Remedial Ch. 01-04

This is a story I'm working on about a young female teacher sent to prison and humiliated. It's a slow burn, but I hope you enjoy. Let me know if you have any feedback!

Chapter 1

She thought the intake strip search would be the most humiliating part of her incarceration.

She shudders, recollecting the guard's cold stare and icy voice yelling, "Inmate, strip down everything now."

She remembers feeling frozen in place as she meekly complied, taking off her favorite cream colored blouse and then her tastefully short, black pencil skirt. She felt her lithe body so exposed being left in her bra and underwear.

"What part of everything did you not understand, inmate?"

More than comfort, modesty, or even her freedom, at that moment all she wanted to do was cry, but she knew she could not show any weakness.

She took off her bra and panties. With the clinically bright fluorescent light shining on her exposed skin, she let a single tear roll down her cheek.

"Put your hands on your head and spread your legs, inmate."

She complied and the rest is a blur. She knows she got cavity searched, dressed in an orange uniform, and had her mugshots taken. She knows she was berated and ridiculed. But her mind can only fixate on those first moments of the strip search as if they were permanently etched to be the most humiliating moment in her life.

She walks in a daze to her first mandatory GED class. She earned a Master's degree in education, but because she had gone to high school out-of-state and Montana has so many arcane laws still on the books, she is required to take a 120-hour remedial GED course to be eligible for early release with good behavior.

She swallows her pride. She is in her ninth day of a nine year prison sentence, and even if it means taking a remedial GED class she is painfully over-qualified for, she knows it is worth getting three or more years knocked off her sentence.

She walks into the classroom and it's only her and the instructor. He has his back to her as he is writing simple sentences on the whiteboard.

She feels a pang of sorrow and she thinks to herself, "It hurts to look at all of this and be reminded of everything I have lost."

She can feel tears coming down as her feelings and thoughts overwhelm her, "Eleanor, you brought this upon yourself. You need to get yourself together."

Eleanor wipes away her tears and then the instructor turns around. He looked shocked at first. His eyes betrayed that he had no idea she would be there, but she clocked that he instantly recognized her.

She gasps, "Justin?"

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Chapter 2

Her students called her Elsa.

Not to her or in front of her, but when talking amongst themselves, they would refer to their young English teacher as Elsa.

Part of it was that her name was a close-sounding Eleanor, but most of it was because she reminded them of the character from Frozen. Eleanor had long blonde hair with expressive blue eyes and a chilly yet assured demeanor that simultaneously demurred and accentuated her beauty.

Her glow-up in college gave her some confidence, and earning a Master's Degree certainly boosted it as well.

Yet, this newfound self-esteem and her ice queen veneer still conflicted with who she felt she was at heart: the nervous, awkward girl who struggled to fit in at her own high school.

And that nervous, awkward girl's heart would still flutter when one of her male students confidently asserted their attraction to her. She loved the male attention from the boys in her Senior Honors English class she never got when she was a high schooler. But she would never cross that line. No matter how alluring it was, she upheld her ethical responsibility as a teacher with great pride. And if that required her to be an ice queen, then that was simply the cost of doing the right thing.

Besides, she had an irrational fear at the back of her mind that was more than sufficient of a deterrent in and of itself: going to prison. She had never known anyone who was in the criminal justice system besides a sorority sister in college who had a DUI in the summer of sophomore year. Even hearing about her friend's brief stint in jail with the strip search, the mugshot, the handcuffs, and the overall loss of freedom terrified her.

So every time when the boys in her Senior Honors English class would compliment her, she brushed them aside. Most of them were clumsy with their words and lacked the confidence of a real man, and while flattering, it was much easier to laugh those off. But there were a couple of boys whose confidence and looks would bring her back to being that shy and anxious 18 year-old girl at Eastbrook High School.

The one that stayed in her mind was Justin Parks.

Justin was not the most exceptional student, although he was plenty competent. He was not the most handsome, although he was decently good-looking. He was however the most disciplined. Even as an 18-year old senior, she could see his intensity. He was the captain of the cross country team and would approach each practice with a quiet ardor, and he would do the same with each of his essays or in class discussions. His words were always thoughtfully written yet straightforward. She rarely saw him smile, but when he did, she noticed.

They were reading Orange is the New Black by Piper Kerman. She didn't know what part of her twisted mind picked this book. Maybe there was a dark thrill in bringing to the forefront her fears without anyone else knowing.

She led the class in discussing how the criminal justice system creates distinct and new identities for people: felon, criminal, inmate, convict, ex-convict. The class was trading in thoughts about what it meant for a well-educated, privileged white woman like Piper Kerman to be labeled by those identities versus what it represented for a man, a person of color, or someone of lower socioeconomic means.

She saw Justin staring off, which was uncharacteristic of him. Even when he was quiet, he was usually clearly rapt in thought.

"Justin, would you care to share your thoughts."

Justin tensed up in momentary surprise, but then he smirked.

"I think you look real good in orange Miss Larkin."

The entire class laughed. She was wearing a cute orange top without once considering the irony that they were discussing Orange is the New Black. She blushed deeply, her heart raced, but she had to maintain control.

"Justin, that's absolutely unacceptable. You're going to see Principal Garcia now."

He picked up his backpack and left his seat without saying a word. As he crossed into her eyesight, she could feel his unearned confidence and saw a mischievous glint in his hazel eyes as he exited the room.

Eleanor needed to regain composure. The class was still snickering and she couldn't act like a stupid schoolgirl with a crush. She was in charge.

"And if anyone else wants to join Justin, I'm happy to start issuing detentions now."

The class quieted down into a low murmur.

"Now, who wants to tell me what part of Kerman's book spoke most to them?"

The class continued then ended without much additional fanfare. She went to her tastefully decorated studio apartment exhausted as the constant pressure of maintaining control of a classroom as a petite 22-year old female teacher wracked up within her. She cried a bit in bed to let out some of that tension but looked up and saw a pretty young woman in the mirror in an equally attractive orange top.

"Maybe I do look good in orange."

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Chapter 3

She looked into his hazel eyes. His confusion gave way to a familiar mischievousness.

"Miss Larkin, what a serendipitous encounter this is."

She's a 26-year old woman, but in that moment she reverts back to being the shy, awkward 18-year old high schooler.

"Justin..."

He pauses, "I'm not Justin here, inmate. You will address me as Sir or Mr. Parks"

Her dehumanization feels complete. She feels the intense shame of a former student seeing her incarcerated coupled with the indignity of being referred to as 'inmate' and ordered to address him as her superior.

And of course, of all her former students, it has to be him.

He looks at his clipboard and shuffles through a couple of papers while she stands trying not to fidget in his presence. It's only been four years since she last saw him and he looks noticeably older with his wiry frame giving way to a more toned physique. He's only 22, but he still carries himself with the same confidence he had as a high school senior, only now it somehow feels more earned.

"Jus... Sir, I didn't expect to see you here."

She looks down at her feet as she feels a blush overtake her face and chest.

"Well inmate, I didn't think you would take it literally when I told you that you looked good in orange. Let's see... Larkin, Eleanor, age 26, former high school teacher, convicted of DUI manslaughter and given a nine year prison sentence."

The tears start coming out before she can stop them and darkening the fabric of her orange jumpsuit. As he reads off her crime and punishment, she is losing a battle against herself.

"Sir, it was an accident..."

"BAC of.15 at 2:14 AM after a head-on collision on Highway 87 after leaving a bar in Billings. Victim was a 56-year old father of three."

Each word cuts into her reopening the spiritual wound she knows will never fully heal. She deserves to be here. She knows that she was the one who deserved to die because her own immaturity and insecurities led her to drink too much in her efforts to impress men.

"Well, it's no matter for me to judge why you're here. I am tasked with helping you earn the GED credits that you need so you can earn an early release."

He looks straight at her and his expression changes for the briefest moment. Was it pity? He walks away from her without saying anything more and continues to write simple sentences on the board. She hopes so much he pities her and yet she feels so pathetic clinging onto the hope that a former student might extend her that smallest piece of humanity.

The familiar squeak of a marker against a classroom whiteboard almost feels comforting, but she still feels frozen and wishes nothing more than to melt away from this place or have this all be a cruel nightmare.

A few other inmates start coming in and taking their seats. She eventually sits and looks at Justin, just as she did four years ago but from the most dramatically different vantage point.

"Inmates, welcome to remedial GED. I am Mr. Parks. You may call me that or sir. Are we clear?"

"Yes sir."

Eleanor looks at the three other inmates in her class.

Justin orders everyone to stand up, introduce themselves with their name, crime, and highest level of education.

A slender woman with neat cornrows gets out of her slouch with a nonchalant attitude, "Layla Davis, armed robbery, and I finished 10th grade."

Next, a heavyset woman, older than Eleanor, rises, "Jennifer McPherson, murder, and I dropped out in 9th grade."

A diminutive white woman with long, dark brown hair, really just a girl, leaps up with a nervous energy radiating, "Emily Gallo, assault with a deadly weapon, and I finished 11th grade."

Eleanor wonders how a girl, probably no older than 19 and seemingly so timid, could commit such a horrific crime. She ruminates on how she ended up in a place with an armed robber and a murderer. She feels more lost than she's ever been, but she knows she belongs here for what she did.

There is a pause in the classroom and she sees Jennifer motioning from the corner of her eye.

"Inmate, daydreaming already?"

Eleanor shoots her head up, out of her own thoughts, and sees Justin staring straight into her eyes.

"Sir, I'm so sorry, sir."

She can hear Layla snickering. In her panic, she forgets what Justin instructed her to say. She can see Jennifer trying to help her out. Justin walks towards her desk. Their eight-inch height difference feels even more magnified as he towers right next to her and she is reduced to being as small as she has ever been.

"Sir... I forgot what you asked."

She sees his smirk return, just like she saw so much in that Senior Honors English class she taught four years ago.

"Already not listening? Consider this your warning. The next time you daydream, I might have to send you to the Warden's office."

She gulps. He turns to Emily, "Miss Gallo, can you tell your fellow inmate what she is supposed to share."

Emily turns nervously to Eleanor, "Ummm... Mr. Parks asked us to share our name, our crime, and our highest level of education."

Eleanor stands up and she can feel her blood pressure dropping. "Hi, uh... hi everyone. My name is Eleanor Larkin, and umm... I'm here for DUI manslaughter. Umm... I also just finished 11th grade."

The lie slips out faster than her brain could process, but she doesn't want to be the girl with the Master's degree. She wants to fit in and not be the different one.

She hears Justin's voice, calm and firm, "Inmate, that is a lie."

There is silence and the blood drains from her face. The fluorescent lights of the classroom feel like they are a spotlight, just on her.

"Inmate, I expect honesty here. We both know that's not true. I am going to write you up for dishonesty, but please, tell the class your highest level of education."

She chokes up, "Ummm... I ummm... have a Master's degree."

She can see the surprise in her classmates of why a woman with a Master's degree is in a GED class or in prison to begin with. She feels humiliated and sits down. Eleanor would gladly subject herself to the humiliation of cavity search if it meant she got to avoid the public degradation she just endured.

Justin goes back up to the board, the only sound in the room the small echo coming off from his dress shoes.

"Class, we're going to start today by learning about subjects, verbs, and adjectives."

He pauses and looks straight at her, "Miss Larkin"

Her name sounds so sweet in his dulcet tone. The small courtesy of having a name instead of just being called an inmate makes her crave that kindness even more.

"Let's identify the subject, verb, and adjectives in this sentence, but first could you read the sentence on the board?"

She reads it quickly in her head and her face drops.

She stutters, "The pretty female former teacher looks good in orange."

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Chapter 4

Eleanor goes back to her cell. She is buzzing. It's only 3:08 PM, but there are only a few other inmates on her block with the rec yard open. She certainly had a healthy sexual appetite before she got to prison, but being incarcerated sapped any of that energy away from her.

Until today.

She hasn't touched herself in nine days. She knows it's against the rules, she read it ten times in the inmate handbook, but she feels overwhelmed seeing him again, feeling small in his presence, and being humiliated. She doesn't fully understand why she sabotaged relationships in the past where the boys were nice and polite. She knows that respect is the foundation of healthy relationships, but maybe she doesn't want that.

She felt like she never deserved it, and certainly now as a ward of the state after ending a stranger's life, she deserves it even less.

She goes into her bottom bunk and darts her eyes through the thick iron bars to see if any guards are around.

The feeling of the thin fabric of her jumpsuit on the thinner fabric of her blanket melts away as she feels her own wetness.

She's always been a rule follower. She has always been a good girl, or rather she had always been a good girl. Eleanor's desire to appease authority figures and color within the lines conflict with her need to gently use her hand to trace her clit in small, desperate circles.

She squeezes her legs trying to overcome the temptation she feels so viscerally. She's not a wanton slut. She may be an inmate, but she can have the dignity to be something, anything more than a bitch in heat.

But she can't get him out of her mind.

This isn't the first time she has done this thinking of him, but it has been years. She sees his smirk. While his body and face have matured, his smirk remains unchanged. She thinks about all the denial she has been subjected to, both by herself and the State of Montana.

It's wrong, but it's the only thing that has made her feel like a person worthy of anything in days.

And her hand wanders down under her jumpsuit. She feels the electricity of her own touch course through from her fingertips to the skin of her abdomen. She closes her eyes as she arches her back. She lets out a gentle moan and the still cognizant part of her brain hopes that no one heard it.

She feels herself, and she feels freer than she has in a long time. She accelerates her own movements as the stimulation crescendos within her. Her ears pick up the patter of boots growing in sound, but her mind can't comprehend what that means. She is so close.

"LARKIN!"

She stops and panics. She is jolted out of her fantasy and into the eyes of the guard who conducted her strip search.

"What are you doing?"

Eleanor half-babbles and half-freezes trying to find the words to hopefully ameliorate any punishment she may face.

"You can't control your goddamn urges, can you?"

She sees the guard's name tag, "Jones" and tries to appeal to her humanity.

"I promise, I was just..."

"Just what? Fantasizing about some frat boy at a club in the city? You're here to be punished for killing a man. It seems like you need to be reminded of that. How about we send you down to solitary to cool the fuck down. Put your hands behind your back."

She feels the familiar chill of steel touch her wrists one at a time. Her jumpsuit is still open from her illicit dalliance and her tight white tank top exposes her figure. She's nine days into prison and she doesn't know how she can do nine years of this. Nine years of missed birthdays, weddings, and baby showers that are replaced by solitary confinement, strip searches, and sadistic guards.

She's not Eleanor, the English teacher who liked drunkenly kissing boys at night clubs or even Eleanor the awkward, nervous high school girl. She's inmate #120591.