You know I could tell you a lot of things that would scare you, Dina. I could tell you that I’m going to make you my prison bitch. I could tell you that I’m going to make you my house mouse, that I will have sex with you even if we don’t have an emotional connection; that I’m going to do to you what the spring does with cherry trees but in a prison way. Pablo Neruda. But why bother? You’re too tough, right. Yeah, I know how easy it is to convince yourself that you’re something you’re not. I mean you could do that on the outside. You can just keep moving, keep yourself so busy you don’t have to face who you really are. But you’re weak. I’m like you Dina. I’m weak too. I can’t get through this without somebody to touch, without somebody to love. Is that because sex numbs the pain or is it because I’m some evil fuck monster? I don’t know. But I do know that I was somebody before I came in here. I was somebody with a life that I chose for myself and now, now it’s just about getting through the day without crying. And I’m scared. I’m still scared. I’m scared that I’m not myself in here and I’m scared that I am. Other people aren’t the scariest part of prison Dina. It’s coming face-to-face with who you really are. Because once you’re behind these walls there’s no where to run, even if you could run. The truth catches up with you in here Dina and it’s the truth that’s going to make you her bitch.