We get one shower a week in this place. Today, it's my turn. Exhausted from the treadmill, I'm marched down a maze of sterile, halogen-lit corridors to the white-tiled shower room at the end of the cells. I hate this place; more than anything it puts me in mind of a torture chamber. I hate being naked in front of the wardens too. They don't do anything--they wouldn't dare, what with the cameras on the ceiling watching their every move--but I can feel them staring at me, taking in my body. Like they know they have that power over me. Like they know there's nothing I can possibly hide from them
So, like always, I just go right ahead and strip off my overalls, trying to look unbothered. The warden--some bald guy in his fifties with a small scar on his top lip--watches with a smirk as I peel off my underwear and position myself under the shower. There's no soap, and the water is so cold it makes me catch my breath. I tell myself that it'll be worth it to feel clean again, but even then I can't make myself stay under the jet for longer that a couple of minutes.
Shivering, I duck out from the stream of water. A new overall and clean underwear have been left on the bench. There's a towel too, already wet from its last use. I dry myself off as quickly as I can and pull on the clothes.
It's hard to imagine that I used to take a shower every day, under warm water, with clean dry towels. That I used to be able to choose what I would wear. Even that I used to have hair. Sometimes I see my reflection and I barely recognise myself.
"You done?" says the warden, sounding bored. I nod. "Hands," he says.
On go the cuffs, and we're heading back to my cell. The cold water's helped a little with the pain in my legs, but the muscles there still feel lame and stringy, as if they might give away any moment. I can feel blisters on my feet from my plastic shoes. It's warmer in the corridor, but I still can't stop myself shivering.
We're almost back at my cell when it happens. We come around the corner and there ahead of us a young-looking blonde boy is being returned to his cell. He's just had his plastic cuffs removed. As we approach his warden glances up at mine and gives a smile and a nod. And then, just then, in that one brief moment of distraction, the blonde boy makes his move.
