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lip. Was this another insult at my weight? I tried to keep myself from rising to the bait.
    “You had some kind of nervous breakdown or something,” he continued. “Screaming at things that weren’t there. Scared your cellmate half to death.”
    “Where’s Willow?” I asked, concerned. I had a lot of explaining to do with her. She deserved to know that I was sorry for pissing on the party. I hadn’t meant for any of this to happen. How had everything gone so wrong?
    “Your cellmate was transferred to a maximum security facility,” Pitt said.
    I had to cover my mouth to hold in the gasp. “But why? She didn’t do anything wrong. She was just trying to be my friend. Is that what you do to people who brew a little hooch?”
    “That wasn’t the first time by far,” Pitt said. “That was the third time we’ve actually caught her at it, though we’re sure there’ve been plenty of other times that she’s had a successful launch party for her hooch. We’re trying to send a message to the rest of the inmates that alcoholic contraband isn’t going to be tolerated. It’s a huge problem.”
    That wasn’t good news for me. As shitty as I felt, I was already looking forward to the next session. If I were back at the nightclub, waking up like this, I’d already be nipping on a bottle of whiskey to take the edge off. Life was very different now.
    “How are you feeling?” Pitt asked, his face showing just a trace of concern.
    I sat up and winced. “Like I’ve had the last wild night for a long time.”
    “You’ve got that right,” he said. “Do you have a problem with alcohol, Wanda?”
    “No,” I said defensively, immediately. “No, of course not.”
    “The reason I’m asking is that when they finally got you down to solitary last night, the guards had the medic on staff take a look at you,” Pitt said, crossing his arms. “They say that the way you reacted—the probable hallucinations, the violence—that you’d been abusing alcohol for a long time.”
    That made me frown. “I’ve always enjoyed a drink,” I said. “But it’s not a problem. I’m not abusing anything.”
    Pitt looked at me without saying anything for a few moments.
    “I feel bad for you,” he said finally. “I know that you haven’t had any prior convictions. I know this is your first time in prison. And with a woman at your age, that’s a difficult thing, to be uprooted from your life and put here. You have rules to follow, Wanda. You need to figure that out.”
    “I apologize,” I said. “I realize that I’ve gotten off to a terrible start here.”
    “Use this time wisely,” Pitt said. “Prison is meant as a punishment, but you can also use it as an opportunity to reshape your life. There are resources here. Services. Training. Programs. You can leave prison with a new plan.”
    “Thank you,” I said, trying to take the advice to heart. Pitt wasn’t the first person who had told me this. I needed to try to make the best of my time here. I knew that.
    “Now,” Pitt said. “Are you ready to get back out to the general population? You’ve been down here for two days.”
    “Two days?” I repeated incredulously. “What was I doing?”
    “Sleeping, mostly,” he said. “You refused food.”
    I shook my head at this. Why didn’t I have any memory of this? It was utterly troubling. I tried to think back, tried to remember if that slot on the door had ever opened, but I couldn’t remember anything. Had the hooch really gotten to me that bad? Or was I dealing with something different?
    I got to my feet and followed Pitt out. I smelled awful, and there was dried vomit in my hair. I was a goddamn mess. Was this rock bottom or did I have farther to fall before I could start clawing my way back up?
    Farther, it turns out. Much farther.

Chapter Three
     
     
    Pitt allowed me to get my things from my old cell before he walked me to my new one.
    “Marlee Fitz, this is your new cellmate,” he said, holding his arm