UnPrison

By Yamila Abraham

A scrawny Princeton freshman gets sent to prison where he becomes the property of a powerful yet compassionate inmate. For adults only.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Yamila Abraham
• Release date: Nov 19, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311442086

Yamila Abraham

Yamila Abraham founded the publishing company Yaoi Press in 2004. Over the last decade she's overseen the publication 50 Boy's Love titles including graphic novels, comic books, novels, and art books. Abraham has successfully licensed Yaoi Press titles into several foreign languages.Abraham is a prolific writer with over a dozen graphic novel and novels in print with four different publishers. She wrote two of Yaoi Press' best selling series: Winter Demon and Dark Prince. She's written hundreds of novels, both yaoi and science fiction romance, that have been translated into foreign languages. Her first scholarly article on the topic of international BL was published by McFarland Press in 2010. Abraham currently works diligently on numerous illustrated ebooks through Yaoi Press' newest imprint, Yaoi Prose. Abraham has been a speaker or guest of honor at 150 anime fan conventions.

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UnPrison

by

Yamila Abraham

Cover by Archie the Redcat, Edited by Michelle Henson

Copyright © 2014 Yamila Abraham. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, digital, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

DEAR FRIENDS, please don’t share this ebook online. Piracy has absolutely devastated my ability to make a living. I beg you to please not post this or any of my works online. Thanks so much to everyone who has supporting me with a legal purchase!

***

While sitting in class at the start of my second semester at Princeton a small baggy of cocaine fell out of my coat pocket. The kid behind me sent a text to campus security. They nabbed me right when I was walking out of class.

My dad is the CEO at Chase Manhattan, I said, while seated in their bullshit interrogation chair. Call him, for fuck’s sake. He’ll straighten this all out.

No problem. We’ll call him, the female security guard said.

Good. Because you know you’d have your asses handed to you if you let this blow up.

In a few minutes I heard the chatter from a cop’s radio heading toward me. The fuckers had called the police.

I’d hit the NYC club scene in a massive way once I’d gotten to college. To make sure the doors were open for me at the hottest parties I always tried to have a few grams of coke. The dealer at Princeton was unreliable. After a long dry spell I managed to pin him down and bought his whole supply: fifty grams, each in their own little baggies. I figured I’d be good for a while. I crammed them in my coat pocket and went to class.

This was how my life got fucked up.

It’s a humbling experience getting bailed out of jail by a father who was way too busy at his job to deal with such bullshit. I told him the same thing I told the cops. I wasn’t dealing. These were just my VIP passes to the best parties in Manhattan. He was furious, but he knew, the same as I knew, that the drug trafficking charges would be dropped. People like me didn’t go to prison.

Except it was an election year, and the economy sucked, and nothing helps a candidate better in a bad economy than making sure some privileged white kid gets treated the same as every scumbag out there.

They tried to get me to plead guilty to drug trafficking and take the mandatory minimum five year sentence for Federal charges. Fuck that! I wanted the charges dropped to a misdemeanor and to pay a fine. My dad wouldn’t even consider their offer. They threatened to tack on the New Jersey State mandatory minimum of 25 years for trafficking cocaine if we went to trial. My attorney said to call their bluff. I wasn’t trafficking shit. Why would someone as rich as me be selling drugs? He was sure he could get me off.

We lost.

I got sentenced to 25 years at Palville Correctional Facility. Yes, there actually is a fucking prison called Palville in the ass-crack town of Palville which my dad informed me was convenient to precisely nowhere. I guess it was his way of saying not to expect many visits.

When you get a sentence this huge you don’t get to walk free after your trial and self-surrender when your sentence starts later. I was crammed into a crowded sweaty holding cell attached to the courthouse with nothing but concrete to sleep on and no fucking toilet paper for the metal thing in the corner called a toilet. Not that it mattered much. I ate hardly any of the crap they tried to pass off as food.

No, actually, the eight days I spent in this Hell cell was where I got over the shock of losing the trial and finally considered the prospect of doing time. My stay in the jail showed me I was not the jail type. First off, I was white and twelve out of the fifteen guys in here with me were black. Second, I was an eighteen-year-old kid. Everyone else here had at least ten years on me. Most of them looked strung out, including the two other white guys. The last thing, and by far the worst, was that I was skinny and short. Weekly cocaine use is great for weight loss and my family had an ‘aristocratic build.’

Shit, boy, how you going to save your white ass in prison? This guy, named Roderick or something, wasn’t mocking me. He was actually sympathetic when I told him my situation.

I felt like my stomach dropped out of the center of me. The chance of rape had been an itch of worry in the back of my skull. I hadn’t let it surface until this guy—who looked like he’d done time—started talking about it.

Guys don’t really get raped in prison, do they? That’s just a myth people spread around or—

Boy, this other guy was twice the size of Roderick and so black you couldn’t read his tattoos, you better get yourself educated if you’re going to fucking max security. They damn sure do rape in prison. It’s a regular fucking occurrence.

It’s medium security, I said, despite the stab of shock I felt.

Medium’s worse! More opportunity in medium. More places to jump a bitch.

Shut the fuck up! said some guy trying to sleep. I didn’t see who.

Fuck you, motherfucker!

I tensed up at the threat of imminent violence, but that was the end of it. After a few minutes my heart rate settled down and I got to go back to thinking about how I was going to have my rectum torn apart by gangs of diseased monsters who were even worse than the derelicts in this cell.

My fear turned into a sick delirium over the rest of my time there. I saw myself in the reflection of the empty paper towel dispenser and realized how shockingly white my skin had turned. Fear had paralyzed me—made me numb. I wanted to try to turn it into action, but what the fuck could I do? What could a skinny white kid do to protect himself in prison? I didn’t have any money here. My dad’s name didn’t mean shit.

I was helpless.

***

The guard acted like he was giving good news when he announced the marshals had finally come to take me to Palville. Yes, it was Hell in the holding cell, and if my 25 years (not accounting for good time) was there I would have found a way to kill myself. However, at least I knew what to expect in that shithole. The only thing I knew about Palville was that I was at risk of being sodomized. It seemed like I should try to stay in the Hell Cell as long as I could.

I was carted to a local prison where I got my first strip search. They made me hold my ass cheeks open, squat, and cough. This actually didn’t even upset me. Prior to prison you think strip searches are the most dehumanizing things in the world. Who gives a fuck? Spreading your ass cheeks for a disinterested guard was nothing compared to what the real dangers were. I did it all in robot mode. It’s easy to capitulate to whatever shit you have to go through when you know that refusal means getting beat down by five guards and getting more years added to your sentence for resisting an officer. I assumed I’d end up at an even worse prison, too, for being a troublemaker.

They put me in the smallest orange jumpsuit they had, which was still baggy as Hell on me. My ankles were cuffed with a chain that shortened my stride to baby steps. My wrists were also cuffed, but to a chain that went around my hips so that my hands were in front of me. Then I was crammed into a green school bus with three other white guys and three or four dozen black guys.

I glanced around only once and spotted a black guy so big he took up an entire seat by himself. Picturing this guy mounting me added fuel to my self-pity. I focused my stare out the window and went numb again. The only feeling coming through was the sickness in my stomach. I would have puked if I’d actually eaten something.

About an hour into the ride I realized the guy next to me was shaking with quiet sobs. He was a young black guy with a clean hair cut. The men all around us were asleep or looking through the windows. It was a good chance to sneak out a cry.

I looked at him for a second, feeling confused. That’s when my face stung like I’d been slapped. No one had slapped me, except maybe reality. What the fuck are you confused about? You think you’re the only one suffering? I was in a fantasy world where it was me against the rape monsters. It hadn’t occurred to me that maybe some of the others were feeling as sick and fucked up as I was. The kid next to me was more human than I was because he still had tears.

It wasn’t all about me.

Epiphanies were for better times and better places. Yes, I knew I had a lot of growing up to do. Later. For now I was in survival mode. Forget the self-entitled Princeton puke I used to be. I’d become whoever I needed to be to survive. The problem was that I didn’t know who that was yet.

When we were dead center to the middle of nowhere the prison came into view. It was like a castle with long parapet walls connecting to dodecahedron watchtowers. The two fences we had to go through to get inside looked shiny new. Even the swaths of razor wire topping them sparkled. We got to the first building of the complex and the bus parked. Guards with rifles started barking orders at us. We got shuffled in for processing into what was apparently a clinic. One by one we were brought

Reviews for UnPrison

[Katie Neale · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Heart wrenching prison love story. The author has a way of communicating the most intense feelings in a subtle and delicate manner. So many warm fuzzies.