Chapter Twenty-Three
Incessant beeping echoes, on the edge of my consciousness while I stare up at the ceiling.
I’m awake. I have been for hours.
It’s hard enough to sleep in this fucking place as it is, with all the raucous noise—the parties, bumping bass, booming laughter, hooting and hollering.
And fucking. Lots of fucking noise. But when you spend every moment of the bleak state of your existence contemplating what you’re even doing with it, let’s just say falling into even a few minutes of satisfying slumber is a likely goddamn story, whether it’s loud where you live or not.
Last night, into this morning, was another span of time that has since blended together with the rest. Because I’m a prisoner, just like them.
Held captive by my own insecurities, self-loathing and bad fucking decisions.
And the repercussions of it all, which have kept these chains around my ankles for a decade.
After I chained myself to an addiction, but before I chained myself to something else I thought would give me some relief—it didn’t, not even a little—I struck a deal with the devil. And now, as a result of that, I’m here.
On an island in the middle of the ocean. Forever…
Ignoring my alarm clock, and dreading yet another shuffling day of meaningless work that drives me toward nothing but more nothingness, and him toward more power.
It’s all I can do not to pick up that Glock on my nightstand and stick the barrel in my mouth…
Alright, this is getting dark.
I should get up.
Finally turning off the alarm and crawling out of bed, I use every bit of strength I can muster to get into the shower. I’m heavy all the while, permanently weighted by the way I hate myself, and my life, and everything that makes it all up.
What would it be like to be happy? To laugh and smile at things—real stuff, not just the dumbass shit that comes out of Brenner’s mouth, or the way Peters rolls his eyes any time Linetti opens his. Or Joy’s endless attempts at making me do it…
I do care. I have feelings, they’re just… not the ones I want. They’re not going anywhere. If anything, I think I’m so overflowing with emotion, I could burst. But it all remains tucked securely inside of me.
I’m pent-up in so many ways, desperate for someone to turn this dull gray life I lead into a prism of shimmering color.
Out of the shower and dressed in my uniform, I’m ready for the day. I guess… Not really.
You’d think there would be a glimmer on the horizon, because we’re on purge tonight.
But that means very little to me. Purge for me doesn’t mean what it does for the others.
They use it as an opportunity to break free.
Not just in getting drunk and high and laid, because let’s be real, they can easily get that here.
And they do, pretty much every second we’re not working—and some of the seconds we are.
But it’s a change of scenery more than anything.
The chance to eat food that isn’t prepared by our chefs.
No offense to Chrystine and Paolo… They’re great at what they do.
But it’s been years… Some variety is necessary.
Going somewhere that isn’t The Ivory Mansion and seeing faces that aren’t ours—or Kent’s group of hand-picked discreet party favors—is necessary.
Being able to leave, even for twenty-four hours, once a month, is meant to keep us from losing our marbles.
In the words of Manuel Blanco, “Take it or leave it.”
So, naturally, we take it.
Despite all of that, I’m not excited about purge tonight. In fact, I’m dreading it. Because for me, it’s not an escape at all. I’m expected to spend every moment of freedom at my home in Long Island, with my wife.
From one prison to another… to another.
These chains I’m in have no key.
Checking the time, I have a few more minutes before I have to be downstairs… And the immediate tickle of zeal in my gut makes me nauseous.
It’s foolish, pathetic, and downright creepy. But I can’t stop myself. This has become the only thing that gives me even the mildest sense of excitement.
Taking out my phone, I hold my breath as I check, hoping for a Google alert, an update. Something… anything.
But there’s nothing. No new reports.
My gut falls even further in disappointment. It’s been quiet for too long… I guess that’s a good thing for him.
I, on the other hand, feel like I’m being ghosted, and it’s completely idiotic.
God, what a fucking weirdo I am…
I should be glad the sexy bank robber I’m crushing on in secret hasn’t been arrested, or has no heat on him which would warrant his name popping up on Google.
I should not be moping about it just because it means I don’t get to see his gorgeous face in pictures and read news about him and concoct all of these elaborate fantasies about what it would be like to…
Clearing my throat, my muscles are still and I tuck my phone away, grumbling at myself, “Psycho stalker…”
This obsession has been going on for way too long, and it’s a problem. Because I can’t stop thinking about him, and I have to.
I’m married. I have a wife.
I cannot be thinking about the beautiful Russian criminal, with his pale skin and his puffy lips, and his silky platinum hair…
How soft it would probably feel in my fist. How extraordinary it would look to have him gazing up at me from his knees, with watery eyes, and those plush pink lips stretched wide around my—
“Five minutes!” Velle pounds his fist on my bedroom door, and I jump.
Shaking from a rush of fast adrenaline fueled by guilt. It’s fucking ludicrous. No one knows what I do in here. What I think about, and obsess over… What I’ve been hoping to see on my phone screen for months. But the shame still heats my face.
I know I need to stop, but I just can’t. Seriously, I’ve never had a crush last this long before. I feel like I’m losing my grip on reality.
Breathing out a slow breath, I close my eyes and compose myself.
Everything is fine. Stuff it all down. Shift the mask back into place.
These feeling can stay buried deep in the cobwebbed corners of your mind…
The shadows in your heart that no one has ever touched.
Leaving my bedroom, scowl firmly intact, I head downstairs to join the others.
Joy and Jasper are already in the foyer, waiting.
The early risers. They like to get a workout in before first shift, no matter how late they were up partying.
I usually prefer to work out at night, despite knowing it’ll just keep me up. Not like I sleep anyway…
I lie in the dark and stare, apparently.
Peters comes down to the sounds of Velle barking at Hancock from the third floor, “Get the lead out! Or Simon says Simon’s getting his ass beat!”
“God, help us…” Peters huffs.
We nod at one another. That’s the extent of our pleasantries.
And he’s one of my best friends on this island.
“He needs a purge,” Hancock says on his way down the steps. “Big time..” He gives Joy dabs. “No one should be wound that tight first thing in the morning.”
“You’re the dipshit for testing his patience,” Joy mutters, then turns, looking me over. “Good morning, Kelz.”
“If you say so,” I grumble, and she chuckles—a barely-there breath of a sound—shaking her head.
I don’t always work early shifts, but since I’m on purge with them tonight, my schedule was switched up.
I’m what they call an alternate, meaning I can be on any shift, mainly because they know I don’t mind doing either.
But also because I’m one of few who have been extended the courtesy of a minor freedom…
If you could call it that, which I’m not sure I would.
Basically, I’m allowed to leave the island once or twice a week to see Nikki.
If I pull a double to make up for the time I missed.
It’s a luxury afforded only to the officers who are married, something the Warden agreed to and Velle begrudgingly accepts—might be one of the other reasons he’s not my biggest fan.
Whatever. I’ve been here longer than everyone except him and Joy. The three of us are the only ones left from the OG crew, and now, I’m the only one left who’s married. There were a few others back in the day, but they’ve since been transferred elsewhere.
I don’t know what that means, and I don’t ask—not that I’d get an answer if I did. Because that’s how this works.
You do what The Ivory says, no matter what, or you die.
See what I mean? Prisoners.
Joy glances around, eyes darting to the top of our staircase. “We ready?”
She doesn’t wait for anyone to answer before she’s going for the door and we’re following her.
“Nice out today,” Hancock chirps while we all pile into the SUV. His voice is extra raspy, as if he just woke up, which is probably accurate.
“What difference does it make?” Jasper grumbles.
Hancock rolls his eyes. “I’m just saying, it’ll be nice to get out in the city tonight without bundling our asses up.”
The rest of us stay silent, no response to his blathering. He’s used to it.
Hancock will talk until he’s blue in the face. He doesn’t need active participation for conversation to work.
But before he can keep spouting off nonsense, Velle comes storming out of the mansion, jumping into the driver’s seat. He’s so big, the vehicle jostles when he gets in.
“Let’s do this, bitches,” he grunts, starting it up and driving us toward the prison.
The ride is short, and I’m in my head the whole time, as usual. Thinking about the last time I saw my wife… It’s been a couple of weeks at this point. I don’t always go home if I know I’ll be seeing her on an upcoming purge.
Outside of that, though, I’ve been coming up with more and more excuses not to go home lately. Which is crazy because I’m sure most of my colleagues would kill to leave on a weekly basis, regardless of how they felt about their relationship.
But for me, it’s definitely not that simple. And what no one else knows is that the last few times I went home to see my wife, I didn’t quite… make it.