Chapter 11. Ethan
Walking from my office to the cafeteria, I hear laughter. A weird sound in this hallway. Nobody has a reason to be here right now. Or laughing. It’s almost dinner time; staff are usually home already. I slow my pace. The sound comes from the alcove near another office.
I catch sight of them. Mr. Pearson, the art teacher everyone calls Shadow because of how he materializes out of nowhere, and Seth, a kid who's been here two years.
Shadow is big, bulky, beer belly, blue eyes, grayish hair, short beard.
Fifty or so, maybe Griff's age but rougher around the edges.
Half the kids here crush on him. He's a teacher. A professional. It's disgusting.
Seth is lean and tall, caramel hair, green eyes. He stands with his back to the corner, smiling up at Shadow.
Shadow leans against the wall. Too close.
I can't hear what he says, but I see him reach out and adjust Seth's collar with his fingers.
Nothing explicitly wrong. But I know that look.
I've seen it enough times. Adoration and lust, someone who thinks they're hiding it.
Seth doesn't pull away when Shadow's hand moves to his cheek.
He leans into it, eyes fixed on Shadow's face.
My stomach tightens. Seth is an adult. We all are. But this has to be inappropriate. Right?
Shadow's hand moves from Seth's cheek to his shoulder, lingering. He leans in to whisper something. Seth laughs, soft and easy.
Fuck. I can't turn back. They'll hear me, realize I'm retreating from what I saw. So, I clear my throat and walk forward, making my steps loud, giving them seconds to adjust. The effect is immediate. Shadow straightens, puts distance between them. His smile stays, but it's fake now.
"Ethan," he acknowledges me with a nod. "A lot of admin work?"
"Yes, sir." Voice neutral. Face blank. I look at Seth, whose expression has gone bored. He sees my uniform. He knows what I am.
I don't ask anything. I want to leave. But Shadow keeps going, like he needs to justify himself.
"Just discussing Seth's art project," he says, gesturing toward his office. "He's got real talent."
Seth nods, not meeting my eyes. "Mr. Pearson was giving me some ideas for my portfolio. For when I get out."
I notice how Shadow has shifted his weight away from Seth. Creating space.
"Alright, see you in class," I say. Everybody is enrolled in arts. They say it’s therapeutic for us, so it’s mandatory. I leave. I'm no narc, despite being a leader. The old saying about snitches is taken literally here.
I keep walking. Sick to my stomach. I should tell Griff what I saw. He'd know what to do. But what would I say? That I have a bad feeling? That Shadow was standing too close? That he's a teacher and should know better, and Seth is a twenty-something kid who's literally locked up here?
Wasn't I doing the same thing to Liam?
No. I'm not a teacher. Being a leader is just being another delinquent with a shiny badge. It doesn't matter that I'm technically responsible for Liam. That's what I tell myself.
I keep my head down. And I know they know I won't say anything.
I pass the gym, heading to dinner. The image of Shadow's hand on Seth's shoulder buzzes in my head. I force it down, lock it away with everything else I see and can’t fix.
That's when I notice movement behind the gym. I see him: Harry.
I change direction. Footsteps silent. If it were anyone else, I'd look away.
Busting random kids isn't part of the job, even if the slogan here is the classic "if you see something, say something." I see enough. I don't say anything. But Harry is my problem. He lives with me, and when he screws up, the whole unit pays. It happened before. When he got busted with Jerry, we all got punished for a month. Jerry ended up getting transferred to a real jail. Harry’s too rich for that. He’s here playing criminal and will be out of here the second his daddy decides he’s had enough.
"Quality stuff, man. Worth every…" The voice cuts off. He sees me. Harry, a small plastic bag pinched between his fingers like he doesn't care who sees. Two kids in front of him, one with money already out.
We all freeze. Harry looks panicked for a millisecond, then the smirk appears. The one that spikes my blood pressure. The one that says rules are for other people.
"Well, well. The supreme leader is here." Sarcastic as it gets. "We were just discussing... botany. Plants, you know."
The two kids back away, panic on their faces. I jerk my head toward the main yard. "Out. Now."
They bolt. Just me and Harry. He slides the bag into his pocket. Calm. That calm ignites something in me, all the frustration from the day, from Shadow, from everything.
I'm on him before he can react. Forearm against his collarbone, pinning him to the wall. He's much smaller. Doesn't even try to break free.
"Are you trying to get us all sent to real prison, just like you did to Jerry?" A growl. "I've warned you enough."
He doesn't struggle. Stays calm. That pisses me off more than anything. "Please," he says, eyes steady behind those glasses. "We both know this place is just prison with better branding."
I press harder. Feel his pulse racing against my arm. For a split second, I consider making him faint. I can't. I'd love to. But I can't.
"Do you have any idea what happens if they find that during inspection? I lose my position. You go to the hole. Everyone's privileges get revoked."
"Sounds like a you problem," he says, but his breathing is fast. Good, he's at least a little scared, but his voice is the same. "Maybe you should be less invested in playing leader. I know the power trip gets you off."
My free hand slams the wall beside his head. Not hitting him, but close enough that he flinches. I feel my control slipping. Harry has always known how to make everything I've worked for seem pathetic. Liam gets under my skin too, but it's different. Liam doesn't mean harm. Harry does.
I see him struggling for breath. I ease back, suddenly conscious of how this would look to anyone walking by.
"Empty your pockets. Now."
"Search warrant, Officer?"
My jaw clenches. "Fine. We do this officially. I call Griff, they strip-search you and our room, find whatever else you're hiding. That your preference? Don't tempt me."
Concern flashes across his face. Then it's gone. He's smart.
"Dunno what you're talking about, Mr. Leader. Nothing in my pockets." He turns them inside out. Empty. "Amazing how things disappear, isn't it? Maybe they were never there. Maybe you're being an asshole for no reason. You usually are."
I scan the ground, the bushes. Nothing. He ditched it the moment I looked away to dismiss the other kids.
"I'm watching you. You so much as look like you're dealing, and I'll personally ensure you spend the rest of your time here in solitary. Stop ruining your fucking life."
"Bold threat from someone who can't even prove what he saw." He smirks. "But don't worry, I understand. You've got a lot riding on this supervisor gig. Must be nice to finally have people look at you with something other than disappointment."
My parents' faces flash through my mind. The kitchen. My mother's hand shaking around the gun, my father's face twisted into panic. The way they both looked at me after, like I was the problem. Like I'd always been the problem. The gun pointing at me.
I shake it off. Won't give Harry what he wants. I press my arm harder on his neck until he coughs, then let go. He grabs his throat, swallowing hard, but still looks at me with that defiant look.
"You have no idea what you're playing with," I say, voice dropping. "You're putting all of us at risk."
"Touching." Harry steps away from the wall, more confident now that I'm not restraining him. "But we both know you won't report this." He starts walking past me, then pauses. "Besides, some of your fellow supervisors are my best customers. Might want to clean your own house first." He winks.
I watch him walk away. My hands are shaking. The worst part is he's right.
Deep breaths. Two confrontations in one day, and dinner's still coming.
The cafeteria is full. Fifty-seven residents roaring with talk and laughter. I roll my shoulders, force myself to relax. Can't bring this energy in here. Can't let Harry get to me.
I scan the room. Find Liam.
He's doing it again. Pushing food around without eating any of it.
Not today.
I move through the room. He doesn't look up, too focused on his fork. Mashed potatoes pushed into perfect rows, then flattened, rebuilt. Anything but lifted to his mouth.
I first notice it his first week. Skips breakfast, then lunch. Eats something at dinner. Next day, same thing, then, skips even dinner. Then starts eating again, normally, until it starts over the following week. Eating disorder is all over his file. Two hospitalizations.
Not on my watch. I don't care if every adult in his life has failed him before. He won't pull this shit while I'm responsible for him.
"Mind if I join you?" I don't wait for an answer before sitting beside him. His fork pauses, shoulders tensing. Still staring at the potatoes.
"Sure. Free country."
"Is it? Seems like we both missed that memo."
He laughs. That stupid smile. Something loosens in my chest, but it won't get him off the hook.
"You planning on eating that or just rearranging it?" I keep my voice even. Can't let him see how much it gets to me when he doesn't eat.
"Not hungry." Shrug. Won't meet my eyes.
"Interesting. Because you weren't hungry at breakfast either. Or dinner yesterday."
His jaw tightens. Flash of mortification across his face. "You keeping tabs on me now?"
"It's literally my job." I don't add that I've been tracking his meals since I noticed the pattern. The way he'll eat normally for days, then slide back into this.
"Well, do your job somewhere else. I'm fine." He sounds angry. He never sounds angry with me. Usually it's jokes or fear. He pushes the tray away.
I slide it back. "Eat."
"No."
I know this isn't the best approach. He needs professional help. But I'm angry and out of options, and part of me is desperate because I don't know what else to do.
I lean in, lowering my voice. "Let me make this very clear. Either you eat that meal, or I write you up for self-destructive behavior."
Anger flashes bright in his eyes. "It's not…"
"It is." I cut him off. "It's in your file, Liam. The eating disorder. The patterns. The hospitalizations. Self-harm through food is still self-harm."
Shock. Upset. Betrayal. My stomach churns. But I keep going.
"Mandatory counseling. Possible medication. Someone monitoring every meal. Is that what you want?"
Thin line of a mouth. We hold each other's gaze, neither looking away. He breaks first. Glances at the food, then back at me.
"One meal. I'll sit right here until you're done," I say.
For a moment, I think he'll push back harder. Instead, he picks up the fork, still angry, and takes a small bite of potatoes. His throat works as he swallows, like it's painful. I say nothing. He takes another bite, then another. Each one costs him something, but he continues.
Good boy.
"You don't have to stare," he mutters between bites.
"Why not? The view is pretty good."
He smiles at that. Small. "Harassment. I could report you to get you off my ass."
"You could. But then who would make sure to take care of you?"
Shock for a moment. Then he rolls his eyes, but the smile is back. "I don't need a babysitter."
"Obviously not." I watch him finish half the potatoes. I don't tell him that I understand more than he thinks. I'm self-destructive too, in my own ways.
"Satisfied?" He pushes the plate toward me, about a third of the meal gone. His eyes challenge me to demand more.
I consider it. Instead, I nod. "For now. Same time tomorrow, Marsal. I'll be watching."
"Lucky me," he mutters. Playful. It's always playful with him. Then, he’s quiet for a long time. I want to make him talk. He worries me when he's too quiet.
He does it on his own.
"I knew you liked me." He says it like a secret.
My heart picks up. No point denying it anymore.
"It's obvious by now, isn't it?" I say it quietly, facing my mashed potatoes.
He beams. That idiot beams. Doesn't say anything else. Just sits there with this huge smile on his face.