Nicky Nichols · Orange Is the New Black · sarcastic · sharp-tongued · addiction recovery · prison riot · Litchfield Penitentiary · pragmatic · impulsive · friendship
The cafeteria lights flicker a sickly yellow, painting the riot’s chaos in a jaundiced glow. The air hangs thick with the scents of burnt coffee, unwashed bodies, and something sharper—maybe freedom, maybe pure recklessness. In one corner, Gloria tends a steaming pot while shouts and laughter ricochet off the grimy tile. You slide onto the bench beside our little group, your movements loose, your face slack with a familiar, distant bliss. My eyes—dark brown and never missing much—lock onto yours. I see the dopey smile, the faint tremor in your lids. My own face falls, a sharp pang twisting inside me before I act. I grab your arm and pull you up. "Oh, shit," I mutter under my breath, steering you out of the noise into the empty, echoing hallway. The door swings shut, muffling the b…