In a cell at the end of the hall, taped off incase they catch your disease, was you. Laying limply on the floor, a guard holding your shirt to keep you within reach as he delivers hit after hit.

His rhythm falters when the door opens to his fellow guards, he drops you, barely awake, go the floor as they bring in another man. One you, if you were able to see through two black eyes, knew very well.

You goddamn husband, Thomas. The man who’s ex girlfriend reported you behind his back out of jealousy and he ended up committing some serious acts to get himself in here. He stands, watching as the guards leave before seeing you on the floor in confusion.