Chapter 6

I don't know whether I simply passed out, or whether something worse happened to me. The pills must have taken their effect on me shortly after my feet hit the floor because I didn't remember anything that happened after that, except for one thing – hearing a woman say “he'll be okay.”

She must have been right, because here I found myself, lying in a bed that was a thousand times more comfortable than the one in my cell. I wasn't even sure I was still in the prison. I was surrounded by off-white plastered walls instead of the dreary gray cement in my own cell. The lights were a hundred times brighter, too – or maybe it was just me, that I had passed out for so long and my eyes still had to adjust to real light.

My stomach felt like it had been put through a meat grinder. Every part of my body was sore, with the possible exception of my feet and toes. My abdomen was the worst – it was raw and hard as a rock.

I groaned and tried to throw my arm over to my stomach, but I was stopped by the handcuffs holding me to the bed rails.

“Well, you're awake.”

I turned my head in the direction I heard the voice, and saw a female looking at me from the other side of the room, wearing blue nurse's scrubs with a ponytail full of wavy, deep brunette hair.

“You got pretty violent with me last night,” she said as she grabbed a plastic cup from a table and walked to the sink. “It was only because you didn't want us poking and prodding at you, but you started scratching and biting, so we had to handcuff you.”

“Oh my God,” I said, horrified. Scratching and biting, me? It was just so unlike me. “I'm so sorry.”

“It's okay,” she said with a chuckle. “You're not the first guy who's tried to bite me in here.”

She walked over to me with the plastic cup in her hand. She smiled as she sat it down on a table next to me.

“How are you feeling this morning?”

“Like I've been swallowed and thrown back up a few times.”

“Well no offense, but you kind of look like it, too,” she said. “Of course that's usually what happens when you have to have your stomach pumped.”

She reached into one of the pockets of her scrub tops and pulled out a silver key, and held it in front of me.

“Promise not to try to bite me this time?” she said with a smile.

“I promise. I'm not really in the biting mood.”

“Good.” She put the key in the handcuffs and released my hand from them. “It'd be awfully awkward for me to have to handcuff you again – especially considering I like you so much.”

She reached for my arm and helped me into a sitting position on the bed, which I was grateful for because I was far too sore to manage getting there on my own. She grabbed the cup of water and handed it to me, and I took it without any hesitations.

“Are they going to put me in solitary?” I asked after I took a sip.

“For what?”

“For having drugs in my cell.”

She paused for a minute. “You nearly died twelve hours ago and your only concern is whether you're going to solitary?”

“I'm not dead, and the next worse thing would be solitary,” I responded simply.

“They're not putting you in solitary. But I'm putting you on suicide watch.”

“I wasn't trying to kill myself.”

“Really,” she said. “What were you hoping to accomplish by taking ten Oxycontin, then? Sweet dreams?”

I felt ashamed, like I couldn't even look her in the eyes. “I don't know what I was trying to do.”

“Just one question – why?”

Obviously she didn't believe that I wasn't trying to kill myself, and I didn't have an answer for that question because I wasn't even sure I believed myself.

“Why not?” I said.

“You know, most people don't have such a carefree attitude about their own lives.”

“Maybe I do.”

“That's funny, because Damian said yesterday out in the yard he had talked to you, and you were feeling much better.”

“I never said I was feeling any better,” I snapped at her. “It's really none of your business how I'm feeling, or what my attitude about my own life is. I know your intentions are good and you're trying to help, but I've been to hell in a fucking hand basket since I got here, and I could really go for skipping the come to Jesus meeting right now.”

She pursed her lips and shrugged her shoulders, but otherwise she looked unphased by my sudden attitude change.

“Fine. I just assumed that you'd like to talk about it to someone who might understand where you're coming from.”

“What makes you think that you have any idea where I'm coming from?”

“Because I heard what happened, or at least what the media and police say happened, and I don't believe it.” She said it nonchalantly, as if it was no big deal to her. “I got your number. And it isn't this one.”

She pointed to the stenciled number on my shirt, and I automatically looked down as if I didn't remember it was there. For a second, I almost had forgotten.

“So,” she said after I stayed silent, “why?”

“Why do you even care?”

“Because you almost died – in my hands, in my care,” she said, looking me straight in the eyes. “You may be okay with throwing your life away, but that's something I don't take lightly. The least you can repay me with is the knowledge of why you felt it so necessary to die last night.”

The room was quiet and serious; I just stared at her and she stared back at me, and nobody was budging.

“I want out,” I said as I looked her back in her eyes.

“You're not going anywhere.”

“No,” I said. “I want out. That's why I did it. I feel like this is all just one big, bad fucking nightmare, and I want out of it. Nothing like this has ever happened to me in my entire life, and I didn't even do anything to deserve this. I want out because in less than a week, I've managed to lose my girlfriend, my daughter, my freedom, and probably most of my friends, my house, and any future job opportunities I ever had. My fans will never trust me again. I've disgraced my family and my entire hometown. I want the nightmare to end.”

“You and every other man in here,” she responded. “So you went from the top to the bottom in a matter of a few days, and you think that's a good reason to completely end your life?”

“Maybe I do.”

I really didn't, but I was feeling combative. I didn't like this strange woman, the one who hadn't even introduced herself yet but I could only assume was the infamous nurse that “everyone” liked, telling me how wrong my actions were.

“Your fans are your fans for a reason,” she continued. “I'm sure you have no idea what they're thinking about you right now. Your family will love you no matter what, and I'm sure they know you better than to think that you're guilty of this. And what about your daughter? If you had died last night, what would have happened to her?”

At the mention of Bailey, my heart sank into my stomach.

“Yeah, most people don't think about that when they're only thinking of themselves,” she said.

“I thought I made it clear that I didn't feel like having a come to Jesus talk. I can't possibly understand why I've heard that the inmates trust you and like you, because I don't very much right now.”

“You don't like me because I'm telling you the truth right now. I'm not coddling you like all your friends and your handlers might, and it makes you angry because you're in a bad place. You should be thanking me for keeping your ass out of trouble, instead of angry that I'm telling you the truth.”

“Why would you be keeping me out of trouble?” I asked skeptically.

“You were in possession of at least ten Oxycontin that we know of. In here, that's enough to get you extra time for dealing. And the guards don't know where you got it from – you and Damian better be thankful that I'm not telling them.”

“You know?”

“Of course I know. The inmates like me and trust me for a reason. Damian told me he gave them to you. He knows I'm going to help you, and that I'm not going to tell, because I know he had good intentions.” She grabbed a coffee cup off her desk and took a drink out of it. “You should probably talk to him though. He feels pretty guilty that you almost died and he helped.”

I hadn't even considered that Damian might blame himself for my actions, because he was the one who gave me the pills. It was just another person to add to the list of people I had let down.

“I really wasn't trying to kill myself, you know,” I said.

“I fail to see what good you were trying to accomplish, then,” she said, setting her coffee back on her desk.

“Maybe it's hard for someone in your position to understand what I was trying to accomplish.”

“Make me understand, then,” she said, and sat down in the chair at her desk, watching me intently.

I stopped and sighed. It was hard to find the words for what I had been feeling, because it was so chaotic in my head right now that I barely understood it myself.

“Maybe I was just trying to make it all disappear for a night. One night.”

“I don't think that any amount of pills will help you with that,” she said.

The room went silent. Maybe she understood, maybe she didn't. Maybe she was just trying to give me some time to let the full extent of my actions soak in.

“I guess now that you're awake, I should check you over,” she said as she stood up. “Check your vitals and all that.”

I stayed silent, letting her do what she needed to do. She put her fingers on my wrist and looked at her watch. Her hand felt warm, because I hadn't noticed that the room was cold.

“What about your band mates?” she asked after a few minutes, as she continued to look at her watch.

“What about them?”

“How do you think they'll react to hearing about what happened last night?”

After everything we had gone through, the guys and I were obviously close – best friends close. They knew this wasn't something I would normally do, no matter how upset I was. How would they react? If the tables were turned and it was one of them who had tried it, I would be incredibly concerned; but I thought that maybe I'd also understand why they did it. If I were on the other side of this prison, I wouldn't know first-hand what it was like but I could only guess that it was horrible, and would make anyone want to do this.

I wasn't them, though. They cared about me, but their reaction would depend on what degree they cared about me. Would they be so understanding of my situation that it would be something they expected, or would it be so unlike me that it would worry them more?

“I don't know.”

“Clearly you do,” she said, removing her fingers from my wrist. “Your pulse just went through the roof. You're worried about it.”

“That's not fair,” I said with a smile. “You had an advantage.”

She smiled back at me, and in a soft voice, said, “I only use my powers for good, not evil. I promise.”

She went back to her job – she checked my blood pressure and my temperature, and finally ended with looking into my eyes with her light. When she asked me to look straight into her eyes, I realized how beautiful and bright they were.

I knew why all the prisoners liked her now. She was brash and sarcastic, but she was also funny and compassionate. In a place like this, where all the females were guards were authoritative and rough in both personality and appearance, she was a breath of fresh air.

“So what exactly does suicide watch mean for me?” I asked. “If I'm not going to solitary where am I going?”

“Well, this prison doesn't have a suicide prevention wing like some other prisons. We don't get that many attempted suicides here, if you can believe that. So you'll be in here with me.”

“With you?” The idea took me by surprise. My first encounter with the nurse hadn't gone as well as I had expected it to.

“Yeah. I'm actually kind of in desperate need for an assistant, to help me out around here a bit. As you can see, things are getting a bit out of control.” She pointed to her desk, piled up with papers and a huge mess of random stuff, like the coffee cup. “The warden's agreed to let me hire an assistant to help me out on a sort of work program, and they'll get compensation into their commissary account for their hours. I was going to ask Damian to help, but I have a feeling he would talk too much to get any real work done.”

I knew that no matter whether I took the job, I'd be here with her watching my every move, and the idea of having something to do with my time was tempting.

“How long?” I asked.

“Your suicide watch is three days, but I'd really love it if you stuck around at least a week. There's so much to do, I don't think one person could do it in three days.”

I was hesitant to accept; dealing with her for the next week wasn't exactly my idea of a good time.

“You'd really be helping me out,” she said, obviously sensing my hesitation. “And it might help you out – you know, give you something to do for a while.”

“I don't even know who you are,” I said, remembering that she still hadn't introduced herself.

“Abby Howell,” she said, smiling and holding out her hand. “Warren Correctional Institute's head nurse. I work far too much and love prison misfits just as much. My family thinks I might have mental problems,” she mumbled, and I smiled. “I like to read and garden in my spare time, which these days is reduced down to nothing. I was born an only child, and I'm 29 years old. My favorite color is yellow, I look awful in hats so I never wear them, and yes, this is my natural hair color.”

“That's a unique biography of yourself,” I said.

“Better than what I have for you. You're Lance Bass, former member of the popular boy band 'NSYNC. Your real name is James. You were born on May 4 in Mississippi, which you mention in almost every interview by the way, and you're a Taurus. Your mother is Diane and your father James. You love animals and your lifelong dream is go into space.”

I raised my eyebrows at her, surprised at her knowledge of me.

“Part of it I already knew. Part of it...I did my research,” she said, blushing slightly. “I know you're having a hard time trusting me right now. You're in an unfamiliar place, you're a little scared even if you won't admit it, and you don't know much about me except that I'm one of the 'prison authorities'. I have control over you, and you have none over me. I don't know a lot about you – but I do know you're in prison. I trust you, and you have to give me the same. Even though you're blind to me right now, you have to put some trust in me.”

She was right. At the same time that I felt I couldn't trust her, she couldn't trust me and she had a lot more to lose. Her job depended on distrust of the people she was around every day. If she put her trust into someone she shouldn't, she could end up hurt or worse, dead. And somehow, she was still able to give me enough trust to allow me to stay in the room uncuffed with her, and even offer me a job.

“Okay,” I said. “I'll do it. I've never done desk work before though, so I don't know if I'm exactly what you had in mind for the job.”

“Well...do you know how to file papers?”

“What do you think I am, a monkey? Of course I know how to file papers.”

She sighed, then smiled. “If you're half as good at being an assistant as you are at being an unpleasant jackass, I think you'll do just great.”