Chapter Fifteen #2
I look away fast, but he leans in and hums, “Willing to share?”
I nearly trip over my feet. “Huh??” Gawking at him, my muscles are all bunched up, even more heat rising into my face.
He smirks innocently, holding out his hand. “The candy.”
“Oh, yea… Um, sure,” I stammer, feeling stupid as I shake some Skittles into his palm. He’s got an array of colors. “I hope you like those…”
“I don’t discriminate, Byron,” he croons, inching even closer to my ear to purr, “I enjoy all the flavors of the rainbow.”
What the…
Suddenly, my throat is super dry, and my palms are sweating. I hope I’m not melting my Skittles. “Okay, um… cool,” I croak, then clear my throat, distracting myself by dumping more candy into my mouth.
Trevel chuckles out a growly sound while chewing his candy. And I’m pretending my face isn’t flushing from that comment, though I have no clue why it would be. It’s just candy…
We’re talking about candy.
While I’m desperately trying to think of anything cool to say in response, Ren stomps up to my back. “Hey, B, did Luthor tell you about his dream?”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Trevel picks up speed, floating ahead of me. Like a reflex, vanishing before Ren notices him. It’s unclear whether Ren missed us talking, or is choosing to ignore it, but clearly Trevel has no interest in sticking around to test the waters with him again.
My eyes are lingering on the back of the mysterious newbie’s slim frame and messy, dark strands, while Luthor strides up beside me, griping, “It wasn’t a big deal.”
“Yes, it was! Babe, you had a dream about Batman and Superman getting it on,” Ren cackles. “That’s fucking awesome!”
“It was not a sex dream,” Luthor mumbles, face flushing noticeably, which means it probably was .
But still. I prefer to protect him over giving in to Ren’s objectives.
“Ren, cut the shit,” I grumble, still subtly watching the tall dude in front of us.
“No need to be embarrassed, Lex,” Ren goes on. “If I had a nickel for every time I’ve dreamt about Henry Cavill, I’d have enough nickels to build a life-size Henry Cavill statue with fully functioning genitalia. Ooh, Skittles! Hit me up, boo.”
Ren starts trying to grab the bag, but I yank it away. “Back off. These are mine.”
“Sharing is caring.” He pouts. “Come on! Just a few… I only like the reds, anyway. Don’t even try to give me any other color.”
I peek at Trevel once more, before hissing at Ren, “I’m not giving you any, period.”
“Meow.” He throws me a salty look, and I toss it right back.
I know he knows I’m still pissed at him, which is obviously why he’s badgering me so much. For all of his sociopathic tendencies, Ren can’t stand knowing someone is mad at him and being unable to smooth it over.
Typical. He always has to be the star.
Rook opens the door to our row, motioning for us to go through. I give one last glance in Trevel’s direction, and this time, our eyes meet.
“Until next time,” he hums to me on his way past, following Joy to the other door. “And hey… Don’t waste any of those.”
He grins as he turns away. I walk to my cell with my brows zipped, unable to help how I’m overanalyzing his words.
Inside, once everyone is gone and I’m left to my own devices, I dump out my remaining Skittles onto my bed, sorting them into little piles by color. And I eat them all, one by one, savoring each flavor, until they’re gone.
I found an old black Sharpie and decided to color my fingernails.
Fuck it, right? No more Dad around to scold me because “boys don’t paint their nails.”
I guess I’m an emo kid at heart, though I never fit into their cliques in high school.
But I’ve loved the music ever since I turned fourteen and discovered Taking Back Sunday.
Plus, ninety-nine percent of my wardrobe has always been black.
I don’t think that means anything per se, but my parents hated it. They thought it made me seem depressed.
An accurate assessment, but whatever.
I used to think guys with black fingernails looked cool, but I wouldn’t have dared to do it myself in front of my father. Now that I don’t have to worry about what he thinks, though, I’m going for it.
Maybe reinventing my look will make me feel better. Maybe it will help me understand who the hell I even am…
Too bad it’s not real fucking nail polish, and most of it comes off in the showers.
On the way back, I’m looking around eagerly. I’m not really sure what, or who, I’m searching for. And if I am, I’m not trying to think about it. Completely unrelated, I haven’t seen the new guy at all today.
Not that I care. It’s just… interesting.
“So what were you and Slenderman talking about yesterday?” Ren asks in an accusatory tone, as if somehow reading my mind.
“ Who? ” I play dumb.
“You know who ,” he counters. “I saw you chatting it up with that British beanpole like you two were the best of friends. What gives?”
“Okay, you sound insane,” I mutter. “We exchanged a few words, what’s the big damn deal??”
“If it’s not a big deal , then tell us what you talked about.” He continues pestering me, like the most annoying person on earth.
Taking a deep breath, I let it out slowly before I answer, “Skittles.”
He blinks at the side of my face. “ Skittles ?”
“That’s right.”
“You talked to the new guy about… Skittles?”
“ Yes , Ren,” I grunt.
“You’re such a bullshitter.” He huffs.
“Oh, wow… That’s rich,” I hiss.
“You guys, please ,” Luthor whines, rubbing his eyes.
“No, seriously. The fact that you can even expect me to tell you anything is a goddamn joke,” I scoff directly at Ren, shaking my head.
“Why don’t you bother Darcey about his conversations?
No? Just me?? Okay, cool. Well, I don’t know what about this friendship has made you feel like you own me, but I’m not your fucking pet, Warren . ”
At the end of my tirade, I’m exhausted and wound up all the same. I can feel my blood boiling, the color red seeping into my every thought.
I really wanna hit something…
“Byron, what the fuck—”
“Simmer down, inmates,” Brenner cuts off whatever defense Ren was going to make, separating us with a shove on my back, through the doorway to the row.
He drags me over to my cell, opening it and grumbling, “We haven’t had a quiet night in a while, 62. We gonna have one tonight, or what?”
I freeze and stare at him, eyes wide.
Quiet Night… Did he just say…?
Brenner lifts his brows, like he’s waiting for me to answer his seemingly rhetorical question. I’m stunned and still unsure of whether he’s actually suggesting what I think he is.
But regardless, I immediately start nodding. “Yea… Yea, totally. We can have a… Quiet Night . No problem.”
He winks, then pats me on the back. “Good.”
Stomping away with the slam of my bars, he leaves, and I’m filled with a sudden morbid sense of thrill, effectively distracting me from that irritating argument with Ren.
Maybe it’s unhealthy to crave beating someone bloody this much, but fuck it. I haven’t sparred in months. Haven’t fought in even longer.
Not only is the prospect of getting out some of this aggression I seem to have piling up inside me like a game of Tetris thrilling, but also the much-needed change of scenery. Since the lockdown, things have been next-level boring up in here.
Man, Dash really jacked things up. I love the kid, but he’s like a walking earthquake. Still, I miss that chaotic little dumpling.
My mind drifts to the night of the storm, but I shut that shit down quick and refocus on fighting .
I decide to spend the rest of the night training.
I do one-hundred push-ups, then one-hundred sit-ups, then one-hundred pull-ups off the top bunk.
My muscles are straining, and I’m breathing heavily, but I love it.
Not that I don’t do this stuff constantly as it is, but right now, I feel like Rocky.
I’m humming “Eye of the Tiger” while I jog in place and throw practice jabs at nothing, the adrenaline inside me thrumming. I guess I’m doing this for hours, because eventually the lights go off in the row. And finally, Linetti shows up.
“Let’s go, 62,” he says quietly.
Fuck yes.
He brings me and a few other inmates down to the basement , a silent march through the darkness under strict orders not to make a sound.
When we walk into the rec room, Brenner’s already there, collecting cash from the other guards while inmates are fucking around, stretching and gathering up in a big circle.
Inhaling deep, I let it out slowly. Fuck, I missed this… The zeal that rushes up my spine. The lust for violence that sets my teeth on edge.
The adrenaline of doing something you’re not supposed to wakes me up. A pungent punch to my senses, like a whiff of smelling salts.
I’m ready.
“Hey.” Linetti grabs my arm before I can make a beeline toward the bags to see if Joy’s and my supplies are still over there. I turn to glower at him. “This goes without saying, but if I find out you’ve got another cellphone stashed down here, you’ll be shitting your teeth out for a week. Got it?”
I can’t help how my lips twist in amusement at his threat. That’s cute. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He rolls his eyes, shoving me forward. “Don’t disappoint tonight, Kung Fu Panda.”
Bite me, asshole.
Striding away from him, I go for the tape. Thank fuck it’s still here.
I’m wrapping my knuckles as a tall form appears in my peripheral. Glancing up, my eyes widen.
“So, underground prison fights.” Trevel Fenwick sighs, looking around the room. “I suppose that’s one way to pass the time…”
“What are you doing here?” I ask, baffled by this turn of events.
Why would they bring him?? Does he even fight?
“I honestly have no idea,” he huffs out of amusement. “That large one over there—”
“Brenner,” I interrupt, and he shrugs.
“Sure, why not. He barged in, disrupting my beauty sleep, and dragged me down here without a word.” His eyes fall to my knuckles. “Should I be doing that?”
“Do you…” My voice trails, and I blink. “Are you a fighter?”