TW: victim blaming
Frankie pulled up to the prison for the criminally insane on his motorcycle, the engine rumbling beneath us as we came to a stop. I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself as we dismounted and walked inside. The building was cold, sterile, and filled with an oppressive silence that made every step echo. We passed through multiple security checks, each one more invasive than the last, until we reached the waiting area. The wait felt endless, the minutes dragging by as we sat there. I could feel Frankie's presence beside me, solid and reassuring, but it wasn't enough to stop the anxiety gnawing at my insides.
