Chapter Eight

At roll-call, Nate didn’t start bashing the door much to Alfie’s relief.

He didn’t want to hear Nate’s purring voice. He needed to gather his thoughts about what happened, or about what almost happened. He spent another shift staring at Nate on the computer screen but didn’t build the courage to scroll down.

When Marie offered him a lift home, he didn’t refuse her despite the odd look Glen gave him, and as soon as he set foot in the house he rushed to the curtains and drew them to block out the sign for Larkwood.

Laying on the sofa, sleep refused to come. It denied him in bed too, and he ended up staring at his panic blown reflection in the bathroom mirror. His hair was ruffled, his flesh was clammy, and halfmoons of grey were forming under his eyes.

Him and Nate were playing a game, a game he thought he was on top of, but he was wrong.

Alfie tilted his head back and clutched at his throat. No marks from Nate’s teeth, just pale flesh under his fingertips, but it didn’t feel the same. Nate had infected him, his skin didn’t just tingle at his voice, but his touch, and his scent. Nate had started to take over Alfie’s body, and he didn’t know how it had happened, or how to stop it.

He had surrendered his throat to Nate, wouldn’t have fought him off whether he kissed or bit. Instead, Nate had nipped, and Alfie had moved his body into the path of more. If that had been in the darkness of a club it would’ve been fine, but at Larkwood, with a violent prisoner, it couldn’t get farther from fine. Nate Mathews, triple murder with the details of his crime so bad it made the staff shudder.

He stared in the mirror and questioned why his body betrayed him, but there was no answer, just a face of confusion staring back.

Alfie ducked down suddenly and braced himself over the sink. He didn’t vomit, but his stomach clenched, and the vice didn’t loosen no matter how much he rubbed to sooth it.

He couldn’t do the roll-call. He couldn’t risk bumping into Nate after his skype call. He had to leave. That was the only option. The staff were unprofessional, worn down by years of the same old thing, but Alfie was new, thought he was a good worker, an efficient one, and it was him stepping over an unforgivable line, not them.

He wondered what would’ve happened if the lights had stayed off, if it had been just him and Nate in the darkness of his cell. His heart sped up beneath his ribs, and he balled his hand into a fist and hit himself like an ape drumming its chest. His heart was not supposed to act that way. It was supposed to freeze in terror, not throb with anticipation. Blood wasn’t meant to flow south, and he wasn’t supposed to lick his lips imagining Nate’s pressed to his.

Alfie had heard of others that had fallen for prisoners, and they weren’t regarded in a good light. They were considered worse than those that smuggled drugs, worse than those that accepted bribes. Getting involved with a prisoner was traitorous, moving from the side of the light to that of the dark. Henry told him both men and women had been caught up in the tumbling ball of lust, and it never ended well.

The only option was quitting. Alfie could leave, barely clinging to his dignity before he lost it all together. He would lose the house, his stable job, but at least he wouldn’t lose his mind.

He lifted his head, stared into his determined eyes, then nodded.

****

Alfie sighed for the fiftieth time on the way to the prison. He tightened his hand around his scrawled letter of resignation. He had thought about emailing it, but knew Ryan would scoff and call him pathetic. He would do it face to face and leave without a scowling.

Alfie hadn’t changed out of his work clothes, and the stale trousers smelled worse in the sunlight. As he walked, he straightened his tie and tucked in his shirt. He couldn’t hide the bags under his eyes, but he could at least smarten himself up.

He knew he would have to work two weeks of notice, but he could avoid Nate for that long. He only had a skype call once a month, and Glen and Marie could take a week each on the top level after he’d done it nonstop.

Nate would protest, Alfie was sure of it, but he could cope with two weeks of cell banging when freedom was on the other side.

The reception staff frowned at him, and he flashed them his ID card. They called through to Ryan’s office, and he told Alfie to wait in the corridor until he was called in. It was the first time he’d seen the corridor in the day time since his interview. It felt less suffocating, which was ridiculous when there were more people moving about, and gates swinging open and closed.

He seated himself on a chair outside Ryan’s office and waited with his head bowed like a naughty child sent to the headmaster.

“Officer Alfie?”

He looked up at the voice and blinked at the sight of Queenie. His lips were painted red, the same luscious shade of his nails, and his eyelashes were dark and long. He looked good, healthy and happy, compared to the last time Alfie had seen him. His glamourous appearance was only dulled by the blue apron he wore around his chest, and the mop and bucket in his hands.

“Are you moving to day shift?”

Alfie shook his head and tapped his letter to his hand. “No, erm. I—I don’t think I’ll be staying here much longer.”

Queenie’s face sagged, but his eyes widened. He dropped into the chair next to Alfie, and Alfie opened his mouth to protest, then snapped it shut. It was either sit for a few minutes with Queenie or sit alone, and he didn’t want to listen to anymore of his internal monologue.

“Why?” Queenie asked.

Alfie shrugged. “I don’t think this is for me.”

“How long you been here?”

“About seven months now.”

Queenie nodded. “It took you seven months to realize it wasn’t for you?”

Alfie didn’t answer. He lifted his gaze to Ryan’s door and prayed it would swing open.

“You saved my life…”

Alfie snorted. “You’ve got to promise me no more late-night tea-bag experiments.”

Queenie snorted and nudged his shoulder into Alfie’s. “I promised, didn’t I? Nate’s gonna be gutted you’re going.”

Alfie swallowed, but his throat spasmed, and his voice came out dry. “Why? I’m sure he can torment someone else.”

“Torment? Is that what you think he’s doing?”

He turned to Queenie and eyed his smile curiously. “Am I wrong?”

Queenie tutted and fluttered his eyelashes. “Not completely wrong, but it’s more than that.”

“More?”

Queenie laughed. The deeper boom made Alfie jump back into his seat.

“Nate’s … he—he knows what he wants.”

Alfie raised an eyebrow. “And what does he want?”

“You to open the hatch.”

Alfie waved the envelope. “Well, he’s not going to get it.”

Queenie sighed and shook his head.

The name Tyrone was yelled from the farthest gate, and he growled, kicking the bucket on the floor.

“Arsehole!”

“I heard that,” the guard yelled back.

Queenie turned his attention back to Alfie. “I’m needed in the art room, the mess they make. I think they do it on purpose, especially Nate.”

He stood, grabbed his bucket, then flashed Alfie a smile and carried on down the corridor.

Queenie strutted like a model on a catwalk, then pulled his pose as he waited for the guard on the gate to let him through.

Alfie went back to staring at his letter. The ink had smudged from his sweaty hands, and the envelope had torn at the edges. Gates opened and closed, but the door directly in front didn’t. Alfie wondered whether Ryan was doing it on purpose, dragging out the experience of resigning until the tail between his legs became a permanent fixture.

“Freshman?”

Alfie bolted out of his seat and took two steps away. Nate had been let through the gate, and unlike all the times before his hands weren’t at his back but hanging by his sides. His stride was strong and commanding, and Alfie gulped when he saw there was no one flanking him. One guard was on the first gate, and the other guard was at the gate at the opposite end of the corridor. Alfie was left in no-man’s land, with Nate fast approaching.

“Queenie said he’d seen you. I was jealous, so here I am.”

He smiled, but Alfie didn’t return the smile. He pressed his lips in a firm line, and soon Nate dropped his amused expression and frowned.

“What you doing here?”

Alfie flicked his chin out. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that, aren’t you meant to be somewhere?”

“I was in the classroom, but Queenie mentioned you were out here and I said I felt like shit. They let me go back to my cell.”

The back of Nate’s hands had splashes of paint, and his fingers were grey from what Alfie assumed was pencil lead. He looked younger in the daylight, less manic. His hair, a dirty blond, was swept over his head, and his facial hair was a few shades darker. Alfie remembered the feel of the hair, the tickly sensation over his skin, and the softer touch of his lips.

Alfie’s cheek filled with heat, and he dropped his gaze and toed at the floor.

Now it’s your turn,” Nate purred.

“My turn?”

Nate smirked. “I told you why I’m here. Now you tell me.”

“I don’t have to tell you anything.”

Nate narrowed his eyes. “No need for that tone, I’m being nice.”

Alfie flicked his gaze up and startled when Nate wagged his finger at the letter. It was strange seeing Nate’s hands, seeing his shoulders at their correct angle. He could grab if he wanted. He could clutch Alfie and tug him to his hard chest, but he didn’t, and Alfie’s confusion increased when he found it disappointing he didn’t.

Nate stood a few feet away, more distance than the cell door, and the times they had come face to face before.

“What’s that?”

Alfie dropped his gaze to the letter and swallowed. “It’s for Ryan.”

“Better not be a love letter.”

“No, it’s—it’s to say I wanna leave.”

He tensed, expecting Nate to do something, but he just shrugged. “Fair enough.”

The words hurt, but Alfie didn’t know why. He realized he wanted a protest, wanted Nate to fight for him to stay. The thought was ridiculous and made him angry, angry that he couldn’t understand what was going on in his head.

Nate went to walk past, and Alfie relaxed, loosening his grip on the letter. Nate snatched it from his hand and shoved it down his jeans so fast it was a flash of white.

“Wait—"

Nate cracked his neck and tutted. “Oh dear, Freshman, looks like your letter’s gone.”

Alfie’s mouth popped open. “Give me it back.”

Nate snorted and shook his head. “Not happening, Freshman.”

Nate moved around Alfie, but Alfie didn’t let him get any farther. He rushed in front of Nate, puffed out his chest, and flared his nostrils.

“I said give it back.”

Nate stared down at him, and his eyes darkened the longer they glared. The predatory grin appeared on Nate’s face, and his eyes crinkled with the smile.

“Open my hatch later, and I’ll give you it back.”

“No!” Alfie snapped.

Nate rolled his eyes, laughed lightly, then barged forward. Alfie staggered back with his mouth open. His surprise amused Nate, and he laughed louder, moving forward regardless of Alfie’s efforts to keep him in one place.

Rage surged in Alfie’s body, and he blocked Nate’s path again. He ignored the shout of the guard behind and glared into Nate’s chuckling eyes.

“Now,” he hissed.

Nate stared at him, and then the guard several meters away. “I’m not letting you go that easily.”

Alfie half wanted those words and half despised them.

“It’s not your decision.”

Nate patted his crotch and the letter crinkled. “This is the wrong decision.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You’re in your freshman year. It’s all about having fun and not thinking of the consequences. Stop being a do-gooder.”

Alfie narrowed his eyes and pulled back his lip. “I hate you.”

Nate sighed and pinched the brow of his nose. “No, you don’t. That’s the problem…”

Alfie shook his head.

Nate laughed, lifted his chin, and removed his gaze from Alfie and attached it to the gate. It was dismissive, and he strolled forward, knocking Alfie to the side.

Alfie balled his hand into a fist and lashed out, faster than his brain could process and when it did, it was too late. He knew how to punch, had needed to in some of the foster homes, but he had never hit anyone as hard as he hit Nate. It was one punch, and his fist rebounded back stinging.

Nate didn’t stumble back. His face didn’t even jolt at the contact. He stayed statue still, and the only evidence of the punch was Nate’s lip. A red line grew, seeped, and then leaked droplets from Nate’s chin.

Time moved in slow motion as Alfie watched Nate bleed in front of him. The wound he had caused on the cocky man’s face dribbled, leaving a trail of red dots on Nate’s t-shirt.

Both gates clanged open, and Alfie heard footsteps rushing to him. Even with them running, he doubted they were going to get to him in time.

Alfie scrunched his face and raised his hands to cover himself. Nate was going to kill him and defending himself was futile, but he didn’t want to die looking like he accepted it.

No punch came at him, and the next time Alfie opened his eyes, Nate was pinned to the wall by the two officers. He didn’t look at Alfie. Even when they dragged him away he didn’t shoot back a venomous glare.

Alfie clutched his hair and gasped. He looked down at the red on the floor, and wiped his shoes against the splodges, wanting them to be gone, wanting the moment to have never happened. He hit Nate. He lashed out and lost it because he couldn’t control the swirl of confusion in his head.

The door to Ryan’s office swung open, and Alfie flashed a look at his senior officer.

“What just happened?”

Alfie couldn’t speak, only just had enough power over himself to reclaim his jaw and shut it. He had fucked up big time.