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Please. The prison nurse wasn’t interested in Slim. First, because he was a sad excuse for a man. Second, because Nurse Brock was into women. But evidently Slim had missed that point, simpering like a fool.
“I can up the charm, you see? She won’t be able to resist.” He slicked back his near-white hair and flashed a smile.
I tried to ignore the albino as he blabbed on and on but it was almost impossible. Silky Slim like to hear himself talk. I didn’t. As the inklings of a headache wrap began to around my mind, I resolved to cut my shift early. It wasn’t like I needed the money. We weren’t on a fixed schedule either. The minimal security facility was more like a frat house where we could come and go as we pleased. Well, one with bars around the perimeter.
But there was a gym where I’d lift weights, keeping myself in shape. I liked to go there when it was empty just to avoid the meatheads who found it necessary to grunt and groan every time they did a rep. Seriously, such sounds should be reserved for the bedroom but who was I kidding? None of us were going to get lucky anytime soon.
For a moment, I thought back to my playboy lifestyle. Before I’d been locked up, girls had flocked like bees to honey. I had my pick of them. They were wrapped around my little finger like string. It was funny how they would do anything to please me, thinking it would help them get a piece of my fortune. I’d dump them all by morning and move onto the next lot.
Those were the golden days.
Would they ever be back?
Brow in a frown, I swore to make sure of it.
My wandering feet brought me to the kitchen. It was a communal set-up where anyone could book time and make their own meals. I checked the log book and the hour was vacant. Perfect. It was time for Chef Mason to get in gear because during my few months behind bars, I’ve become an expert cook. There wasn’t much else to do with my time anyways.
What was in the fridge? Ah ha. It had been newly stocked. Excellent. Browsing through my options, I eventually pulled out a cut of beef, some fresh vegetables, and a few other ingredients. Next, I picked out the biggest knife from the block and made sure the edge was razor sharp, gleaming under the light.
With a quick and skilled hand, beef was sliced into thin strips as fragrant oil heated in a pan. Once it sizzled, I dropped in the beef, letting it brown on one side.
Moving onto the vegetables, I hummed to myself. Maybe I’d even continue the habit of cooking once I was out. My personal chef would be disappointed but it would give me a moment of peace amidst hectic days.
And once my meal was finished, I plated the food and turned around, sitting at a small wooden table. It was littered with carvings. Shit like:
Suck my dick it tastes good!
Sonny Caruso 1918-1956
RIP Brother Dan
Shit. That fucking sucked. Did Sonny and Brother Dan die in this cesspool? Fuck fuck fuck.
I still had another year to serve. Plus my appeal was in the works, but who knew how long that would take? I was paying my attorney through the nose to speed things up, but he’s a dumb fuck. Plus, I couldn’t exactly ride his ass from here in the slammer.
So fuck.
I was stuck.
At least for now.
Growling, I downed my meal in solitude. And the worst thing happened then. A sense of loneliness washed over my frame, making my muscles go weak and helpless. On the outside, I was a massive prisoner devouring food. On the inside, my stomach trembled, clenching in on itself.
Because loneliness is real. Even for guys like me.
On Visitors Day, other prisoners get guests. Their families. Wives who look exhausted, kids who squeal and throw their arms around their dads.
But me, I get no one.
Okay sometimes my lawyer comes, but that’s not often. He’s got “more important” shit to do on Sundays.
Fuck.
All those people who hounded me on the outside?
Gone.
All those ladies who threw themselves at my body?
Nada.
Where were my real friends?
The sad part is that I had none.
Fuck them all.
No one stood by me. All they wanted was my goddamn money. I hope they choke on it. Every last one.
The food turned bitter in my mouth. I chucked the rest of my meal in the trash, washed my plate, and headed out.
Hands in my pockets, my feet strolled idly down the corridors. There wasn’t much to see. Bars on the cells, bars on the windows. Sunlight streamed in where it could, hitting the floor in zebra stripes.
Fuck this place.
A tuneless whistle came from my lips.
Cameras followed my every move, the steady red eye unblinking.
