Fragments alabaster peni.., p.18
Fragments (Alabaster Penitentiary Book 4), page 18
Prison’s tough for a young millennial.
“Boss,” Hancock calls to Velle, and I peer over to find him holding up the bird book. “What about this?”
Velle pauses his search of Toby’s mattress, squinting at the book in Hancock’s hand. Then he glances at me, arching a brow. “Where’d you get that, 35?”
“I borrowed it.” I give him a pointed look paired with a condescending tone I can’t help using when I speak to him.
He’s not amused. “From…?”
“Who cares?” I grunt. “It’s a book about birds. What’s the big deal?”
Velle purses his lips. Hancock is flipping through every page of the book, shaking it around as if he expects something to be hidden inside. But he finds nothing and sighs, “It’s clean.”
“You lucked out, Birdman,” Velle sneers at me, and I roll my eyes. Cocking his head, he glowers at me. “Cool it with the attitude, inmate. I’m just looking out for the safety and wellbeing of my prisoners.” His mouth curves in a patronizing smirk.
“Protecting us against ornithology?” I smirk back, fighting his attitude with my own.
“Cute,” he grunts, then snaps at Hancock. “All clear.”
Velle stomps toward the bars, slapping me hard on the back. “Be careful what you bring in here, inmate. Wouldn’t want you to take the fall for someone else’s mistake.”
I’m just shaking my head in annoyance as the two of them leave, slamming the cell door on their way out.
“He’s the worst,” Toby sighs.
“Pretty close,” I rumble while we walk around cleaning up the mess they left, keeping my thoughts on Velle to myself.
Another thing that makes Alabaster Pen sufficiently worse than other prisons is its commissary, if you will. In lieu of money, we pay for goods in sexual favors, either with other inmates—a dick-trade of sorts—or with the guards directly.
So, yea. That was a fun realization. I’ve never even had a girlfriend, and I suddenly had to wrap my head around servicing strange men in exchange for toothpaste.
It was the most out of my element I could ever be. With sex, yes. But with gay sex?
I might as well have been watching the alien Olympics.
Thankfully, I’ve been able to narrowly avoid becoming someone’s bitch. That’s not to say I haven’t done things… It is about survival, after all. But apparently, I’m one of the only people in here with a skill that doesn’t revolve around polishing the knob.
I know tech.
Officer Chevelle has a tendency to look out for me now because I’ve fixed his laptop three times since I’ve been here. It’s usually always malware from sketchy porn sites. And his partner in crime, Joy Jameson, doesn’t believe in paying for movies, so she has me download them for free onto her tablet.
So, there you have it. I’ve made it almost a year without succumbing to the sexual pressures of Alabaster Pen by being the resident IT guy. There was one time I let Dirt watch me showering in exchange for a giant bottle of Old Spice body wash and a six-pack of Orange Crush…
But that’s all. I’ve yet to compromise myself, or my integrity, and I’m proud of that fact.
Sure, I know I could get more stuff, better stuff, if I were willing to give up my morals. But it’s just not me. I can survive just fine on my own.
I don’t need to whore myself out.
A little while later, I’m back in my bunk, leafing through the bird book when I hear the door opening at the other end of the row. Catcalls immediately echo from the other cells, and my forehead lines. That’s more noise than usual…
Listening closely, I recognize the shouts and yelps as taunts; the kinds that are indicative of a new body on the roster.
“Fresh meat!” someone wails, followed by barking scolds from the guards.
“God help him,” Toby grumbles from the bottom bunk.
Lying back, I try to ignore it, focusing on my book. But now my mind is tied up.
A new inmate, huh? I wonder who he is… If he realizes what it means to be here.
Another hour or so passes, and it’s time for dinner. We mull about with our wrists cuffed as Joy and Jasper pluck inmates in our row from their respective cells. But when we reach Parker’s, an unfamiliar guy wanders out before him, face tilting all around as he takes in the drab scenery.
“That must be the new guy,” Toby whispers to me. “He looks young. Well, not as young as you, but still…”
Parker trots out of the cell behind the guy, and they stick close to one another while the guards herd us through the doorway. My eyes are following the new person, taking in his appearance and demeanor. He is young, maybe only a few years older than me, which would still make us the youngest inmates here. He’s tall, maybe has a couple of inches on me, and visibly in shape, despite the baggy gray jumpsuit. Dark hair, though it’s been shaved; standard practice for newcomers.
I might be the only person who likes it.
As a kid, I kept my hair longer and shaggy, rocking the surfer look. But at fourteen, I chose to shave it all off rather than getting a haircut, and I ended up liking it. The look helped cement the Lex Luthor nickname. Although back then, people kept calling me Slim Shady. But I didn’t mind.
There are worse things to be called, after all.
I even went as Eminem to a Halloween party one year, and no word of a lie, had my first kiss with a girl dressed as Mariah Carey. Naturally, she was way out of my league, and like the alleged relationship between the two musicians, I suspect she only did it to throw me a bone.
Anyway, where I pull off the buzzed style, I think this new guy might look better with a full head of black hair. He’s very striking. Sharp jawline, full lips, high cheekbones.
Maybe he’s a model, or an actor or something.
I’m curious about the guy, and what he did to wind up here. I suppose I’m always curious about new inmates, but something about this person is intriguing me more than usual. Not just his appearance, but the way he’s striding up the dingy hallway with an uninhibited air about him—a hard thing to pull off in chains.
He doesn’t seem shocked or devastated… almost as if he expected to wind up in a terrible prison.
My muddled thoughts are cut short when someone bumps into me from behind, and I stumble, crashing right into the backside of the guy I’ve been internally scrutinizing.
“Shit, fuck,” I grunt, straightening as he peers over his shoulder, brows zipped in annoyance. “I’m sorry… Someone just…” But my stuttering fades when his forehead smooths out and his eyes widen.
He slows down, turning his body toward me as he stares, a vibrant blue gaze gliding over my face, down my neck, torso… The rest of me, before it pops back up and his long, dark lashes flutter.
Why is he looking at me like that?
The way his bright eyes are burning on my flesh is unsettling. Confused and oddly jittery, I whip my face around to see who bumped into me, and what they have to say for themselves.
It’s just Simmons. This scrawny idiot who’s known for being notoriously clumsy.
“My bad, Luth,” he grumbles, eyes on his feet. “These damn pants are too long—”
“Move it along, fuckheads!” Jasper barks at us, shoving Simmons to get him walking again. “It’s just walking, not rocket science.”
The new guy blinks himself back to planet Earth, pausing his gawking just long enough to resume shuffling. Although now, he keeps peeking at me over his shoulder. His lips part, like he might want to say something, but he’s more wide blue doe-eyes than words, apparently.
“Like he knows anything about rocket science,” I joke to Toby at my right, my gaze flicking to the pretty boy with the staring problem.
At least I have an excuse. He’s walking in front of me. I have no choice but to look at him. But he’s actively slanting his head every two seconds to glance back at me in between paying attention to where he’s going.
Finally, I give up on playing coy and call him out. “Are you alright?”
You’re fucking staring, bro.
He tugs his lower lip between his teeth, slowing his pace to fall in step at my left.
Okay, that wasn’t an invitation to walk next to me…
“What’s your name?” He finally speaks, voice deep and softly inquisitive.
“I’m Luthor,” I answer quietly, opting for the nickname.
In prison, it’s either nicknames or last names, and I definitely prefer Luthor to Deon.
The guy blinks at me as we approach the doors to the caf. “Is that your actual name? Your first name…?”
Why do you care??
The guy is really strange already. But there is no shortage of weirdos in here, so I guess he’ll fit right in.
“It’s a nickname,” I grumble, following the line of inmates as we file into the cafeteria and up to the food station, aka the pre-made slop already arranged on trays for us to take.
The chow line moves along while guys pick up their trays and wander off, but not fast enough to get some space between me and this oddball, who’s standing a bit too close for my comfort. He’s all up in my business.
Ever heard of personal space, homie?
“What’s your first name?” he asks me, sounding way more interested in a damn name than one should be.
“What’s yours?” I snap, frustrated by this bizarre conversation with the nosy stranger.
We both pause in front of the next available tray. My eyes drop to it, then come back to his, and I gesture as if to say, By all means.
His lips curve into a delighted smile, and he picks up the tray, moving out of the way only slightly so I can grab the next one.
“Warren,” he hums, right by my face, startling me with how damn close he is. His breath actually brushes my cheek. Thankfully, it’s not bad. It’s actually minty. My brow cocks, and he grins again. “That’s my name. But if we’re using nicknames, I go by Ren.”
I stare at him for a second. Ren… I like that. It’s a nice name.
Shaking it off, I walk toward my usual table in the back, assuming Ren is following me, which he is. He’s dropped the awkward gawking, and is now scampering after me like an excited puppy.
I don’t get why he’s so fascinated by me—if that’s even what this is—but I guess it could be worse. He could be trying to kill me.
So, in the interest of being polite and kind to someone who just got dumped into a shithole prison, I murmur, “My first name is Lexington. Lex.”
“Lex…” he sighs dreamily, and I shoot him a befuddled side-eye, sloping into a seat at the table. He plops down right the hell next to me, scooting in close. “Lex Luthor!” His face whips in my direction, alit with glee. “Like from Superman?”
My lips quirk, and I nod. “Very good.”
Either he doesn’t pick up on my sarcasm, or he doesn’t care. He just wiggles triumphantly in his seat. “That’s clever. You kinda look like him. I mean, from the comic books. Not the Jesse Eisenberg version.”
A cackle bursts out of me. It’s so foreign, I cover my mouth quick, like I just burped loudly in public. Wow. I can’t believe how long it’s been since I’ve laughed…
Ren appears positively thrilled by it. He’s pursing his lips, biting on the inside of his cheek to keep his elated smile in check.
Maybe it’s been a while since he’s made someone laugh?
Clearing my throat in an attempt to regain some control over this weird situation, I glance across the table at Toby and Parker, who are just eating quietly, staring at the two of us with interests piqued.
“This is Toby.” I introduce my cellmate, nodding in his direction.
Ren’s eyes linger on me before finally peeling them off to look at Toby. His smile fades from overjoyed to indifferent as he says, “Nice to meet you. Warren Xavier. You can call me Ren.” His gaze flicks to me once more, and he winks.
Why is he winking at me??
“Toby Turner,” Toby mumbles, clearly excited to join the conversation. “It’s short for Tobias, but I don’t like to be called that.”
Ren’s brows furrow. “Why not? It’s a cool name.”
Toby shifts. “It’s my father’s name… Was,” he corrects. “I hated him…” Forking a bite of tasteless food into his mouth, he chews for a moment before adding, “That’s why I killed him.”
My eyes slide to my right, watching Ren’s expression. His eyes are so blue… It’s almost unnatural. They’re the actual color of the sky when it’s nice out. I know people always say that… Sky-blue eyes, and whatnot. But for him, it’s accurate.
I suppose we have that in common. My eyes are really bright too, only they’re light green, sorta like jasper. Everyone always comments on them. It was the one compliment I’d always get from girls…
You have the most beautiful eyes.
Ren’s sunny-day eyes glisten at Toby’s words, and he smirks. “I killed my dad, too.”
Ohh-kay… I guess that’s why he’s here, then.
Toby nods, but Ren goes on. “And my mom.”
“Aren’t parents the worst?” Parker chimes in, chuckling. And the three of them laugh together in agreement, bonding over their shithead parents.
“What about you, Lex?” Ren pins me in place with a much more intense line of eye contact than he was giving the other two. “Do your parents suck?”
I shake my head hesitantly. “Uh, no… Actually, my parents were really great. They are, I mean… ’Cause they’re still… alive…”
My voice trails because of how severely he’s looking at me. It’s really throwing me off, and I’m not sure why. He’s not technically doing anything weird, just giving me his full attention. But still, it’s making me uneasy.
Something about him gives off a vibe, like he’s different from the rest of us. It could just be his looks, I guess, because now that I’m seeing him up-close, he really is a stunningly attractive man. Like, unfairly so. It’s the sort of physical beauty that doesn’t even seem real. The kind you see on TV, in movies or magazines, that makes you feel hideously inferior.
I don’t consider myself unattractive at all, but sitting next to him is like sitting next to a prince.
Seriously, if he’s not a model or actor, then he missed a calling.
Needing a quick distraction, I force myself to take a bite of my food. I can feel Ren watching me in my peripheral before he faces forward, picking up his fork.
“You’re lucky. All I ever wanted was for my parents to love me…” His index finger begins tapping on it methodically. “I was adopted when I was two. My real parents were drug addicts. They died of an overdose…”
“Both of them?” Parker asks, wearing concern on his face. “Like, together?”
Ren’s eyes jump to his, only for a split-second before they drop back to his food. His jaw clenches. I see it happening, but it’s very subtle.
It must just be painful to talk about this…
He nods slowly. “Yea. I belonged to the state from pretty much the moment I was born. Then I was adopted by even worse people.” The rapid tap tap tap of his finger against his fork is drawing my attention from his face. “We were dirt poor, and what little money we had, they spent on themselves, not me. I did everything I could think of to make them proud, but they just despised me. And then came the abuse…”
Toby and Parker are nodding along, as if they can relate to his story. I can’t, not even a little, but I do feel bad. And yet, there’s still something about this conversation that seems off…
Is it normal for prisoners to share their life stories with strangers on their first day? I’ve literally never met anyone who’s done that.
Yea, we talk; open up about our lives outside of here, and whatnot. Some of us more than others—cough, Toby. But it usually takes a little going. I’ve never known anyone to spill their guts to random people they just met willingly.
“How’d you kill ’em?” Toby asks Ren, clearly invested.
Ren’s chin lifts, eyes aimed right at Toby as he responds blithely, “I burned them alive in their bed.”
Chills zip up my spine, and I shiver.
Ren must have noticed my movement, because his gaze darts away from Toby, landing on me again. He cocks his head. “What did you do? To end up here…” I swallow, feeling like I’m on trial, being cross-examined. My lips part, ready to give him the most basic version of why I’m here. But he keeps talking. “No, wait! Don’t tell me. I wanna guess.”
He bites his lip, eyes drifting around like he’s thinking.
“Don’t try to guess…” I shake my head. “It’s not—”
“Lexington,” he sings my name admonishingly. “You’ll spoil the fun.” I give him a look like he’s crazy, but he’s entirely unaffected by it. “If I get it right, will you tell me?”
This guy is by far the most unusual person I’ve ever encountered. And we’re in an Alcatraz-style prison filled with nothing but cagey characters.
“You’re never going to get it…” I huff.
Ren glances at Parker and Toby, both of whom know why I’m here—the abridged version—their amused faces corroborating my words. Ren drops his fork, shifting to face me in his seat. His knees bump mine under the table, because of how close he still is to me, but he doesn’t scoot away like a normal person would. He leaves them pressed against mine, and when I try to inch back subtly, he moves in closer.
Jesus. Where did this guy even come from?? He’s so… intense.
“Hmm…” Ren hums, rubbing his lower lip with his fingers while he squints like he’s trying to read me. I gulp down the feeling that he might somehow be able to. “How many guesses do I get?”
“I don’t know…” I mutter, uninterested. But he pouts until I sigh. “Three?”
“Psshh,” he scoffs. “That’s a cakewalk.”
I just chuckle and shake my head. Whatever, man.
His eyes run a slow dip over me that makes me want to cover myself up. Then he says, “You… blew up a school with a homemade bomb?”
My forehead creases, and I gape at him, stupefied. “What?? No.”
He purses his lips. “You went on a raping spree at the old folks’ home…?”
