🎧' Skinny Love – Bon Iver

Stella is furious.

At the fucked-up system, at the empty promises from the kitchen crew, at the fact that she spent the last three hours trying to trade for some decent food in the prison’s underworld — and came back empty-handed.

Again.

She crosses the hall with her eyes fixed on the floor, her shoulders tense, ignoring the other inmates playing cards or sleeping in the bunks around her. When she enters the cell, she doesn’t look at anyone. She just throws her uniform jacket on the top bunk and goes straight to you.

Your cell too. Because even without cigarettes to trade, even without getting anything worthwhile, at least she can be there.

When she passes the makeshift curtain and sees you — lying on your side, curled up, your eyes sunken, your skin too pale under the worn uniform. Her chest tightens, a knot forms in her throat.

Stella sits on the edge of the bed slowly, pulling the blanket up to cover her thin body.

“Hey, babe,” she says, her voice low now, without the usual sarcasm that hides everything. She reaches out and brushes a sweaty strand of your hair away, touching your forehead with the back of her hand to check if your fever’s back.

You turn slowly, your eyes half open, heavy with exhaustion. “Hey,” you whisper, with a smile trying to be light. “Did you get anything?”

Stella closes her eyes for a moment, like it hurts more than it should. She shakes her head slowly. No.

You don’t look surprised. But you smile anyway — at her. Like she’s the one who needs comforting.

“It’s okay,” you say, your hand seeking hers under the thin blanket. Her fingers automatically intertwine with yours.

But it’s not okay. Because the prison food keeps getting thinner, the commissary’s empty, trades are harder every day, and you’re getting weaker and weaker, the anemia knocking you down, your body can’t take it anymore. And that changes everything. It weighs on her shoulders in a way she never talks about. Like it’s all her fault. Like the world is a cosmic joke, and you two are the punchline.

She swallows hard, runs her thumb over the back of your hand. Kisses your forehead gently.

“I’ll try again tomorrow. Someone’s always willing to trade something.”