Chapter Two
R aindrops…
Quivers seize my body.
I’m on the outside, looking in. Peering through the glass, between plump, wet beads that are falling all around me. One tumbles over my trembling lips…
“P-please…”
Moisture is soaking through my clothes, and my hair, in the chill of a saturated spring evening in Manhattan.
“Please… s-stop…”
My eyes, fixed on firm hands gripping her thighs, fall shut, and I exhale. The breath that leaves me is shaky. From the cold…
I’m sure that’s it.
“God, gorgeous, you’re everything…” I groan.
“N-no…”
My hands glide up long arms, to the wrists held together by plastic.
“You… feel… so… good…”
Frantic movements jerk me awake. Lids springing open, I gasp. And like an instinct, my hand flies to my chest, pawing desperately at the ache behind my ribs, amplified by the aggressive banging of my heart.
“Fook yeh!” Belligerent words roar from above me. The thrashing is really rocking the bed around, as it does. But if that hadn’t woken me up, his screams would’ve done the trick.
Puffing out a breath of hopeless irritation, attempting to steady myself after my own fucked-up dream, I slam my pillow over my head. It doesn’t help much with anything, since he’s flailing like he’s drowning up there.
That’s the magic of bunk beds… When one moves, they both move.
Good times.
“Timmy! What’re yeh doing?!”
“Yo… bro!” I whip my pillow away and bark at him. “Mellow. It’s just a dream—”
“Fook ’em all! Yer all gonna pay!” O’Malley wails, something clearly fucked up happening in his unconscious mind.
Someone up the row yells at him to shut the fuck up , but I know it’s pointless. You have to just let him ride it out, which is unfortunate for me more than anyone else, since I have to share a cell, and a rickety bedframe, with this chaos.
I’m used to it by now, though. Kieran O’Malley’s been my cellmate for almost a year, and honestly, his night terrors are the tip of the goddamn iceberg. Just one of the many, let’s call them eccentricities , he possesses that make living with him nonstop unhinged fuckery around every corner.
It’s sorta like living with an abusive, alcoholic stepdad… You never know what to expect, but at least the constant unease keeps you on your toes.
Tonight’s episode is a bit higher on the Richter scale of his issues, which is good, in a way, because it’s distracting me from what I was experiencing in dreamland—probably not as atrocious as his, but still fucking painful.
The more inmates are woken up by his shouting, the more noise echoes through the row, and eventually, one of the guards shows up.
“O’Malley, I swear to fucking God…” Linetti growls as he storms over to our cell. “Everyone, shut the fuck up!”
“Don’t bother,” I hiss, launching out of bed. “I got this.”
Grabbing O’Malley by the ankles, I drag him off of the top bunk.
You’d think his body crashing onto the concrete from several feet in the air would wake him up, but it doesn’t quite do the trick.
He’s still freaking the fuck out, wriggling around as I straddle him, attempting to hold him down.
He manages to knee me in the kidney, and now I’m fucking pissed.
“Okay, fuck this shit,” I growl.
It’s the middle of the night. I’m tired, and grouchy, and I can still smell the rain… Feel it falling over me, cooling my stiflingly hot skin…
“I didn’t do it! Yer a liar!” O’Malley chokes. “Get off!”
He’s really struggling beneath me, fighting to get me off of him, and it’s working up with the images in my head; blinding me in a haze of agonizing nostalgia.
“Stop fighting!” I snarl and smack him hard across the face. “You asked for this… ”
I smack him again, and I think it wakes him up. But it’s too fucking late now…
I’m already gone.
Next thing I know, I’m choking him, and he’s punching me, and Linetti is stomping inside our cell to rip us apart.
Just another night in Alabaster Pen.
“You need to tighten yer grip,” O’Malley breathes, once Linetti is gone and everything’s back to normal. “I been choked harder by my ninety-year-old grandmum on her deathbed.”
I huff and spit some blood into the sink. “Funny. How’s that handprint on your face feel?”
He’s visibly trying to smother his grin as he works his jaw. “You slap like a girl, too.”
“Your mom didn’t complain when I was leaving that same mark on her ass,” I snicker.
“Fook off.” He chuckles as he hoists himself back up into his bed.
I crash onto mine. “Sweet dreams, Shamrockstar.”
“Fook off twice.”
And he’s one of my closest friends.
Some might say O’Malley and I have a dysfunctional relationship.
But I defy you to show me a relationship in prison that isn’t dysfunctional.
After all, we’re the most morally corrupt, heinous criminals in the country—or even the world—locked up together in concrete hell.
It’s not exactly a fifth-grade sleepover.
Instead of pillow fights and braiding each other’s hair, we get tattoos and try to kill each other. As far as the guards are concerned, as long as no one dies, it’s a good night. And I’d have to agree. What’s a little harmless bloodshed between friends?
Scrapping with O’Malley is helpful in at least one way… It puts me out like a light. No more gnawing dreams.
Yup. Everything’s back to normal.
The endless cycle of nothingness continues.
The next morning, we’re being herded to the cafeteria like half-dead cattle when someone breathes by my ear, “Wait till you peep what I’ve got stashed in my pants.”
My teeth grind together, stifling any potential reaction that will encourage him. “That might be your worst line yet.”
“As much as I know you’d love some of this breakfast sausage , that’s not what I meant,” Ren whispers, smirking as he links his arm with mine.
I scowl at him. “What are you so chipper about?”
“Oh, muffin…” His bright smile widens. “Just you wait.”
He winks at me, and I pretend not to notice the vast dimples, or the way his dark hair is growing out, or just how disgustingly perfect his smile is. I mean, who looks like that in prison?? It’s fucking unreasonable.
More to the point, the characteristics of Warren Xavier are needling me in the chest right now. And I hate it.
Ren is also one of my best friends—definitely more so than O’Malley. I don’t want to feel resentment when I look at him. But lately, it seems to be popping up more than usual, and it’s aggravating me to no end.
In an effort to ignore it, and him, I focus on the rest of our crew. Luthor and O’Malley are shuffling, lifelessly, side-by-side. And now, when I peek at Ren, his blue gaze is stuck on Luthor, turning more intense than it is when he’s looking at anyone else.
That’s standard. Nothing new here.
Ren’s obsessed with Luthor, and Luthor’s acting like he’s unaffected by it. Of course, I know it won’t last, but I guess I appreciate how fervently my pal Lex is clutching that protective shield to his chest.
Too bad it’ll never work against the emotional warfare of Warren Xavier.
The four of us move through the chow line to grab our food, then meander to our usual table. The moment we sit down, Luthor is slouched forward, practically falling asleep in his stale Eggo waffles.
“Tired?” O’Malley asks with his mouth full, and I smirk when Luthor whips a scathing glare in his direction.
“You could say that,” he seethes.
I can’t help but huff. He’s such a baby when he doesn’t get his rest.
Suddenly, Ren is scooting in way too close to me. He’s practically on my lap. “Byron… check this out.”
Peering right, I give him a bemused look. It’s too early for this kind of enthusiasm. But then I notice him reaching into his pants, and my brows zip.
“Dude, please tell me you’re not about to whip your dick out at the table.” I sigh admonishingly. “We talked about this…”
Ren rolls his eyes. “Just shut up and look.”
Glancing down, I’m fully expecting to see his junk, because this is Ren we’re talking about. Wouldn’t be the first time…
But I’m surprised when, instead, I find a cellphone tucked into the waistband of his fitted black Calvis.
“Where the shit did you get that??” I gasp as quietly as possible, subtly scanning the room to make sure no one’s looking.
“Who cares?” he hums, grinning with pride, but somehow making it look flirtatiously sinister. “Wanna touch it?”
I can’t even make myself scoff at his foolishness right now. I’m too busy lusting.
Cellphones in Alabaster Pen are like Bigfoot. You figure they could be around, maybe , but you never see them. I’ve been here for years, and I’ve never come across one myself. It’s one thing that even the most skilled canoodler can’t usually weasel out of the guards.
But then we all know Warren Xavier lives for a challenge.
“What’re you two nellies whispering about over there?” O’Malley leans over the table to sneak a peek. “Comparing yer flutes again?”
Luthor perks up, though he’s clearly trying to downplay his interest as he peeks under the table. Both his and O’Malley’s eyes go wide when they see what Ren has.
“Yo, put that away!” Luthor whispers nervously. “If Velle finds out, you’re fucking toast. Automatic trip to solitary…”
“He’s right,” I mumble, then bite my lip.
Because as much as I know I shouldn’t care, that device holds oh-so-many possibilities…
I wonder if I could use it to—
I blink hard.
“Please.” Ren flips his hand in the air. “I can handle him.”
“Of course you can.” Luthor rolls his eyes.
A ghost of unease flashes in Ren’s bright blue eyes, but as always, he covers it up quickly, turning to me. “Take it.”
“Now??” I grunt. “Why me?”
“You wanna use it, don’t you…?” He cocks a brow.
“I mean… yea ,” I mutter. And now my brain is whirling around all the things I could do with that janky old iPhone. “Does it work?”
Ren nods. He checks once more that the coast is clear, then slips the phone out of his undies and into mine. Literally . Just stuffs his hand into my pants. The dude has no boundaries.
“Fuckin A…” I grumble, adjusting the phone, and my dick. “Jesus, Ren…”