Chapter Twelve #3
Whatever , I acknowledge that he was trying to explain. But it didn’t matter. Governor Russo didn’t want to hear it, and the optics weren’t good.
I still had my mask on. It was out of place from the kissing, but still. Antonio Russo didn’t see that part, nor did he care to listen to his son’s tearful pleading.
“Dad, stop! It was just a game! He wasn’t hurting me! ”
Falling on deaf ears.
I was a masked man, in his home, who’d tied his son up and raped him. That was all the governor needed to know.
The barrel of a gun hit me in the back of the skull.
Back in the dark… for real .
The first time I woke up, I think I was in jail. Or some sort of a holding cell, based on the way noises echoed, how cold it was, and the smell. Something about the smell made me think of a jail cell, though I’d never even been arrested before, so I wasn’t sure how I came to that conclusion.
I didn’t know how long I’d been out, or where I was exactly. All I knew was that I’d been gagged and hog-tied, and was lying on an extremely uncomfortable surface, with a bag over my head.
I barely remember anything about these few fleeting moments. Mostly, I just felt like I was about to die.
My jaw was already sore from the gag, and the sensation of saliva flowing from the corner of my mouth was driving me nuts.
But I got over that quickly enough when I realized I could hear Governor Russo speaking from somewhere in the distance.
It sounded like he was arguing with someone on the phone.
“I don’t care,” he barked. “Listen, listen, listen… I don’t fucking care how abnormal it is. You’re taking him, right fucking now. So make whatever preparations you have to and do it immediately.”
Eerie silence swept through the cold space while I wriggled around, attempting to fight through whatever was holding me, despite knowing it was pointless.
“You let me worry about that,” the governor went on, and I heard footsteps coming my way. “As far as I’m concerned, all you need to know is that a new piece is being added to your collection.”
The blood rushing in my ears nearly drowned out the sound of a loud door being opened and someone stomping over to me. Whoever they were, they were strong, because they hauled me to my feet in one aggressive yank, then began dragging me along.
“I’m sure you will.” Governor Russo’s voice was closer. “It’s what you do, after all.” And then he whispered by my face, “I’ve carved out a nice little spot just for you… in Hell. Nobody fucks with a Russo. Think about that while you rot for the rest of your miserable existence, Byron Kang .”
I barely had time to react before I felt a pinch.
The second time I woke up, I felt like pure dogshit.
I was groggy as fuck, head too heavy to lift, and my mouth so dry, my first instinct was to panic that they’d cut out my tongue. But as awareness slowly seeped in, I realized it was there, and I was no longer gagged.
When I eventually pried my eyelids open, I saw light. Fluorescent white that blinded me. My head was no longer covered. But when I tried to rub my eyes, I found my wrists secured. And my ankles. And my neck.
Dread arose fast. I tried not to let it, because I knew it would only make things worse, but I couldn’t help it. I was strapped down, and the more I blinked the blur out of my vision, it appeared that I was in a padded cell.
The fear climbing up my throat was so thick I felt sick to my stomach… I was somewhere very bad, and getting myself out would likely be impossible.
I recall my initial fight instinct, dense and potent enough that in seconds, I was roaring and screaming and rattling whatever bizarre piece of furniture I was strapped to.
“Now, now…” A deep voice spoke from somewhere in the room. “Settle down, or you’ll hurt yourself.”
“Who… Who are you??” I croaked. “Who’s there?!”
A form appeared at my right, and I struggled to turn my head. Fortunately, he came to stand right in my line of sight, leaning in so I could make him out. He was a tall, white guy, with dark eyes and white hair, dressed in a suit. Assessing me, the way a child observes a bug in a jar.
“Who are you?” I asked again, slowly, growling on each word.
The man grinned. I was momentarily taken aback by how dazzling it was.
“My name”—he reached out to trail his fingers along my jaw. I tried to flinch away, but it was no use—“is Manuel Blanco. The Ivory . And you, dear Byron Kang, are now my property.”
I choked on more agitation and started coughing. “What the fuck…??”
The man brushed my hair back with long, slender fingers.
Then he straightened, pacing around the room while he spoke.
“You were rather out of it when you arrived here, so unfortunately, you didn’t get to experience the whole production .
” He waved his hand in the air. “But allow me to explain what you missed. Welcome to Alabaster Penitentiary, your new home for the rest of ever. I am the Warden, and you , along with everyone else on this island, belong to me.”
Home… Forever…
Warden… Island…
Alabaster… Penitentiary??
Understandably, I started freaking out.
“P-please… can you… t-take this off m-my… neck?” I sputtered, head spinning, vision blurring once more. “I c-can’t… breathe…”
Manuel Blanco sighed, but humored me, unbuckling the strap around my throat. Immediately, I sucked in gulps of air, calming down enough for my pulse to even out.
The Warden lifted a light eyebrow down at my face. “Byron… do you know why you’re here?”
“No,” I barked, an aggressive instinct to fight. Defend and deny . But then I closed my eyes in defeat, because it was no use. “I mean, yea… I guess I do. But it’s not what you think! I didn’t do what Governor Russo is saying I did!”
I was pleading with this man… The Ivory .
Some bizarre stranger with a creepy nickname standing before me in a padded room.
Confiding in him, like he was my lawyer or some shit.
The fucking warden of a penitentiary … As if he , of all people, might listen, realize this was all just a big misunderstanding and let me go.
Yea, I was pretty na?ve back then.
The Warden simply smirked. “You’re our sixty-second inmate here, Byron.
That means roughly sixty-one times, I’ve stood in front of some poor sack of shit and listened to them blather on about how they’re innocent and they don’t belong here .
‘I was duped! Framed! Made to look guilty by everyone in the world who has it out for li’l ol’ me .
’” His hands clasped together as he openly mocked me.
I was fucking fuming.
“Every single excuse, Mr. Kang… I’ve heard them all.” He dropped his hands onto my arms where they were strapped to the chair. Hovering over me until his breath was on my lips and I was shivering with fright. “So tell me… what makes you so different?”
I won’t lie; I was scared. But more than even that, I was exhausted, angry, and devastated… I felt like nothing mattered anymore. My life was over.
So I used every bit of force I could muster, arched up to him, and hissed, “I fell in love with the governor’s son.
That’s how I’m different. So if that’s a crime, then I guess…
fuck it. I deserve to be here. But I wasn’t hurting Michelangelo—” I couldn’t help but choke on his name and sniffle to cover it up.
The Ivory’s gaze narrowed. “We’d been hooking up in secret for weeks.
His dad caught us, and I guess he thought…
because it sorta looked like I was…” My voice cut out, and I shook my head.
“It doesn’t matter. He wasn’t listening, because he didn’t want to.
He’d rather dispose of me than face the truth…
His son likes to be tied up and fucked by strangers in masks pretending to assault him. ”
The room was silent for a moment, nothing but my labored breathing to be heard while this odd, impeccably dressed warden assessed me carefully.
I couldn’t deny how overwhelming he was to look at, with the black irises and peculiar white hair, and obviously expensive tailored clothes.
His attractiveness just gave way to how dangerous it felt to be in his presence.
Finally, he spoke again. It wasn’t what I expected. “Are you telling me the truth, Byron?” he asked me calmly, as if he didn’t really need to, but still, he preferred to do his due diligence.
I nodded slowly, a persistent ache in the now hollow cavity where my heart used to be.
I’m never going to see him again…
“Yes…” I whispered hoarsely. “But I wish I wasn’t.”
The Ivory rumbled, “And why’s that?”
“Because it won’t change anything,” I sighed. “I’m never getting out of here… am I?”
He shook his head, almost solemnly on my behalf.
I breathed harshly, swallowing back the emotion rising in my throat.
“So there you have it. I’m fucked for the rest of my life, all because I fell…
in love.” I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood.
I didn’t know why I was confessing this to him when I hadn’t even said those words to myself .
“I should’ve stayed in the fucking dark. ”
“No,” he rumbled firmly, and I glanced up. “Falling in love is the most exquisite pain, Byron. No matter how deep the cut, how nasty the gash… it still feels like bliss while you’re bleeding out… Doesn’t it?”
Gazing at him, my eyes remained locked on his face, the sharp contours and severe lines. The deep blackness of his irises holding me still, like large hands squeezing my throat.
I nodded, because it felt good. I didn’t understand how or why . But it was like comfort. Like… home.
Slowly, he moved to release me from the straps of the chair without speaking another word, strong fingers brushing my hair once more, petting me gently.
“Relax in here as best you can,” he whispered. “I’ll send someone to fetch you and show you to your cell.”
There was so much I wanted to say, but I knew it was no use. Something about this experience felt… final.
Something in the air here felt permanent.
He was wrong about me. I wasn’t one to beg for my life or to make excuses. And honestly… without Michelangelo, after coming so close to my light, only to be stuffed back into the darkness of the closet… What difference did it make if I was locked up or roaming free?
Resigning myself to my situation, I nodded slowly, swallowing a massive lump in my throat.
The Ivory took me by the chin, lifting my face. “I believe you’ll do quite well here, Byron Kang. Quiet fury to fuel the fire.”
So here I am… In prison.
Except there was no trial, no sentencing. No jury of my peers.
I was suddenly just… gone. Tossed away, banished from society for being stupid enough to fall in love with someone I couldn’t have.
Maybe The Ivory was right. The pain of love certainly felt good in the moment. But every other scrape and bruise was horrendous.
I’m sure I’ll never feel real love again. I can’t . It seems physically impossible now. I hadn’t even noticed that I’d fallen for Michelangelo until it was too late. Until he was ripped out of my grip in the most agonizing moment of my life.
That first night in Alabaster Penitentiary, as I curled up on my flimsy prison mattress, on a bunk bed I fortunately had to myself, I vowed two things…
1) I would keep as many secrets as I could hold, store them up inside as my protection against the agony of vulnerability in the truth .
And 2) I would never, ever fall in love again.
My second day in prison was better. I met Luthor.
It was my first time in the cafeteria, and I was way out of my element. I didn’t know where to go, and I didn’t have it in me to act hard . So when I saw him sitting alone and looking kind of sad at a table by himself, I walked over and sat down, like it was nothing.
The kid with the shaved head and green dismay in his eyes peeked up at me, then muttered a weakened, “Sup.”
“Hey,” I grunted, picking at my disgusting-looking food.
“You new?” he asked, casually interested. Not prying or trying to size me up. Just… asking.
I nodded. “Name’s Kang. You?”
“Lex,” he sniffed. “But everyone here calls me Luthor.”
“That’s cool,” I said, bored. But not because of him. I just… had nothing left to feel. “What number are you?”
“35,” he hummed.
“Shit…” I breathed. “That sounds like… a while ago.”
He sighed tiredly. “Yea. It was.”
“Sorry,” I muttered remorsefully. “That was a dick thing to say.”
“No, it’s fine.” He grew a tiny curl to his lips. “Honestly, I appreciate having someone around. My friends are… Well, they’re not here.”
I lifted a brow. “Friends…? As in, other inmates?”
He nodded. “Yea. Usually, we’re all together, but lately, we haven’t been, and it’s just… I don’t know, it feels even more isolating than normal.” He peered at me. “I don’t know why I’m saying this to you… Probably freaking you out more. My bad.”
“I don’t mind.” I shrugged. “I’m used to being alone.”
Picking up my sandwich, I took a bite while Luthor watched me, smirking. As soon as the food touched my tongue, I spit it out.
“Ugh! Gross.” I spit more, trying to get the foul taste out of my mouth.
Luthor was chuckling up a storm, like it was the funniest thing ever. I grimaced while pulling apart the sandwich, only to find mold all over the cheese.
“Hey.” He sighed out his laughter. “Maybe we can be alone together, huh?”
Like the girl with the auburn hair.
Yea… I thought, hopefully . Alone together sounds pretty good.
When I returned to my cell after lunch, I found a small, rectangular object on my bed, with a card taped to the top. As I grew closer, I found it to be a journal and a set of pens. Nice ones.
Lifting the card slowly, I read it to myself.
For your secrets.
Signed simply with an X at the bottom.
It was from Manuel Blanco, though to this day, I’m not sure how I knew. And as much as I wanted to hate him, for keeping me here when he clearly knew I didn’t need to be, I couldn’t help the subtle slope to my lips.
Write it down, Byron… All of it. To keep it from eating you alive.
Who knows? Maybe someday someone will be worthy of reading it.