Chapter Four
A Concussion or Two
He had to scare off another shithead the next day. This time it was a guy called One-Ball (motorcycle accident) who was timing his showers with Eli’s again.
He waited for the CO to turn the corner, then shoved the man into the wall hard enough to rattle the teeth in his head. “Back off.”
“What?”
He punched him. Not across the face like an amateur, but in the stomach, where the sound was muted, and the pain was worse. One-Ball crumpled to the floor with a soundless gasp. That was another benefit to a good stomach punch. Without breath, you couldn’t shout.
“Thompson’s out of your league, you stupid shit.”
He had to dispatch another idiot soon after.
Some Casanova who decided to be slick and bring Eli some lunch.
Samuel shoved the tray up into the man’s face and sent him crashing into a table.
He’d meant to make it look like an accident, but he went too far.
It was sheer luck that the bump dissolved into a fight that involved multiple prisoners, otherwise he’d have been singled out and sent to solitary where he wouldn’t be able to protect anyone.
He thought the trouble had been averted, but then Eli himself appeared before him, and all the good humor was gone. “ What happened at lunch?”
He tried to go past him. “Lunch happened at lunch.”
Eli grabbed his shoulder and spun him back around. “Why are you picking fights?”
He jerked away. It took too much of his strength. The man was strong. Maybe stronger than him. The corners of his vision went black. Danger.
He made himself straight and strong. “The asshole bumped into me. It’s not my fault he’s clumsy.”
His back hit the wall. “There,” Eli said, voice flat. “Now I’ve bumped into you. What are you going to do about it?”
The floor was tilting and his throat burned. Danger . DANGER.
Eli stepped back. “You can’t get into fights. What if they add more time to your sentence?”
He forced himself to swallow the scream building in his chest. “What does it matter? I’m never getting out of here.”
Eli slapped him. It wasn’t hard. It didn’t even twist his head around, and it definitely wouldn’t leave a mark, but it shocked him into wordlessness.
“Doesn’t matter? I hope you don’t say things like that to your sister when she comes to visit.”
“Fuck you. Holier-than-thou asshole. Lecturing me like you aren’t wearing the same jumpsuit I am. Or did you forget about that, inmate ?”
Eli pressed his hand to the cheek he’d just abused. “I didn’t forget.”
The hand on his face was more shocking than the slap had been. He stumbled back, his body still screaming at him to run.
“I’m sorry, Samuel. I shouldn’ t have done that, but I was anxious. I heard one of the guys in the fight got sent to solitary, and I thought—”
“What do you care?”
The question burst out of him, sounding like just another moment of rudeness, but it was a real question.
“I told you. You’re my friend.”
“You’ve known me less than a week.”
“It was enough.”
“ Bullshit .”
They stared at each other. His hands were shaking again. They’d been shaking for a while, and he hadn’t realized in time to cover them. Shit . He needed the closet. “You’d better hurry. Visiting hours start soon.”
Eli didn’t move.
“If you’re late, your husband might wonder if you’ve already found yourself another piece of ass to tide you over.”
Eli said nothing.
He wanted to throw something. What was the man waiting for? Or was he just trying to psych him out?
“What?” he finally demanded, as obnoxiously as he could.
“I’m trying to think of what I can do to set you at ease around me, but I can’t think of anything.”
And he’d been worried it was something serious. “That’s right. There’s nothing. Now fuck off.”
Eli nodded, though he didn’t seem happy about it. “I’ll leave it to Nathaniel. He’s better at this than I am.”
“What? That’s not— no .”
But Eli was already waving goodbye. “I’ll tell him you said hi.”
Samuel growled and kicked at the wall. Then he went to find the closet again.
Eli’s visit didn’t go well. He knew it because Mathews, who was supervising visitation that day, told him so. “It’s always weird when the big ones cry, like seeing a hot chick in a wheelchair.”
Almost every word that came out of Mathews’ mouth was offensive, but he was used to that.
Eli crying? Not so much. He thought about approaching him but couldn’t think how to do it.
Especially after telling him they weren’t friends and calling him a condescending prick.
Still, he didn’t feel he could leave it at nothing. He tried to send Rat as an envoy.
“Want me to give him a hug while I’m at it?”
“ No .” He didn’t want anyone giving Eli hugs. “Just tell him what I said. That first visits are always difficult, but they get better. It’s the shock the jumpsuit that does it, I think. And getting treated like a prisoner. It doesn’t seem real to visitors until that moment.”
“So you want me to say you’re worried about him.”
He shoved Rat out of the way and climbed up to his bed. “Forget it. Don’t say anything. You’ll just screw it up.”
Rat sighed. “It’s not like he wants to hear from me anyway, princess. It’s you he wants.”
He jammed his head onto his pillow and yanked his blanket up to his chin.
There were still twenty minutes until lights out, but he was an expert at ignoring Rat.
Besides, it wasn’t Rat he was worried about.
He wanted to turn around and set his eyes on Eli’s bunk, still empty.
The man was in the showers again. He took them twice a day when the staff would let him.
“The only man more OCD than you,” was what Rat said the first time it happened.
I should have warned him, he thought, about how first visits are .
But he’d forgotten because he’d been too flustered. Even though his mind was constantly full of Eli, he wasn’t really thinking of him. Not in a way that helped. You see, Eli ? I’m not really your friend after all.
Saturday’s breakfast was reconstituted eggs, cardboard pancakes, and a watery sugar syrup that was supposed to be maple.
It was the best meal in prison, but he hardly tasted it.
He was thinking of Eli, choking down sardines with a broken heart.
The image was so terrible it made him push his tray away with only half his canned peaches eaten.
He ran to the library, determined to brainstorm a way to fix it.
Maybe he’d take the man down to laundry and teach him which machines to avoid.
Or he could try to make something more edible out of the gluten-free shit.
He’d already given the man one of his precious jars of Skippy’s the previous night.
Maybe he’d give him the other as well. It wasn’t fair to hoard something like that when there was already so little the man could eat.
He was still drawing up a list of possibilities when there was a knock on the doorframe. “Fuck off, Rat. I’m in the middle of—oh. It’s you.”
“Disappointed?”
He didn’t understand. The smile Eli was wearing looked genuine.
“Didn’t you—aren’t you sad?”
“Sad?”
“Your visit. I heard it didn’t go well.”
Eli’s smile stayed where it was. “Were you worried about me? Careful, Samuel. That’s something a friend might do.”
His scowl was inversely proportional to that smile. “Even your jokes belong to an old man.”
“I am an old man. Hailey says I’m a boomer. Now get up, or do you plan to make your sister wait?”
He glanced at the wall clock. It was five minutes to four. He jumped up so quickly he nearly knocked his chair over. Eli laughed. “Eager, aren’t we?”
Visitation time never snuck up on him like that. He blamed Eli. Not only was the man’s presence psychological torture, but he had a weird effect on time like he was sucking it in to feed his unearthly beauty.
He tried to shoulder past, but Eli was too quick. He hooked his arm through his like they were a couple of gals off to a picnic.
“What the hell?”
He tried to shake him loose, but Eli was wilier than he looked and had already pinned the arm in place. “You’ve proved we’re friends, so we should go together like friends.”
“Friends don’t hold each other hostage.”
“I’m just making sure you don’t trip. You should be thanking me.”
Eli’s bicep was like a melon digging into his arm, and the man’s deltoid was pressed firmly into his shoulder. It was like being tourniquet'd by a steroid abusing anaconda.
“What the hell kind of workouts do you do?”
Eli grinned. “Better enjoy it while it lasts. I’m already wasting away.”
He didn’t see what was funny about that. Had Eli already lost weight? Would he continue to do so?
“We’ll buy out commissary. I get on the line early every Monday, so I can get whatever you want and tell Frank to order more of your shit.
Hold-ups can happen with the orders, but that’s why you need to stock up.
We’ll build you a pantry, but keep your food with my stuff for now until we’ve established that no one’s out to steal yours.
Though honestly, with the stuff you eat, I don’t think it’s a danger, but there are some real weirdoes here, and some steal just to—why are you laughing? ”
Samuel wasn’t used to making people laugh. He’d never thought of himself as particularly funny, but Eli seemed to laugh at everything, and now he was laughing so hard it was making him nervous.
“It’s because you—” Eli broke off, the laughter too strong. What did Nathaniel do when the man laughed? Did his stomach hurt too, or was he used to that infuriating beauty? Could you grow used to it?
“Because I what?” He made his voice cold. Usually that sobered people up. Not Eli, who broke into a fresh wave of laughter. He gave up. There was no use in trying to understand a weirdo. He gave the man’s arm a tug. “Hurry up. Don’t keep your husband waiting.”
Usually, he was the first to the gate. Now there was the Saturday line, always because of the extra visitation volume.
“This is your fault, laughing like that.”