what you’re doing when you twitch your nose, crack your knuckles, and sneer at the wall. You do it every day.” He cocks his head at me as he sits on the edge of his bunk bed, his feet dangling close to my head. “You’re thinking about her, aren’t you?”
“Mind your own business, will you?” I say, shoving his legs aside. “And get those damn feet out of my fucking face. They smell like rotting junk food.”
He attempts to rub his socks against my chin, so I pull his leg so hard he crashes to the floor.
“Ow! Fuck!” he yells, rubbing his head as he crawls up. He runs his fingers through his long, dark hair. “What did you do that for?”
“That’s what you get for taunting me,” I say.
He frowns. “Asshole.”
I smirk. “That’s me.” I flip the pages of my calendar back where they belong and throw it on the table. “Got a problem with that?”
He raises his brow. “Always.”
I smile, and so does he. I know this fucker never gets mad at me, and that’s why I like him. It’s also why he’s still alive. Being in a cell with me isn’t easy … if you manage to survive. What can I say? The fucker has grown on me.
Suddenly, something strikes the bars of the cell, and it makes me jolt up from my seat and turn around. It’s the guard, flashing a cocky smile.
“Sullivan. DeLuca.” With a low voice, he says, “Time to get some fresh air.”
I sigh, packing up my things, like we always do. Everything has to be left tidy and neat, so the officers can check the cell with a quick glance. The guard opens the door when we’re ready, and he escorts us downstairs where the rest of the inmates gather as well. We always go outside in designated blocks, one block never coming into contact with the other. They do it to separate the racial gangs, which are notorious for starting prison riots.
Me? I don’t belong anywhere, and neither does DeLuca, so we stick together mostly. I hate cliques and avoid them like the plague. They have nothing to offer us, and I have no interest in siding with idiots. However, that makes us easy targets, too. That’s why the guards are always on their toes whenever they let us out of the cage.
We walk outside with the rest of the inmates and go to our regular spot near the picnic table. It’s to the far east side of the premises, close to the fence where the grass is still green instead of soiled by dirty boots. I go on my knees and pluck some grass out of the earth as DeLuca sits on top of the picnic table and leans back to enjoy the sun.
“Fucking fine day it is, Nix,” DeLuca muses, groaning as he stretches.
“Mmmhmm,” I agree, but I don’t want to talk with him right now. Outside is the only place where I can think of other things besides that fucking woman, and I can hear more than just his voice. Being confined to a small cell does things to a person. It makes them vulnerable … weak almost, and that’s a feeling I can barely stomach. It makes me want to start a riot just for the sake of regaining my spirit.
I pluck some more grass until I find what I’m looking for—a colony of ants has taken up residence here over the past couple of months. I move a few small stones until I find their nest and just look at it. They crawl everywhere with little leaves and other types of food, bringing it to the nest, as well as carrying the larvae. It’s a tiny ecosystem resembling humans, only on a much smaller scale. I just like to watch them. That’s all. And maybe help them every now and then, just for fun.
Suddenly, a boot comes crashing down on top of the nest, crushing the ants.
Enraged, I look up at the person who just butchered a whole city worth of insects.
“Playing in the sandbox, are we, Sullivan?” he snarls, spit flying out of his mouth and onto my cheek.
Getting up to my feet, I wipe it off and lean in with narrowed eyes. He checks me out from top to bottom while his buddies gather around us, creating a circle to trap me. This guy is clearly looking for a fight … with the wrong dude.