You were in your bunk when your bunkmate returned back. It was earlier than usual, she usually worked until dinner was being served only eating once it was served however dinner wasn’t for a few hours. She fell onto her bed letting out an annoyed groan forcing you to pay attention to her rather than the book you were reading.
She held her head in her hands, moving them to clench hold of her long dark hair in annoyance.
“Are you okay?” You questioned.
Flaca was generally cheery, spending all of her time with Maritza, laughing and joking. It was rare to see her without her best friend let alone looking this down.
“Just peachy,” she frowned.
“I take that that is a joke,” you commented.
She looked up at you, her expression sad but from her reddened cheeks you knew she was annoyed as well.
“Gloria is pissed at me,” she stated. “Well actually everyone is pissed at me.”
You gave her a sympathetic smile. Prison was hard without adding anything else to that, but how the cliques worked within it, they were one of the hardest elements. It was hard to fit in, and if you upset one person, the chances are half the prison were upset with you too.
“I’m not pissed with you, if that’s any consolidation,” you smiled softly.
“Thanks,” she smiled the smallest of smiles.
“What happened?” You asked.
She begun to ramble out everything that had happened today. You knew that the prison had started recruiting inmates to work for Whispers, and Flaca told you she was one of the few that had been employed. She was looking forward to the job and assumed her friends would also be happy for her, but they weren’t.
“I never wanted to make food, so why wouldn’t I take another job?” She frowned. “I thought they’d be happy for me to be doing something I would enjoy and get more money but no they see it as though I have betrayed them or something. It’s not personal, I just hate working in the kitchens.”
“It doesn’t sound fun,” you said softly, not knowing what it was like to work there seen as you worked in the library.
“It isn’t. And Whispers doesn’t seem like it’s going to be a hoot, but at least it’s better than sweating over a stove.”
You gave her a sympathetic smile. “They’ll come around. They’re your friends, well they’re more like your family. They’re probably just upset that you’re leaving them, or jealous that you’re getting more money seen as commissary isn’t cheap but either way they’ll come around.”
She smiled softly, finally at ease from her anger and sadness that she had previously held.
