Chapter Eighteen #2
It’s been at least a full day since the new regime showed up, and I still don’t know what to think, other than that, against all reasoning, Alabaster Pen has somehow become even more unpredictable.
For hours, we were all left cuffed inside our cells, surrounded by the mess those dickless fucks made for no goddamn reason. No food, no showers. Just noise, in and out of my head.
Eventually, some oafish prick came by to remove my cuffs, and thankfully, it was before I was forced to piss my pants. But that was probably twelve hours ago, and we’ve all been in our cells ever since.
Sure, I’m starving and dirty, but more than either of those things, I want fucking answers.
What’s the purpose of all this?
Is it just the Warden’s way of sticking it to Velle after their falling out? Or is there more to the arrival of the Officers from Hell than meets the eye?
They’ve come to fuck shit up, that much is clear. And from the looks of it, they’re getting down to brass tax.
I haven’t seen Trevel since he was cuffed and hauled off, and I can’t help the way my stomach has been bunched in concern. Not just for him… For all of them.
Luthor’s voice crying out to me that he’s sorry has been playing in my mind on repeat; a mashup with Ren’s screams when they were ripped apart. I don’t know where they took him, but I haven’t heard his voice since that last moment of him cursing at them while he was hauled away.
Fighting or not, he’s still my friend . It’s not like I want him to be physically harmed in any sort of permanent fashion.
I just can’t stop picturing the looks on their faces when I finally voiced my grievances and called them out—in the rec room, right before all hell broke loose.
It’d been a long time coming, honestly. They deserved to know how I feel… That I’m not going to sit by and let them use me anymore. I have fucking feelings too, and I refuse to be some sidelined, walk-on role in the Luthor and Ren Show.
Not anymore.
And despite what I’m sure they think, my newfound friendship with Trevel has nothing to do with it. I’ve been needing to get that shit off my chest since long before Trevel got here.
Okay , maybe their incessant lecturing did sort of light the fuse on the dynamite of my aggravation. And having him on my side—as someone in my corner for once—might have given me the courage to finally speak my mind. Just a little. But that wasn’t the whole reason I flipped out.
Could I possibly be harboring some internal guilt over blatantly lying to their faces?
Sure. Because I looked them in the eye and told them Trevel and I had only spoken a few words to each other…
And that’s certainly not the extent of our relationship.
Not that what we’re doing is a relationship at all.
We’re just friends… who sort of accidentally made each other come in the heat of a bizarre, sexually charged moment I haven’t stopped obsessing over since it happened.
But that’s our business, no one else’s. Trevel was happy to keep what happened between us between us , and I’ve been hiding things from Luthor and Ren for years.
What’s one more secret hookup to add to the book?
The truth is that despite how much I enjoy spending time with Trevel, and how unexpectedly fantastic it felt to come in my pants with him like a couple of horny teens, I still don’t really know him.
I don’t know why he’s here, or what his connection is to The Ivory…
The true nature of his disdain for Dr. Love.
Those could very well be the things my friends were referencing.
But it doesn’t matter, because I do know them , and I don’t feel like their concerns were fully genuine. Maybe from Luthor… But definitely not Ren.
The things we’ve done together, all the ways Ren’s used me over the years… He deserves to feel bad. I hate to say it, but he needed that knife in his chest, plunged and twisted.
Still, that doesn’t make it hurt any less now that I have no idea where he is or what’s happening to him.
Eventually, after an extended amount of time and far too much stewing, I hear the door open at the end of the row. The stomping carries with it an immediate and unfamiliar voice.
“Attention inmates of Alabaster Pen!” a man shouts. I scramble up and over to the bars to peer out into the row. “This is an important announcement, so shut the fuck up and listen. You’ll want to pay attention, because I’m only gonna say this once!”
It’s one of the new guards. He’s slightly out of view, but I can just barely make him out. Large, brown-skinned, black hair, neck tattoos. I’m picking up a slight accent… Maybe Colombian, since that’s where The Ivory is from.
But the most distinguishing thing about his appearance is a uniform unmistakably different from the one Velle and his guards wear.
“Starting right the fuck now, we’re instituting a no-talking order for general population. This means that every single second spent outside of your cell should be done in absolute silence.”
Naturally, a bunch of people start barking back, arguing and cursing.
The guy roars, “That wasn’t an invitation to open your fucking mouths!
The quiet game should start the moment myself or my colleagues enter this row!
When you’re in the halls, showers, or the caf, you will not speak , you got me?
That door opens, your mouths close! Anyone who disobeys will learn the hard way how serious we are. ”
The row is quiet for a moment before someone—sounds like Simmons—calls out, “What about other noises…? Like laughing, or—”
“You should not be laughing,” the guy cuts him off with a stern glare aimed at Simmons’s cell.
“I don’t know what the fuck could possibly be funny about this place, but laughter means you’re not miserable enough.
And we’ll have to change that.” He pulls a billy club off of his holster and begins walking up and down the row, banging it against the wall.
“ No talking. No noise. That means not a sound . You gotta shit your pants outside of your cell, you do it silently or your nasty ass will rot in the hole. Am I clear?! ”
He stands still for a moment, as if he’s waiting for something. And of course, some idiot decides to say, “Yea, sure.”
The guard stomps over and whacks his billy club against the cell bars. The inmate—I think it was Fuller—wails in pain. I’m pretty sure the dude smashed his fingers.
God…
Without another word, the asshole storms off, leaving us all to bitch and moan among ourselves. Once the door is closed, that is.
Weighted and sullen, I drag myself back over to my bed and crash down on it like I’m full of gravel.
A no-talking order… Really?? As if this place wasn’t terrible enough, now we have to spend our every human interaction in silence??
I already have no cellmate, which means no one to talk to for a majority of the day. Now I’ll never be able to speak to anyone again.
Fucking lovely.
Many more hours pass before the door opens again. Surprisingly, everyone shuts the fuck up this time.
A different dead-eyed prick shows up outside my cell, opening the door while I stand back. “Assume the position, inmate,” he grumbles.
I do as I’m told, hands and forehead on the wall. He pats me down, then cuffs me—behind my back, which sucks. Velle rarely did that.
He drags me out and barks, “Move.”
I can’t help but notice that only myself and four others from this row are going. Glancing over my shoulder, I look for Luthor.
I guess he’s not coming…
As we pass Ren’s cell, I see that it’s still empty.
“Face forward, inmate!” the guard snaps, and I straighten.
The six of us march toward the caf in complete silence. It’s highly unnerving. Granted, I was never a fan of the mindless chatter, or the loud bellows of my fellow prisoners. But this is an extreme swing in the opposite direction. I feel even deader inside than I already did.
When we get to the cafeteria, there are a few inmates and another one of the new guards already in here. Still, it’s a grand total of ten. That’s less than half the usual group size. This deteriorating room is a million times creepier when it’s silent and practically empty.
My inner turmoil is interrupted when I spot Trevel, sitting alone at his usual table. My heart does this leap thing, which I won’t read too much into. Call it relief, seeing a friend amidst the isolation and dismay.
Trevel looks up as I’m wandering over to the chow line, his face noticeably brighter in an instant. He smiles and waves, and I can’t stop my lips from quirking as I wave back.
Jesus, you’re corny.
What about interacting with this dude turns everything into fucking high school??
I take a seat across from him at his table, blinking while he beams.
“Hey,” he whispers, sloping forward. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”
“Shh!” I place my finger to my lips, glancing around for the guards. They’re circling the cafeteria like vultures on the hunt for fresh roadkill.
Trevel frowns and shakes his head. Once he’s placed them across the room, he leans in even closer, melting those deep purple eyes over me. “Are you doing alright?”
Peeking over my shoulder once more, just to be sure, I mumble, “Been better, but I guess I’m managing. You?”
He shrugs. “I haven’t been here long enough to know if this is different or not.”
My chest rumbles in amusement. “Oh, it’s different. Velle’s been in charge since this place started… Running the show for over ten years with his team. These assholes showing up must mean—”
Trevel’s eyes widen as a loud thwack! comes from behind me; the sound of a billy club being slammed down on the table.
“What was that rule we just warned you about, inmate?!” the guard roars.
Cringing, I’m hunched and stiff with nerves, too afraid to turn around and see him glaring at me. My lips part, but before I can speak, a different voice mutters, “Um… no talking?”
My face flings, and I see that the guard is actually scolding Matthews. Not me.
Phew.
But then he lifts his arm and shouts, “ No. Talking! ”