Tamara wondered if she would ever feel like this was home. She had been warned that parole wouldn’t be easy. She knew inmates who had been back within a week of being released. Some had intended to follow the rules, and slipped. Some had never intended to follow any rules. She remembered when Mitchell had come back. Tamara had thought that she would make it. Mitchell was tough, one of the few who had managed to survive juvie without getting in with one of the gangs. She was strong-willed, and made it known that once she got out, she wasn’t going to be back. She would do whatever it took to stay on the right side of the law and make a life for herself. A straight, honest life.
On her return, Mitchell’s dark eyes were underscored by shadows. She looked almost haunted.
“I just couldn’t do it,” she told Tamara, as they both stood at the sinks in the restroom. “I felt so... exposed. I didn’t belong out there.”
She had held up a convenience store at knife point. With no mask. In full view of the security cameras. Not because she needed money, but because she wanted to go back. Back where she belonged.
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