Chapter Eighteen #3
Swinging the billy club right into the side of Matthews’s head, he knocks the poor bastard out with one hit.
Matthews crumples off of the bench seat onto the floor, and we all gape in horror—and of course, silence—as the guard just struts away, continuing his rotation like nothing happened.
Leaving the dude bleeding on the ground.
Fuck.
After that, Trevel and I don’t speak another word.
No one does. We all eat in fraught silence, enveloped by a tension so eerie it’s like its own presence in the room.
When the meal is over, the guards bring us ten inmates to the showers where we wash ourselves in the same strained, speechless trance.
I think I’m seeing the purpose of this no-talking order. It’s a way of isolating us, even with people around.
Touché, Ivory.
On our way back, I’m being suffocated by looming despondence. Nothing matters. Thanks to this new regime, even if I wanted to open up to someone, now I physically can’t . Unless we opt to pass secret notes in the halls. Again , like fucking high school.
We get to the row, and I shoot Trevel an expression of reluctant goodbye , paired with a small wave that I just know looks pathetic, but I can’t help it. He doesn’t get to return it, though, because that guy, Kent, swings around the corner.
He looks to Trevel, then me, then the guard behind us. “These two are going in together.”
Trevel and I are frozen, dumbfounded, while the guard cocks his head. But he doesn’t argue, not the way Velle would if someone popped up telling him what to do like that.
He simply asks, “In which cell?”
Kent nods in the direction of the row. Meaning my cell. Then he says to Trevel, “You’re moving. I’ll bring your things by later.”
Um, hang on… What’s happening??
Trevel looks just as thrown off as I’m feeling, but when the guard ushers us both over to my cell and shoves us inside, a very visible delight washes over his face. Our cuffs are removed, and we’re left alone, together , with the slam of the bars.
Wait, so… he’s actually my cellmate now??
Trevel releases a beaming smile that shows off his straight, white teeth. The more I look at his smile, the more I notice that it’s actually a tiny bit crooked. And he has only one dimple on the left side.
I like it. The imperfections somehow make it… prettier.
I gulp over a suddenly dry throat.
Oh, boy.
This might be bad.
“Byron…” He sighs my name, face alit, eyes twinkling. “I can’t believe it. We’re roomies!” He bites his lip, and I swallow hard again. “This is going to be so fun!”
My head swivels back and forth. I’m still too confused to process this unexpected turn of events. “Why… would they move you?”
His smile fades, forehead lining. “I’m not positive, but I had mentioned that I was sick of living alone… I suppose Manuel decided to listen.”
Manuel…?
He calls The Ivory… Manuel ??
“Okay, I’d really like to know why the Warden does things for you,” I grumble, brushing my damp hair back with my fingers. “Do you know him or something?”
He gives me a look. “No. He expects me to do him favors, and in return, he makes my life a little easier in here. It’s nothing scandalous.”
I stare at him for a moment, an icky feeling weaving around my insides. “Like what? What favors ?”
“So far, he only wants me to begin sessions with Dr. Love,” he answers casually, puttering around my cell— our cell, I guess—poking at things.
“Why would that be a favor he’d want from you?” My consternation is evident as I watch him touching my stuff.
“You’d have to ask him that.” Trevel takes a seat on my bed and bounces. “The mattress in my cell is much better. I wonder if Kent will bring it over…”
“That’s my bed.” I step up to him. “You’ll have to take the top.”
His already elated expression shifts to one much more wicked. “I have no problem doing that for you, Byron. You just have to ask nicely .” He smirks, and I scowl.
I stand over him, muscles stiffening. “Let’s get one thing clear, alright?
Just because we’re sharing a cell now, doesn’t mean we’ll be, like…
” My voice trails as his smirk widens. I gulp.
“Whatever. Just… act normal, okay? I’m happy to have you here as my cellmate , but that’s it.
This isn’t gonna turn into some damn cuddlefest.”
Trevel purses his lips to tone down that crooked smile. “Fine. Apparently, you call the shots in here, Raph,” he sneers, and I squint. “I promise, I’ll be as platonic as I can manage.”
Exhaling a sigh of defeat, I rub my eyes, already exasperated by him. He chuckles wickedly at my expense.
I really don’t want to think about it right now… But this dude is shockingly similar to Ren.
Maybe that’s why Ren hates him so much. We all know Ren hates himself.
The irony of all this is tripping me out. Every time I lose a Michelangelo, I get one back.
Blinking down at my new roomie, I push that thought away.
He’s not Michelangelo. Because Michelangelo doesn’t exist anymore.
And neither does the version of me I was when I was with him.
“Get off my bed,” I growl, frustrated by all of this overthinking.
I’ve been so bored and lonely since O’Malley left. It’s been months, and now I finally have a cellmate again. I should be happy. But instead, I’m stressing, and I can’t pinpoint why.
Well, I’m sure I can . But like most things, I’m choosing to bury it.
Trevel gets up and climbs to the top bunk while I flop onto my bed. I can feel him moving around up there, the rickety frame shifting as he tosses and turns.
Jeez, I forgot how much the bunk rocks.
“Byron…” he mumbles once he finally stops wiggling around.
“Yea?” I sigh.
“I’m happy to be your cellmate too.” The grin in his voice is audible.
I roll my eyes, nestling under my blanket. It’s pretty early, but for the first time in a while, my eyelids are heavy. I think I might actually get some sleep tonight.
“Byron?”
If my new cellmate ever shuts the hell up.
“ Yes? ” I answer impatiently.
“Would you mind if I used our toilet to make some good old-fashioned prison hooch with the rest of my fruit?”
A disturbed expression covers my face. “That sounds disgusting. I’ll have to insist that you don’t do that.”
He chuckles. “ Fine . I’ll use the sink.”
I huff, closing my eyes. Silly bastard.
Eventually, Trevel’s shimmying begins rocking me to sleep. I’m fucking exhausted .
I could really use the rest.
“Byron…?” He chirps again, and I groan.
“What??”
There’s a moment of pause before he asks softly, “Why is there a hole in this mattress?”
My eyes shoot open.
So much for that idea.