Chapter Fourteen #2
Just as I’m reaching a new level of wallowing, I hear voices approaching.
A bunch of them. Excitement flutters in my gut as I peer around the wall separating me from the rest of the showers.
It looks like a group of inmates is coming in, all moving with purpose to various locations.
The way they scatter, almost on autopilot, suggests a routine.
Two more prominent voices break through the rest. I keep myself hidden and watch two lads from around the corner.
It doesn’t take long for me to realize they’re in some sort of relationship.
They’re both white guys, one of whom has black hair, like mine, only more swept back.
He has a real pretty boy look about him, with an amazing body, some tattoos.
And an effervescent smile aimed right at the other bloke, who looks a bit younger—slim yet defined, with light blond hair shaved close to the scalp.
They’re really giving each other the eyes .
Blond boy is flushed and biting his lip while they stand close, their obvious chemistry pooling warmth in my stomach.
But then, someone else steps into my vision, interrupting their hushed conversation.
And he steals the show, along with every inch of my attention.
He grabs a bar of soap from the hand of the black-haired man, striding over to his own shower. So they must be friends… Or at least acquaintances.
My eyes are locked. This lad is different. I see it right away. Not in looks, though his skin tone is a bit more bronzed, he has more tattoos and thicker muscles, a striking jawline and facial features… A flaming orange aura dripping with masculine sexuality.
But it’s in his movements that I sense a difference… His mannerisms. I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something about him that’s calling out to me.
Alright, he’s just a bloke… Nothing special.
And yet I cannot stop watching him. The other two men move in closer, and now it looks and sounds like they’re arguing. The black-haired chap is getting up in the hot boy’s space, and I feel muscles tightening all over like a reflex.
“Dude, back off,” the gorgeous specimen grunts.
“Why? You don’t like playing with me anymore?” the black-haired one says, forcing a pout. Then he calls to the shaved-head lad. “Come on, Lex. We’re showering with Byron today. Prison-style.”
Byron… His name is Byron.
Hmm… I bet it sounds good being sobbed into a pillow.
“Ren, just let him use the damn soap,” the one with the light hair— Lex, apparently —says to the loud-mouth, Ren.
The three of them continue bickering, and I’m highly invested. It’s like live theatre.
Ren gets up in my new crush’s face, and I’m preparing for my first prison shower brawl.
Spine straightening, I reach to shut my water off, grabbing the nearest towel as Byron is threatening to kick his friend in the dick .
I’m not sure what’s going on here, and it’s definitely not my place to interfere, but I can’t seem to help myself.
I’m stepping around the wall, moving closer to where they are while Byron and Ren fight, and Lex just stands off to the side, sighing and shaking his head at them like this isn’t the first time this has happened by any means.
Byron whips a soap bar at Ren, and it comes sliding across the tiles, stopping only a few feet from where I’m standing. The three of them go silent. In fact, the whole place is quiet, nothing but running water to be heard.
I glance around the room. Even the inmates who aren’t involved in their argument have frozen solid and are gaping at the floor in horror.
What’s the big deal? Why is everyone…
Ohhh, right.
Don’t drop the soap. I’ve got it.
And now Byron and his pals are arguing about who’s going to pick up the soap. I huff out of perplexed amusement.
Fucking hell, just bloody bend over! Who cares??
Sauntering over to the soap, I bend to pick it up. Would you look at that? Nothing slipped inside of me. Astonishing.
Waltzing over to the three lads, my eyes take in each one.
I’m able to get a better look now that I’m up close.
They’re all naked, which I’m not trying to openly focus on, though it’s enticing to say the least. But when my curious gaze finds Byron , it gets stuck, an immediate buzz happening beneath my skin.
He’s… very attractive. Again, they all are, but there’s something about Byron specifically that I like. Maybe it’s his eyes, or his mouth, or his wet hair and wet skin, or the way the water droplets are tumbling over his pouty lips, or the fact that he clearly has a very impressive—
“I believe this is yours.” I hold out the soap bar and force myself to speak to him because the ogling is about to become embarrassing, and I need to stop.
He doesn’t take it. He simply stares up at my face—he’s a few inches shorter than me—lips parted, no words to give.
Byron has nice eyes. Byron’s body is phenomenal.
I think Byron’s lips are shivering…
“Who the hell are you?” a voice snaps at me, coming from his pushy friend.
Unbeknownst to this chap, however, I’m not intimidated by stubborn narcissists. So I ignore him, focusing exclusively on Byron .
“Are you alright?” I ask him.
Based on the way they were arguing, and how aggressively Ren was coming at him, it feels like someone should check on Byron. And I think that someone should be me.
This time, he looks like he might respond, but before he can, Ren grabs him by the shoulders to put distance between us. “He’s fine. Don’t worry about him.” He snatches the soap out of my hand, glowering at me. “I asked you a question, asshole. Who… the hell … are you?”
Byron’s eyes bounce nervously between Ren and me, so I decide to finally acknowledge his friend, who already seems like the attention whore of the group.
Still, I didn’t like the way he was hassling Byron.
Not that I know anything about any of these blokes or their dynamic.
For all I know, rowing about could be their thing.
I slide my eyes over to him, purposely slow, and murmur, “My name is Trevel. And who, might I ask, are you?”
“You new here or something?” He squints at me without answering. “Why have I never seen you before?”
I glance at Byron, who’s still as stone, save for his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat—an insignificant movement that has me thrumming.
Returning to Ren, I reply, “Well, if you’ve never seen me before, it would only make sense that I’m new… yes?”
Ren’s light blue eyes harden in clear animosity that I’m not making any better by taunting him. “Watch the attitude, Mary Poppins, or I’ll slap the shit out of—”
“Hi! I’m Luthor.” The third member of their group gets involved, cutting off Ren’s threat by stepping in front of him. “Don’t mind Ren. He’s a little overprotective.”
Lex… Luthor, ah I get it! That’s cute.
I offer him a kind smile, peeking once more at his quiet friend, awaiting an official introduction.
“This is Kang,” Luthor says.
Right, we do surnames in prison.
I blink at the speechless simmering stranger… Byron Kang … and rasp, “Hello.”
“Hi,” he whispers, dark eyes locked on mine. Never wavering.
I like it. Bollocks, I like his voice too. Even that one tiny word sounds delicious coming from that mouth.
“Okay, Trevor, run along. Back to your beanstalk,” Ren snaps, inserting himself into the middle of everything, making himself the focal point. Again . “We need to get dressed.”
“It’s Trevel ,” I correct him with a bite.
I’m used to people mispronouncing my name, but that seemed intentional.
He confirms my suspicions when he quips, “Don’t care,” and begins physically pushing Byron away from me, in the direction of his clothes.
He’s still nattering on about something, but I’ve tuned him out. I’m too busy watching Byron Kang as he dresses hastily, casually peeking at me in between hopping on one leg into his pants.
I bite back a grin. I wonder if he’s…
“Now, that’s not very smart, is it?”
My face whips around. Leo?!
That was Leo’s voice! But I don’t see him anywhere…
Fuck me… Leo?! Where are you??
Clearing my throat, I remind myself to act normally in front of the prison cool kids, stowing my issues to obsess over later. Fiddling with the towel around my waist, I mumble to Byron, “Maybe I’ll see you around…”
I turn and shuffle off before he can react, kicking myself inside for being a bloody oddball. I hear the lot of them conversing again once I’ve left, and it sets a longing in my chest… For friends. Companionship .
Anything to distract from how loathsome my life is.
I’m dressing, all the while peeking left and right in search of Leo.
“Just show yourself,” I grumble under my breath. “I know you’re here…”
Of course, he doesn’t answer. It’s so typical of him to behave this way. To vanish as soon as the going gets tough and make me sort it all out on my own.
Officer Jameson and another guard, whose name I haven’t gotten yet—tall lad with shaggy hair and a baby face—order us all to gather up and leave the showers. And as much as I’d like to hang back and try speaking to Byron some more, I’m not in the mood to be barked at by his guard dog friend.
I’m feeling pensive as I march out of the showers behind the tall guard, practically mowing him down to get out of there. I just want to go back to my cell. Maybe then Leo will show up.
Gaze stuck on my shoes, I walk along with the herd, although, clearly, they don’t see it that way. I’m an outsider, the new guy.
I’m not one of them. I don’t fit in…
What else is new?
It was the same way in Kings County JDC—the juvenile detention center I was in for two years before Riverwoods.
We all may have technically been “children” according to the state of New York, but it felt every bit like an adult prison.
There were cells—though much bigger and nicer than these—and rules.
Discipline and routine being hammered into you until it begins happening like muscle memory. And there were definitely cliques .
In juvie, I was able to make a couple of fair-weather friends, more acquaintances than anything.
But just like on the outside, it never sticks.
I’m too socially awkward to make friends.
People see me and assume I’m a creep, or a weirdo.
And yes , both of those descriptors are accurate, but there must be other creeps and weirdos out there for me to befriend, right?
If ever there was a place for freaks and losers to come together, it would be here. And yet, I’m still an outcast.
Give it time. Comic Con wasn’t built in a day.
We come through the doors that lead to the rows of cells in general population, and Officer Jameson strides up, grabbing onto my arm. “You good?” She’s speaking to the other guard. His name tag says Hancock .
He simply nods, bringing the rest of the inmates through the next door, while the stern female guard tugs me in the direction of my cell.
My eyes linger over my shoulder, watching as they all file through, searching for one inmate in particular. But Officer Jameson shoves me and barks, “Keep up.”
See you later, Byron… Have a good night.