“Welcome back, Ange” mocked the man, his voice reeking of satire and bitter coffee.
“It’s Angela, pig” as she spit at him; the stiff and unforgiving silver cuffs bit at her scraggly wrists, leaving welts like always. The bite distracted her as the walls flew past them while they ambled cautiously down the hallway. From the free feel-ups to the dreadful tiles; Angela knew the routine by heart.
“What’d ya do this time, Red?” he rudely reached down to pet the mess of curls that engulfed her head in a nest of fiery crimson, getting a hiss of a response.
“Touch me again, and I’ll be in here a lot longer than a night” within that threat, Angela grasped all of the hate and devilish annoyance that was pent up inside her and threw it at the man in blue.   “Besides, wasn’t even my fault.”
“Yeah I’m sure,” he retorted with a chuckle, “just get in your cage.” 
The mold was constant and demanding; the stale air stung her freckled nose with putrid potency, drowning her with self-hatred the way it had every other time. The man’s whistle bit at her ears, and the walls whispered darkly, drawing reminiscent thoughts that scrawled in her mind, dragging her back to reality and into the room that ruined all of the fun.
“Damn officers,” Angela murmured, thinking that the brute had fallen asleep.
“I heard that, you little rat.”
Steamed with annoyance, she loudly groaned and sharply turned around to her room. The wall gave way beneath her poorly kept nails, harshly eating it; delivering another line for her to remember.  Stiff, sore, and drunken, she continued her ritual of marking the wall, noticing that she would soon run out of space.
“Next time,” she promised herself while blowing off the dust, “I’ll show them trouble; they won’t even know what hit them!”
The faded fabric of her ripped jeans soothed her hands, depriving her of the ashy coating from the wall. The bed thudded heavily when she plopped herself onto the rigid and undesirable stone of a mattress, wishing the devil would take her right there.  She wouldn’t dare consider herself worthy of his possession; she had much more hell to raise in this city. All of the plans sauntered through her head mischievously, tripping over each other in their corrupted dance of evil.
“Watcha thinkin’ bout, Little Red?” interrupting in his typical manor, the officer folded his plump, greasy hands around the cold bars that looked into her cell; just out of reach.
“That ain’t your damn business,” she huffed at him, “just go on back to your chair, swine.”
The officer tilted his head slightly; humour lighting his tiny eyes, “you contemplatin’ something?”
With a devilish smile, Angela glared at him and threatened, “Just you wait, pig… just you wait.”