32. Player
PLAYER
My father was serious when he told me I would spend several days in jail, as the clanking door behind me attests to. And honestly, I feel so low, with absolutely no control over my life, that I don't even resist when they bring me into the in-processing building.
"Take off your clothes," the guard orders me.
I stare at him without flinching. An urge to punch anything that moves rises inside me, and I have to fight not to give in to it. I'm aware that if I acted on it, I'd end up here for a long stretch, not just for a few days this time.
Seeing that I'm not obeying, the guard grabs my arm and pushes me into a small room, closing the door behind me. I notice a folded uniform on the small metal shelf that’s bolted into the concrete wall.
My father has a long reach, and not for the better.
He has connections throughout the entire country, business and political.
I'm not stupid, I know there are plenty of illegal arrangements in his life and that it's also part of his business.
But damn, I'd like to stay out of it. And above all, I wish he would forget about me.
Unfortunately for me, I'm his only son, so there's no chance he'll leave me alone .
I clench my teeth and begin to undress. After being put through the humiliation of showing I’ve got nothing on my body and to do the infamous nude ‘squat and cough,’ I quickly put on the uniform that's so orange it almost makes me sick just looking at it.
Orange is the new black... Yeah, right. It's only on TV that prison life is exciting. In reality, it really sucks.
As they lead me through the corridors to a cell, I feel less and less human, and more like an animal being led to slaughter.
What are you complaining about? If Bolton hadn't intervened, you'd have been here for months already!
I silence the little voice in my head that keeps defending this disgusting man.
They unlock a door before leading me into a cell. Bunk beds are built into one wall, and on the other side are a toilet, a table, and a chair. I quickly notice that the furniture is all concrete and emerges from the floor as if it were built that way. Probably was.
"Enjoy your stay," the guard tells me with a crude laugh.
Damn, this fat jerk finds my situation amusing! I stare at him, wanting to shove his head into the toilet until he swallows the water. Then I'd smash his face in. Yes, that idea is really satisfying.
But the door slams in my face before I've attempted anything. I'm well aware that I risk ending up here for good if I put even one foot wrong.
A noise behind me makes me turn around. A guy is sitting on the top bunk, staring at me with a crazy gleam dances in his eyes, and I wonder who he is.
"What did you do to end up here?" he asks me without preamble.
I frown.
"What's it to you?" I growl .
With a quick movement, he gets up and climbs down from the bed to approach me.
I don't flinch under his threatening gaze.
If he thinks he compares to Bolton Boardman.
The man who raised me is probably the scariest person I've ever met: beneath his almost pleasant appearance lurks a monster shaped by cruelty and violence.
My cellmate sizes me up. He's waiting for me to show the slightest sign of weakness so he can take advantage of it, but he can keep dreaming. “It’s considered prison etiquette.”
"You really want to know?" I say. I let a silence pass for dramatic effect, and finally I declare, "I want to kill my father."
Just saying it out loud gives me a sick relief. Yes, sometimes I wish it were true. I tell myself that a world where Bolton Boardman didn't exist would be a better world. But I'm not a criminal, and certainly not a killer.
No, you're just a little bitch that your father can take out his frustration on whenever he needs to.
I clench my fists.
The guy facing me narrows his eyelids before asking, "Because he was sticking his dick in your mouth?"
A violent nausea grips my throat, but I don't answer. No, Bolton's monstrosity didn't go that far. Even though he had plenty of ideas when it came to punishment, he never raped me.
"Mind your own business," I snap at him.
The man doesn't back down, and he gives me a knowing look before walking away.
I turn my attention to the gray-painted walls, thinking that the next two days might be the most challenging of my entire life.
Being locked up without being able to exercise is probably the worst thing that could be inflicted on me.
The hours pass with exasperating slowness, and I have all the time I need to dwell on everything I've done wrong in my life. When I get to Dixie, the list gets so long it makes my head spin.
How could she have let me into her life only for me to ruin everything?
Bitterness washes over me. If I had been different, if I wasn't such a dark idiot, maybe we could have had a beautiful story together.
Yes, she would have fallen in love with me and I would have felt the same.
Because she's extraordinary—her way of thinking, her way of being, her way of making love.
.. everything about her is sublime. But she's not meant for me.
Or rather, I'm not meant for anyone because I always end up destroying any good thing that happens to me.
Every moment spent in this jail reminds me what a massive failure I am.
No wonder my father thought he needed to set me straight.
Every decision I make leads me down the wrong path.
So in the end, I convince myself that I deserve the punishment, whether it's getting kicked out or doing time in prison.
In many ways, I'm no better than the guys imprisoned here. And to be honest, if my father hadn't pulled some strings, I'd be locked up too.
Memories come flooding back, and lying on the bottom bunk, with nothing to stare at but the mattress above me, I do nothing to push them away...
High school is nothing but a big joke! The teachers leave me alone and give me good grades as long as I show up, show out on the football field, and don't cause trouble in their classes. Their generosity is all the more abundant since my father dishes out the dollars.
Practice is over, and I'm heading outside when Baxter catches up with me.
The guy I spend most of my time with is far from popular with the teaching staff, and he's often come close to expulsion, a rarity in the private school world.
In a way, we're alike, two kids from rich families who've been dumped in a Manhattan private school that costs an arm and a leg .
"You ready for tonight?" he asks me.
"I can't wait!"
Baxter gives me a knowing look. We've been planning this party for a long time, and we intend to make the most of it.
We take my buddy's car, and that's when the party starts…
or the shit hits the fan, I guess. The whole experience is just a blur of alcohol, weed, and speed.
At one point, I fall asleep in the passenger seat, and it's a jolt followed by a sudden brake that brings me back.
"What the hell was that!" I shout.
Behind the wheel, Baxter bursts out laughing, "Just some stupid dog! Don't worry!"
I look around as the streets of New York scroll by outside the window. We're approaching a neighborhood I don't recognize.
"What are we doing here?" I ask Baxter. He doesn't answer and slows down to pull over to the curb. A few seconds later, a guy emerges from the shadows to approach the car.
Baxter lowers his window to talk to him. "You got what I asked for?"
The stranger's gaze shifts from my friend to me, and I feel uncomfortable.
I push away the sensation, blaming it on whatever Baxter had me smoke.
If Coach knew what I was putting into my body, he'd be furious, but I couldn't care less! It’s not football season right now, and all I want is to be high enough to forget my shitty life.
"Yeah," the guy finally answers. "You got the cash?"
Baxter hands him a small wad of bills and the other gives him a little bag. I don't know exactly what it contains, but I can guess.
My friend makes the bag disappear into his pocket.
"Can you drop me downtown?" the stranger asks.
I'd prefer Baxter to refuse, but he replies, "Yeah, go ahead and get in. "
With one last look, the guy opens the back door and slides onto the seat. Baxter pulls away and picks up speed. He's driving way faster than the speed limit.
"Where are you guys headed?" the stranger asks. Baxter and I exchange glances, and I shake my head to tell him not to say anything, but he's too high to show any good judgment. Unless he's just an idiot, but I'm too drunk and my thoughts stop there.
"We're planning to do some decorating," he finally replies. "Want to join us?"
The guy's response escapes me, but he's still with us when the car stops in an alley in Manhattan, not far from the building we're interested in.
"Damn, this is going to be so good!" Baxter exclaims. He's taken the little bag from his pocket, and I don't know if he's talking about the drugs or what we're about to do.
A minute later, he's carefully chopping a line of white powder on his credit card before bringing it to his nose.
He snorts it quickly, then closes his eyes for a moment.
"That's the good stuff," he breathes with an ecstatic look on his face.
"I told you," the guy in the back responds.
Baxter reopens his eyes and offers me his card and the bag, but I shake my head.
He doesn't take offense at my refusal. We get out of the car and Baxter opens the trunk where he retrieves two baseball bats.
He hands me one before addressing the guy I consider his dealer, "You want one or do you prefer the crowbar? "
The other doesn't show the slightest surprise when he grabs the twin of my bat. Baxter takes the crowbar and slams the trunk shut.
"I'm almost hard," he declares.
Without going that far, I also feel a kind of excitement at the thought of what we're about to do. When we reach the door I know so well, I don't hesitate at all. I punch the code into the digital lock and the door opens noiselessly.
After one last glance at the deserted street, we enter the building. The hallway is lit only by emergency signs, but the dim light doesn't prevent me from finding my way, and I lead my accomplices to the stairs.
"Too bad we're not taking the elevator," Baxter remarks.
We finally push open the door to the offices we're targeting, and I head straight for the one that occupies an entire quarter of one floor of the building.
When the three of us are in the room, I address my companions:
"Super smash brothers time!"
I approach the computer that sits proudly on the desk, and the screen explodes violently under the impact of the bat when I shatter it.
Damn! It feels so good! With each item that breaks under my blows, I picture my father's face. Since I can't beat him up, I focus on destroying everything in his office.
The other two are having a blast too. Between the three of us, the premises quickly transform into a nightmare zone. The massacre continues until suddenly, a security guard appears at the entrance:
"What are you doing? Stop!"
"Shit!" Baxter shouts. "Let's get out of here!"
But even though we're fast, we can't escape the welcoming committee waiting for us at the bottom of the stairs.