Chapter Twenty-Four
It’s time.
It’s… happening.
We just finished our meeting with The Ivory. Velle called it literal seconds after we got back to the mansion from our purge. It had me wondering how long he’s known about Dascha’s arrival.
I’ve been in denial all morning. Nikki and I had breakfast in bored silence, as usual, and it was so insufferable, I actually told her I had to leave early and took a cab all the way back into Manhattan only to get back into a different car and drive back to Laguardia. Just so I could be alone for a bit.
The entire plane ride, the whole time I was getting changed into my uniform, the drive to the prison, while we lined up and watched the Warden pace with his cellphone pressed to his ear…
I was dripping with nerves, but pretending I didn’t know why.
Using my well-honed skills in acting like everything is fine when I know damn well it’s not.
It hasn’t been… Since long before Dash’s arrest.
But there’s no avoiding the truth anymore. Dascha Reznikov is on his way… And I won’t be able to hide anymore.
“You alright?” Joy asks me.
I look around the big room. Everyone is gone except her, Rook, and Velle.
“Um… I don’t know,” I croak.
My vision is blurring. I force myself to look at the floor, focusing on one spot before I pass out. The words being uttered around me are echoing.
“I don’t think I can do this…” I mutter, stalking quickly out of the room.
I rush the corridors, racing toward solitary, needing to get away from everyone. Back to my dungeon where I can breathe.
It’s fucking absurd that this hole of black mold and sorrow is the only place where I feel any sort of peace, but I think… I’m solitary confinement personified.
Alone. Within myself, I am confined.
I reach solitary row with my heart hammering, and find the nearest corner to slip around. Collapsing into the concrete, I close my eyes and focus on inhaling and exhaling before I pass out. This panicked dread is so deep, I can barely even find myself in it.
Fuck me, I can’t do this.
I’m losing my shit.
Knowing he’ll be here soon is binding me in fear that also feels… like excitement. My heart is pounding at the notion of seeing him in real life. I’m terrified, mostly of how curious I am. How eager…
It’s real bad.
I’m wondering what he’ll look like, what he’ll smell like and sound like.
Fuck, I’m desperate to hear his voice…
It’s unreasonable to crave listening to someone speak. Especially because I don’t fucking know this kid. He’s not some person I’ve been talking to online that I’m finally going to meet. He’s a goddamn stranger, and most importantly, he’s a criminal. He deserves to be in prison.
Those are the rules. You break the law, you go to jail. And even though I didn’t end up becoming a cop, I still believe in it. Protect and serve. Keeping people safe.
I’m supposed to keep people safe from Dash, not obsess over keeping him safe.
I need to… keep him safe. In here.
Who knows if Dash even likes guys? For all I know, he could be straight… Like I’m supposed to be.
But it’s not about that. I’m not thinking about ways to be with the kid. Whether he’d be interested or not is… irrelevant. Because I’m married, and he’s… just a prisoner.
Shaking my head, I focus on the way my heart is rapping. The way I feel… alive.
I’ve never fucking felt this before. It’s bizarre. I both hate it and love it at the same time.
Maybe it won’t be that bad. Maybe I won’t even see Dascha much…
I work in solitary, after all. Maybe he’ll… never even come down here.
I scoff to myself. Yea, right. He seems like a troublemaker. He’ll probably be down here all the goddamn time.
Which means I have to make a choice. Because it is painfully clear to me right now…
I won’t be able to do this. Deliver him food, bring him to shower… Watch him rot and ignore his cries without intervening.
It’s like Peters said… We can’t get emotionally invested.
And I’ve never been more invested than I am right fucking now.
I’m so far past emotionally invested, we’re in different time-zones.
Over an hour seems to pass in an instant, and the next thing I know every muscle in my body is bunching when Velle barks at us over the walkie to get back up to the big room for intake.
I’m hanging on by a thread as I walk, like I’m marching myself along the Green goddamn Mile.
Outside of the room, I pause to take a breath, squeezing my eyes shut tight.
“Ready?”
The voice startles me, and I jump, whipping around fast.
Manuel Blanco is smirking at me, holding something in his hand. My eyes fall from the pools of obsidian in his eyes to the black object he’s holding.
My brow jump. “Why…?”
He shakes his head admonishingly. “You should know better than to ask that by now, Officer.”
He shoves the clippers at me and murmurs by my ear, “You’re welcome.”
Then he walks away, leaving me clutching an electric razor, with my head spinning.
Wait, he wants me to shave Dash’s head??
Usually Velle or Joy does it. Having me do it for Dash must be a joke, or a test, or…
“You’re welcome.”
A gift. Of course… he’s gifting me this agonizing introduction.
I’m freaking out even more now as I enter the room and get in line beside the rest of the team.
This production we’ve done roughly one hundred times now.
It’s not always exactly like this—in the early days, it was certainly different.
But over the last few years, as we’ve taken in more and more inmates, this part has become something of a show. A spectacle.
A performance for The Ivory to put on. He’s the star, and the rest of us are just extras.
I’m shaking down to my goddamn marrow, though on the outside, I’m still. I dare not move an inch out of place, or express anything but dead-eyed indifference. Still, I can feel every second that ticks by while I await him. Each breath stings as if it’s below freezing in here.
And then I hear it. Footsteps, and chains.
He’s coming.
Shivers consume me as I blink slow.
Chill, man. Jesus, he’s just a fucking person.
For all you know, he’s a total dick, or a creep, or an idiot.
At this point, you’ve built this crush up so high in your imagination, there’s no way he’ll ever live up to it.
And that’s good, because he’s just a human fucking being, and chances are the second you see him in real life, the illusion will shatter like thin glass.
There’s no way he’s that hot in real life. There’s no possible way he’s as perfect as you’re imagining in your head, so just get over—
The door opens. And in shuffles this… kid. This man, though an obviously younger one, with silvery blonde hair strewn about. Shivering pink lips, a flush in his cheeks, and very visible fear in his lustrous eyes that he’s clearly trying to cover up with hostility. Even so, he’s just… so…
Holy… fuck.
That’s him. That’s Dash…
I’m not breathing.
There’s a facade of hard he’s putting up like a front, for protection. But it’s easy to see through. In truth, he’s young, scared, and in way over his head.
And I’m genuinely aching.
Dascha… It’s really you.
My heart feels like it’s leaping out of my chest as Jasper and Linetti drag him farther into the room.
His face tilts all around, confusion lining that flawless porcelain complexion.
They usually always look some variation of worried, but on Dash it’s purely stunning.
Like every one of his emotions brings a different shade of beauty to his features.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph… Where did this being come from??
The person before me is a million times more stunning than any picture could ever portray. He’s gorgeous, so much so that for a moment, I think I might be hallucinating.
He can’t be real…
No one on this planet looks like that.
But then the Warden speaks his name. And I know he’s really here.
Dash is real… He’s real, and he’s here.
He’s not a mugshot in the newspaper, or a tiny thumbnail attached to an article on my phone. He’s here in this room; squirming and twitchy and alive.
My sad angel, mere feet from where I’m standing.
The Warden introduces himself, and instructs Dash to have a seat.
“I’m good,” Dash mutters, and my dick throbs.
From two fucking words. But spoken in a voice that can only be described as an eargasm.
Fuck me, I’ll be hearing those two words in my dreams for the rest of my life.
The Ivory uses his standard effortless intimidation to get Dash seated, and I’m just… in awe. Watching him. Studying his every movement.
The way he slumps in his chair, elbows resting on his knees.
My eyes take in every inch of him, starved for all of it; the pointed slope of his nose, those lips, so plump and pouty, I’m throbbing where I stand.
Razor sharp jawline. Long arms, swells of biceps and triceps decorated in occasional ink.
Wrists cuffed, keeping his hands together. Masculine fingers visibly fidgeting.
He peers in my direction, and my heart rate spikes. But the Warden’s voice distracts him before our eyes can meet.
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” The Ivory says, going on with some variation of his usual schpiel. I’m barely listening.
I’m too busy focusing on Dash. The way he looks, his mannerisms. It’s all so peculiar… Seeing him with my own two eyes, after thinking about him for so long as an objective fantasy.
I’d hoped the reality of him in front of me would break the spell…
But it hasn’t. Fuck me, it’s a million times stronger now.
Baby…
I want…
“I robbed a bank,” Dash’s raspy yet melodious voice breaks into my unhinged obsessing. God, please never stop talking, sweet thing. You are perfect… “I don’t belong here.”
I stop drooling just long enough to blink.
The Warden gives him a sharp look. “Au contraire, Mr. Reznikov. I believe you’re exactly where you belong.”