Chapter Eleven #3
Shaking my head, I close my eyes tight before my thoughts make me puke as much as the live rom-com being played out in front of me. When I reopen them, I spot Rook, Joy and Velle across the room, also visibly teasing and flirting.
Something happened between Velle and the Warden. None of us knows exactly what, but the power trio over there left the island together for a few days, and when they came back, they were a throuple .
The prison is technically still on lockdown, but Velle is steering the ship. No one’s seen Manuel Blanco in a while… I know that should be a relief, but it’s not. Sometimes it’s better to see the danger than to worry about it hiding around every corner.
Still, nobody else is worrying about it. I swear to God, this place feels more like a couples resort than a fucking prison right now, and not just for current inmates and employees…
We started talking to Dash on the phone from wherever he is.
It must be somewhere far and secluded, based on how comfortable everyone is with him calling Joy weekly.
But the kicker is that he somehow met up with a former AP guard, Kemper, and now they’re in some super adorable, squishy, gross relationship too, yucking it up in fugitive heaven.
I wish I was kidding. They’ve got a house and a dog, and they spend their days fucking, cuddling, and being free . While we’re still stuck here, living vicariously.
I love Dash, I do. I swear I’m happy for him, but I can’t help the way hearing him chuckle and sigh on the phone with my other stupidly in love friends every week makes me want to jam concrete in my ears. Or curl up in bed with my headphones on, blaring A Static Lullaby.
To top it all off, someone else has been venturing out of hiding lately, proving once and for all that his actions have no consequences…
Felix fucking Darcey.
You know, the prick who killed my cellmate and set Dash free.
Thankfully, he doesn’t interact with us much, and mostly reigns over the East Wing with his Doctor Daddy. No joke. The allegedly world-renowned psychiatrist, who was brought here simply to study The Carver, wound up fucking him.
What sort of bullshit is that??
This entire building is made of heart eyes. Almost overnight, they all went from an abstinence-fueled rage to standing outside each other’s windows with a boombox.
Hancock and Jasper are vibing in a pretty obvious way, Peters has a bounce in his step… Even Percy Gage, Ren’s former obnoxious doofus of a fuckbuddy, has calmed the hell down and stopped harassing people. Word on the street is he started bottoming and now he’s a changed man.
Yea. I’m telling you, it’s a goddamn epidemic .
Everyone’s happy.
Everyone but me.
Which is why I’m doing the exact thing I never let myself do… Wishing I were anywhere but here.
I miss Manhattan. I miss other angry people cursing at each other over some bullshit. I miss the aggressive horns honking and cabbies shouting at bicyclists.
I also miss Google, because right now, I could really use a search-bar…
Can you die from anger?
What’s the world record for the longest scowl?
Is being a “hater” ever considered a medical condition?
It’s not that I want to feel this way. I can’t help it. While everyone around me is joyously floating on their cotton candy-flavored rainbow magic carpets, I’m stuck down here on Earth. Chained up in a place that sucks, with no one left to entertain me or distract me from how lonely I am.
My best friends are assholes. Openly chatting about how they like Darcey— the guy who killed our friend! Luthor actually waved at the kid the other day when he was up here… Fucking waved at him! Can you believe that shit?!
Ugh, it really steams my biscuits. Where’s the sense of loyalty?? If not for O’Malley, then for me !
I’m crunchier than a bag of Fritos, and I’m not trying to be. I hate coming off as jealous , but this just stings, like salt in a wound.
I lost all of my friends. O’Malley, Dash, Luthor, Ren, Joy… They’re either dead, gone, or preoccupied . And it’s all thanks to that prissy little shithead Felix Darcey.
So excuse the hell out of me for not wanting to chill with the guy. He fucked up everything.
I’m seething while simultaneously cowering inside. And no one cares… Not a single person in this room full of people is worrying about me , wondering if I’m okay.
“Hey, you want the rest of my juice?” Luthor’s voice cuts into my deep wallowing, and I glance up to find him smiling at me.
I release the tiniest bit of hostility and stop feeling sorry for myself for just long enough to shake my head. His smile slips off, and he nods. But because he is a good guy, he doesn’t stop there.
“You still got that deck of cards?”
I clear my throat, working up the energy to converse with him.
He’s trying, and I shouldn’t blame him for the way I feel.
Yes, I’m annoyed with him for siding with Darcey, and I’m disappointed in him for climbing right back up Ren’s ass like he has amnesia or something.
But he’s still my friend, and I should at least try giving him the benefit of the doubt.
“Uh, yea…” I mutter, sounding every bit as unenthused as I am.
“Cool,” he chirps. “You should bring it tomorrow. We can play Texas Hold ’Em.”
“That game sucks,” Ren groans, resting his head on Luthor’s shoulder. “Let’s play strip poker!”
“Babe… shut up,” Luthor grumbles.
I almost crack a smile. But then I remember I’m pissed and force it away.
Resting bitch face: activate.
“What about Blackjack?” Luthor asks me specifically, eagerness on his face.
Now I feel like a child of divorce whose dad is dating someone new and is trying to make up for missing my last however many baseball games by being extra present.
It’s the pity, man. I can’t stand it.
I don’t need anyone’s fucking charity.
“It’s not fun with only two people,” I grunt. “One of us has to be the dealer.”
“Well, we could invite someone else to play,” he suggests with hopefulness in his green eyes.
“Like who?” I squint at him. He shifts and parts his lips, but I cut him off. “Don’t you dare say Darcey.”
“I wasn’t going to say Darcey…” He frowns. But I can tell he was thinking it. “What about… Simmons?”
“Man, I hate that guy,” Ren gripes. “What’s up with his laugh?? He sounds like a creepy clown in a haunted maze…”
“Why are you such a downer?” Luthor snaps at him.
But Ren just grins and pinches his cheeks. “We can’t all be beautiful, glowing rays of sunshine like you, baby boy.”
Luthor’s face visibly flushes, and he bites his lip to cover that enamored former-virgin smile he’s been rocking lately. My jaw clamps, and I can feel the hatred I’m about to spew everywhere. Before it happens, I stand up and grab my tray, unable to help the scoff that flees my lips.
Dumping the rest of my food into the trash, I linger by the doorway, wondering if anyone would even notice if I just walked out…
Glancing left, then right, I inch toward the door.
“Where you think you’re going?” Joy scolds, though her lips are slanted into a small smirk.
I sigh. “Nowhere. Are we done in here yet?”
Her brows zip. “You got someplace to be?”
No… Nowhere to be, no one to see…
“I’d just rather be in my cell,” I gripe. “It smells like crusty asshole in here.”
“You paint a very pleasant word picture, you know that?” She huffs, then nods. “Come on. We’re going to showers.”
I stay with Joy the whole way there, avoiding walking near Luthor and Ren, because if I get tangled up in their incessant need to hold hands everywhere they go, I might rip their arms off.
I’m all pent-up aggression with nowhere to direct it. We haven’t been down to the rec room in forever, and I could really use the exercise. Being able to move around in a space bigger than a ten-by-ten, sparring with Joy…
She probably gets enough cardio now that she has two huge boyfriends.
“What’s up with you?” she asks me, smacking her billy club into her palm over and over. “That time of the month again?”
“Fuck off,” I mutter, and she chuckles. “I’m just… whatever. It’s prison . We’re supposed to be miserable. Isn’t that the point?”
She gives me a look, a studious one that has me feeling exposed. Especially when her eyes shift behind me to Luthor and Ren.
“You know what I think?” She inches closer. “I think you need to get laid.”
My eyes spring to hers. Her grin widens, and I scoff, phoning in some cocky overconfidence to avoid feeling like she might be right. “You volunteering your services?”
“Please. You could barely handle what I used to throw your way.” She winks. I roll my eyes.
Refusing to admit that on some level, she might be right.
Once we’re settled in the showers, I can’t help mulling over Joy’s words. I know it’s not the only reason I’m hating life right now… But it’s definitely a side-effect.
Being one of Ren’s consistent Luthor-proxies gave me access to semi-regular orgasms. Losing that was a hit to my prison sex life, though I refuse to admit it. Looks like we’re back to my hand, or nada.
Stepping under the flow of water, I let it wash over my warm skin, peeking right. Remembering a time in this exact location, nearly three years ago…
When I first laid eyes on my very own black-haired, blue-eyed replacement…
A throaty chuckle and a soft whimper drag me out of my memories.
I peer right again, but unlike in my memory, Luthor and Ren are together , under one shower head, soaping each other up.
Biting the inside of my cheek so hard I taste blood, I force myself to ignore them.
Ignore how good it looks… How much I want that .
Stop it. You’re not fucking gay, and you don’t need a boyfriend.
Whatever I thought I could’ve had outside of here is irrelevant. Because outside doesn’t matter anymore. Inside is all we have, and my inside is fucking empty .
Alabaster Pen is the world I’m living in. Where a hole is just a hole, fucking is just fucking, and when it’s over, it’s just… over .
I don’t need a new pretty boy with dark hair and bright eyes and a killer smile. I don’t need another Michelangelo.
This heartless fighter will be just fine on his own.