Two Batshit
Osiris
I’ve been locked up since I was sixteen years old, and even though I was technically outside longer than I’ve been inside, it really doesn’t feel that way. It feels like this is the only home I’ve ever known.
I grew up in a war zone, never knowing an ounce of peace until I set myself free. Although being in prison isn’t ideal for anyone considered sane, it’s still the only place I’ve had happiness. I get along with most of the guys here these days and know how it feels to eat three square meals a day. Yeah, it tastes like cardboard ninety percent of the time, but at least it’s food. One thing I’ve learned in here is not to complain. You get what you get and it is what it is. Complaining won’t get you anywhere when you’re a convict.
Still, I’m twenty-four years old and I feel like I’ve missed out on life. I’ve never had a driver’s license, never gone grocery shopping or paid a bill. I’ve never even had a girlfriend. When I was young I thought I had all the time in the world to learn how to talk to women, so I played it like I was too cool to let any of them tie me down, and now here I am eight years later with the same experience I had then. I tried to make a move on Officer Rojas when she first got transferred here, but she didn’t even give me the time of day. It’s fine though, she really isn’t even my type... I just wanted to see if it’d work.
Thanks to Lock & Key I’ve spoken to people on the outside, but I’ve always kept them at arm’s length to protect myself. Most of the women on that site seem far too desperate to be attractive, and it’s clear as day that it’s an act. They don’t actually want a prison inmate as a man, they just want some entertainment, and to be fair, so do I — that’s why I have the damn pen pal account in the first place. The day-to-day can get pretty fucking mundane.
If it wasn’t for our strict schedule, I’d probably lose my damn mind staring at the walls. We wake up and go to sleep at the same time every day, eat, work, shower, and workout at the same time every day, and everyone else fights over the phones at the same time every day.
At least that’s one thing I don’t have to worry about. I don’t have anyone to call.
“Wanna go to the rec room?” I ask my cellmate, trying hard not to feel bitter about the fact that he’s getting out any day now. “It’s been a few days since I checked my emails and I’m pretty sure Mrs. Asuma is missing me.”
Jen Asuma is an 86 year old widow that joined Lock & Key to keep herself busy, and aside from Cohen Ridge here, she’s the only other person I actually consider a friend.
She sends me money for snacks.
“Sure. Watching you flirt with old ladies is the only entertainment worth anything around here.” Flipping his legs over the side of his bunk, he drops down and clasps my shoulder. “Maybe this time she’ll send pics.”
“I hope not,” I say with a chuckle. “Imagine the look on their faces when they screen my shit... actually, I hope she does. Not like we’ll see it, and they’ll be scarred for life.” We stop and talk to a few people along the way, avoiding the angry dudes with a chip on their shoulder so we can keep our moods up, and when we arrive I’m completely surprised to find a computer open. Usually we have to wait. “You gonna miss this site when you’re out?”
“Fuck no. I get to go back out into the wild where you actually get to meet the chicks you talk to on the internet. Why would I miss this frustrating shit?”
“Whatever. Don’t have to rub it in, dick. It’s fucked up you got here after me and you’re leaving first — you know what? I don’t want to talk about it. Shut up.”
Cohen laughs quietly and pushes me down into the empty chair. “I had a good lawyer and the rest of your time will go quicker than you think. Let’s see what Old Lady Asuma had to say this time.”
It takes an annoyingly long time to login thanks to the shitty service, but once I’m in I scroll past multiple messages that I have no intention of opening in search of Jen’s email. Before I find it though, I come across a subject line that catches my attention.
You’re bullshit.
“I’m bullshit? Is this spam? Do spammers cuss at people?” I move to open the message and have to shove Cohen back a step so I can breathe. “Nosey ass.”
“I don’t think we get spam. Open it.”
Curiously, I open it up to see for myself, and my smile grows with every single word I take in.
This beautiful blonde chick is really angry.
So, hi. I normally don’t message random felons on the internet, but you look like sunshine and hellfire had a baby. It’s really not my fault. It’s your fault. Who gave you the right to look like that? Your smile is the real crime here. Did you murder someone with that dimple of yours? I’m talking too much. Shut up. Not you, me. This is stupid. Why am I doing this? I’m honestly still typing because my friend thinks I’m lonely and can’t find a man who isn’t incarcerated and your ridiculous smile was daring me to, so... you get to experience this absolute trainwreck with me.
Okay, this has been not fun at all and I’m sure you won’t respond.
I want you to disrespect me — I mean, disrespectfully,
Sienna
“The fuck?” I laugh, reading it two more times before I say anything else. “Sunshine and hellfire? Is that a bad thing?”
He pinches his eyebrows and squints at me, so close to my face I shove him back again. “I don’t know. Chicks like sunshine, right? I don’t know anyone who likes hellfire. Maybe she’s saying only half your face is cute.”
“Then she’s the one who’s bullshit. My whole face is cute... she did specifically talk about my one dimple, though. Kev,” I call out to another dude. “Come read this message and tell me whether she’s actually complimenting me or not.”
His giant ass lumbers around the side of the table and leans in, eyes darting across the message. “Oh, yeah. That’s a compliment. She’s pissed she’s into you. Sounds a little insane to me.”
Insane? Maybe. But I’ve never been known for being sane, I am a murderer after all. “I’m gonna respond. I think her kind of crazy is what I need.”
Kev shakes his head and waves me off as he leaves me to my own stupid devices, but Cohen pulls up a chair. “See? This is the shit I’m talking about. Entertaining as hell.”
“This is the best message I’ve ever gotten.” To be fair, I haven’t opened all of them. Apparently there’s some social media platform out there that made messaging inmates a trend, so most of them aren’t worth it. “Sienna Conley. 32 years old and not religious. She’s obviously single, but how the fuck does that work when she looks like this?”
Just looking at her sarcastic-ass smile has me hard.
“She’s probably batshit,” Cohen mumbles. “But god damn, she’s pretty. You gonna respond?”
“Course I am. Finally got a message from a baddie that didn’t call me daddy.” I can’t stop myself from laughing at the dumbass rhyme. “I couldn’t care less if she’s batshit, can I really throw stones from my glass prison? I’m gonna fuck with her a little though.”
Well alright then, Sienna. Hello to you too. I gotta say, I’ve never enjoyed being disrespected more than I did in your message. I don’t know why it wasn’t fun for you, but I enjoyed the trainwreck personally. I think you should elaborate on the whole sunshine and hellfire baby thing though, because the boys say it’s a compliment and I’m not so sure. You seem pretty annoyed you’re attracted to me, and I don’t know why but that only makes me want to get under your skin — I mean get to know you more. What are you into? What’s your favorite food? Can you tell me about the dinosaurs? Were they as vicious in person as they were portrayed in documentaries?
I’d respectfully love to disrespect you,
Si