X
Time passed slowly inside, every day exactly the same as the one before. I started to learn my routines, which of the guards to stay away from, who not to make eye contact with, and I guessed I was settling in.
I was moved from the cell to the modular dormitory beds, together with Callum. Even in the new area, it appeared I was stuck with him on the bunk below mine. Across from us were two long-timers, an older Jewish guy called Gil, who sported a thick dark beard and curly hair, and a younger, nervous looking man called Dean, who had a habit of rubbing his hand over his short brown hair as though he constantly felt something crawling over the top of his head.
Despite my attempts to stay racially platonic, I’d been, unsurprisingly, placed in a dorm where I was surrounded with white males. It seemed political correctness didn’t exist within the walls of the jail. I did my best to keep my head down, interacting with others only when absolutely necessary.
My old cellmate clearly already had friends here. The moment we’d been shown to the bunks, he’d been crowded by a number of other men, all sporting skinheads and similar tattoos. They’d punched him on the shoulder or shaken his hand. It was more like he’d walked into a local bar than a jail.
I planned on giving this group as much of a wide berth as possible. They looked, walked, and talked like trouble.
I didn’t have to work, due to me being remanded, but I volunteered. I preferred to keep myself busy rather than sit around with too much time on my hands. Besides, it was important for me to stay physically fit, and being active was a part of that. I’d been given a job as part of the grounds crew, which earned me money for my commissary. I kept the yard clear, mowed, and landscaped the area when needed. It also gave me extra time outside. I’d be able to buy some personal items and snacks when my money came through. Being remanded, I should have been able to use my own money, but as I was here on an alias, I didn’t want anyone looking any deeper into accounts held in the name Lee Mason. I knew Vee would top up my commissary account when she came to visit, but I figured she was still waiting on her visiting order.
Damps, the corrections officer who’d taken a dislike to me the first day in the cafeteria, had decided he wanted a little fun and tipped my meals onto the floor several more times since then. I still hadn’t snapped, though I knew that was what he wanted. He wanted me to go for him so he could write me up and send me down to solitary for attacking a C.O. I didn’t plan on giving him the pleasure. I’d rather go hungry, but I had to admit, the thought of getting my commissary money through so I could buy some snacks to replace the meals I was missing out on appealed to me. Ramen noodles had never looked so good.
A deafening buzzer sounded for dinner time. Though my stomach felt hollow, and I was weak from a day’s work, the sound filled me with both dread and a steely determination. Would I be allowed to eat this time? Some of the other guards were all right. They even looked at me when they spoke, actually saw me, as opposed to the bad ones who only saw scum.
I got up and followed my fellow prisoners down to the cafeteria to line up to eat. Casually, I tried to check to see if Damps was working this shift. If he wasn’t around, I knew my chances of eating would be increased exponentially. I didn’t spot him and allowed myself to relax a fraction. The food was far from being good, but it was tolerable, and when you were really hungry, you ate whatever was put in front of you.
I reached the front of the line and held out my tray to have my meal slopped into it. Meatballs in a fluorescent gray sauce, which I assumed was supposed to be gravy, plus a ball of mashed potato that clearly hadn’t come from the real thing, and a couple of slices of damp white bread. The food looked unappetizing, but nevertheless, my stomach growled in anticipation of having something in it.
Eager to eat, I carried the tray over to find somewhere to sit. I spotted Gil and Dean sitting at one of the tables. There was an empty spot opposite them, so I slid into it with relief, ignoring the stares of Callum and his friends. They’d take it as a personal slight that I hadn’t chosen to sit with them, but I had no intention of becoming one of the gang.
I sat down and picked up the spork we were given to eat with. As I scooped up a dollop of the meatballs and gravy, I glanced across the table to see Dean and Gil looking at something or someone behind my left shoulder. Ghost fingers trailed across the back of my neck, and my shoulders stiffened. I didn’t need to look to see who was standing there.
Damps’ voice came from behind me. “Looks like you’re missing some seasoning there, Mason.” And he leaned over, hacked loudly, and then spat into the meatballs.
My fist tightened around the handle of the spork and I closed my eyes, trying to control my temper so I didn’t stab the crappy piece of cutlery into the motherfucker’s neck.
Damps laughed. “Enjoy your meal.”
I sat frozen as he walked away. When he was far enough to prevent me attacking him, I opened my eyes. My appetite had vanished and I pushed away the tray in disgust. That son-of-a-bitch. I swore he’d get what was coming to him. Even if I had to wait until I was out of here, I’d track him down, and I’d kill him.
I picked up the tray and dumped the spoiled food in the trash before making my way back to the dorm. I was hungry again tonight.
I climbed onto my bunk and lay on my back, staring up at the ceiling. I had to remember this wasn’t my life. I had things on the outside I needed to get back to, and that was more important than my stomach right now. Yeah, I was going to end up losing weight I didn’t have, and the lack of food was weakening me, but I needed to stay mentally strong. Vee and the baby needed me on the outside, not locked up here for years because I’d lost it with some asshole C.O.
“Hey!”
A voice hissed at me from the other side of the low wall, which separated our small cubicles of four bunks, which were supposed to have given the illusion of us having rooms.
I braced myself for another attack and turned toward the voice.
“Catch.” A skinny guy who barely looked to be out of his teens threw something at me from the adjacent bunk. I’d noticed him before, mainly because he was the first guy I’d seen in here actually reading a book—a large one, at that. He wore a pair of thick rimmed, black plastic glasses which he pushed up his nose in a nervous habit.
A bag of Cheetos flew toward me and I reached up and snagged them before they hit me in the face.
“What are these for?” I asked. Suspicion was never far from my mind, and with good reason.
“I saw you didn’t get any dinner again. They messed up your breakfast, too, huh? They do that with the new guys. Like to see how far they can push you. I guess they figure when you’re starving, you’re more likely to break.”
I already was starving.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, pay me back when you start getting your commissary coming through. I know you don’t have anything yet.”
“Thanks, man. That’s good of you.”
He shrugged. “Sure. You’re Lee, right?”
“Yeah,” I confirmed. “What’s your name?”
“Edward Clayton. They call me Eddie.”
“So, what are you in here for?” I asked, striking up conversation, though I wasn’t sure why. Perhaps this was the first time someone had talked to me without a threat hidden in the words, and I wanted to hang onto that tiny bit of normalcy. The old X—the one who’d existed before meeting Vee—would never have done such a thing. Hell, he probably wouldn’t have even accepted the Cheetos, assuming there would be an agenda in the snacks. But I’d spent too much time in Vee’s company, and had learned what it was like to be around people who didn’t hate each other, or want each other dead. I guess a part of her had rubbed off on me.
“We don’t ask each other that, dude. Anyway, I’m innocent.”
“Yeah? Me, too.”
He chuckled. “We all are in here, dude. Whole bunch of freaking choir boys.”
I figured it wasn’t worth trying to argue that I actually was innocent—at least of the crime for which I’d been charged. Clearly, I wasn’t innocent of much else. I was a killer, after all. I should probably have been put behind bars years ago, but I would have accepted my situation if I’d been jailed for a crime I had committed.
I lifted the bag of Cheetos at him. “Thanks for these. I appreciate it.”
“No problem,” he said, before lying back down on his bunk.
I tore open the bag and scooped out the brightly colored puffs, shoving them into my mouth until I was covered in an orange dust and my stomach was finally full.