6 of Babalon

I was a child, one with a slight violent streak that only seemed to increase as I got older. Which was how Trenton found out how much I was over being his little fuck toy.

Not many people know this, but the average human bite is around 160-psi and it only takes 100-psi to bite through the soft tissues of a penis. The last bit of it though, you may have to saw your teeth until the incisors finish it off and the floppy thing falls out of your mouth.

Hard lesson learned for Mr. Trenton, I’m sure his wife was upset. Not.

Anyway.

Ivy was right, but I’m not going to tell her that. I looked good, I felt good. Though the past seven years had really dampened my attitude, I just knew things were going to get better from here.

At least.. that’s what my therapist and I thought.

“Congratulations on making it this far. You have graduated from basic guard training and are now ready to move into the next level which will prepare you for working in high-stress and intense situations such as governmental bodyguards, bounty hunting, or correctional officer positions.”

I have prepared for this day for months.

Thinking to myself as our new defense tactics and weapons training instructor paced from side to side in front of me and the other eight officers who stood here at the ready.

Mini militaristic group of individuals we were. Almost as if we were preparing for war, which I suppose a few of us were. Some of us may not make it a year before giving up, others might not live to tell our families of our accomplishments.

I still had several levels of training to complete before I could even think about applying to open positions. Once this part was over, and I obtained my licenses, I could do the damn thing and find a job that didn’t force me back to fucking Hazelwood.

“This week and next week we will be reviewing, practicing, and testing defense tactics that will not only keep your ward alive, but you as well,” instructor Wolfe announced.

We all grunted or nodded in acceptance before he split us up into groups, ensuring there was a disadvantage between each of us. It was daunting, but at the same time, necessary. I didn’t know what kind of people I would encounter in a correctional facility so it was better to be prepared than not. I may be on the taller side for a woman, at five foot nine, but I know there are bigger and badder people out there than me.

I was placed with Hank. He’s a softie but don’t let that fool you. The Viking-looking fucker could flick me in the head and make it fall off my shoulders. The size difference was striking, and if I’m going to be honest, so damn hot. I could get behind it if he didn’t remind me of a young version of Ivys’ dad; he is going to ruin some girl someday, and I love that for her.

“Ready to do this thing, baby cakes?” Hank asked.

We bumped knuckles, smiling to one another, then turned to listen to Wolfe. Ready for instruction and to get my ass handed to me. I was good at physical altercation, and my scores were up there close to Hanks, which is likely the real reason Wolfe paired us together. We get nothing out of training if there isn’t some sort of challenge or competition, and grappling with a giant is rewarding when he loses.

Hank could stomp a mud hole in someone, and I’d have my arms wrapped around them in a chokehold in the matter of seconds. If we weren’t going in completely different directions, we would make a great partnership.

After weeks of defense preparation, Wolfe ushered us into weapons and firearm training. I fucking loved firearm coaching. The tight, yet relaxed, hold of my hand squeezing around the grip of a .40 caliber- the recoil that shook my upper body, it didthings. It set off little zaps of power that I thirsted for, gave me an edge in this chaotic life.

While I had not intended on becoming so enthralled with weapons training, having this new found power and being able to wield it, when necessary, made my head a little too big sometimes. My silhouette targets were peppered with bullet holes. Practiced clusters existing in the chest, while we were also taught to incapacitate a target by hitting the extremities. Therefore, my targets had groupings at both shoulders and where the hips would have been. It took me hours and hours of practicing, but I got better with time and eventually aced my shooting requirements.

We had to pass several rounds of testing, in both hand-held weapons and firearms, before we could be released from training. Those who had a hard time doing either were held back and were not allowed to turn in the state documentation needed to move out of controlled environments.

I couldn’t manage a knife to save my life, which negatively effected my ability to wield a baton too, something I knew correctional officers utilized more often than not. This hiccup kept me back a week, but eventually, I finished and was able to have a little bit of time to myself before the real work began. The work that would prove whether or not I could make it in this career field and show my worthless father that I would be something more than he ever thought I could be.

Three weeks after I finished training, I interviewed at several locations, but when I got the call for Darkwater, I was speechless. The Human Resource office was willing to pull me in as the minority-hire though DWCI a max-security prison. The state government has been harping on law enforcement lately, stating that the lack of women and minorities was leading to skewed representation. What better way to put a Band-aid on the issue than hiring students right out of training.

When I showed up to the front gates for my interview, having to wait outside the old stone face of the facility, I almost thought I was biting off more than I could chew. The interview process was dull, intimidating, and felt more like signing up for a colonoscopy than trying to land a job. Yet, by the end of my interview, they decided to give me a conditional hire as long as I went under their intense pre-hire process which seemed like a pretty standard thing.

Following a background check, mental and physical evaluations, drug testing, and a polygraph, I got my first date of employment. Is there irony in it being the date my mom dipped out and left me with my dad? I suppose not.

I am, officially, a Correctional Officer at Darkwater Correctional Institute. Well, I will be when I start in a few days, April 18th.

When I got home from all the fun and grueling pre-hire stuff, I opened my laptop, and sitting at the top of my email was my acceptance email. I stared at it for what felt like hours until the idea truly settled in.

I did it. I am leaving Hazelwood and never coming back.

My first day, oddly enough, was the most laid-back day since my hiring.

I was given my uniform, my locker, trained, and went home. My training continued for six months until my probationary period ran out. Then I got my cell block assignment, block ‘C.’ The prison used to split the inmates up depending on their convictions, but as spaces emptied from death or dismissal, the Warden started plugging new prisoners into empty cells wherever they fit.

Now, everyone was blended together. Murderers with rapists, white collar criminals with terrorists, traffickers next to convicted police officers.

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