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“Nuns not enough for you anymore, brother?” he asks with a hint of a smile. I growl at him and nod my head towards the door. He takes the hint and steps outside.
“Don’t fucking move,” I warn the boy before stalking out of the room. Ethan is standing in the empty cell two down from mine. No one wants to be close to the Devil, so I get a large yard. His own cell is a few down from that, still one of the nicer spots in this shithole. Even though he has no official power, everyone knows he’s my number two.
“What?”
Ethan doesn’t move from his spot, watching down at the Pit in the yard. He’s got that look on his face, and I’m not in the mood for it.
“What’s with the kid?” he asks again, this time with no joking tone to his voice.
“Doesn’t fucking matter,” I reply, the threat evident. “What?”
I know he didn’t come over for a fucking social visit, and I am about ready to have a drink by myself. I’ve killed a good three or four more people today, and I still have rum from the last shipment.
Or wait, that fucking kid’s there. Fuck!
“Cole killed another one,” he tells me, turning his gaze to me.
So, that’s the look. At least it explains why they were after the kid.
“Who?”
“Tony,” Ethan tells me with a sigh. “Same as the others.”
I run a hand over my face. I don’t need this shit.
I let Cole and his boys take a new fuck toy every so often, but sometimes one of them decides they need a bit more and find a random inmate, rough ‘em up good. I have other prisoners complaining to me about it already. Considering the standards here, the fact this is a problem is probably saying something. They’re fucking stealing shit, killing people and raping ‘em. I can’t have it, but I also can’t kill them without a fucking revolt from a good third of the inmates.
“Whatdya wanna do, boss?”
He knows I hate it when he calls me boss. Fuck.
We’ve known each other since we were kids, grew up beside each other, but he has a sort of goodness I could never hope to have. He’s killed plenty, it has nothing to do with bloodshed. Ethan lacks the absolute addiction to violence that I seem to have flowing in my veins.
“I’m going to have a fucking drink,” I tell him. “Tell Emilio and his boys I’ll come talk to them about Tony tomorrow.”
Ethan nods and walks off. Without even thinking about it I pull out a razor and hold it along my arm, pressing down but not quite breaking the skin. I feel the sizzle wanting to burst free and sweat breaks out on my forehead. Even killing those men earlier hasn’t abated the need. Some days are worse than others, and today is one of the bad ones.
Since my first kill, the addiction, the need for blood has gotten worse. The evil inside me, raging to get out. I kill because I have to. When I can’t kill or carve another man’s flesh, this is the only way. The only thing that brings release. My arms are littered with scars. No one ever says shit about it, not here.
Despite being here, I’m actually quite well-read. My chambers boast a small library at the back, hidden from the savages in here save for a select few. I’ve read a lot about addiction, mental illness. But understanding something doesn’t change anything. Just because I know I have a problem doesn’t mean I have the power to stop it. It’s who I am now.
I don’t know how long I stand there with the blade to my skin, but when I realize what I’m doing, there is only one deep cut where I was pressing. I pull the razor back and put it in my belt.
Drink.
I get back to my chambers and realize I’ve been gone for a while. The kid is asleep on the floor on the pile of rags and I wonder if I blacked out again. It’s happened a few times when the need is especially great. But it’s never happened on a day I’ve killed so many. I pull my shirt over my head, wiping my sweat covered face with it before tossing it into another corner,
Grumbling to myself I make my way across the room and pull out the rum. I don’t waste time. Tossing the lid, I chug the last quarter of a bottle before I stop to take a breath. When I’m done, I smash the bottle against a corner smiling at the satisfying crash. I hear the boy sit up gasping behind me.
Oh yeah.
When the alcohol finally hits, the demons turn to steam under my skin. My lips twitch and I sigh in relief as my eyes glance back on the boy. I notice some blood on his pants and frown. I thought I got to him before Cole did, but maybe not.
I grab a new bottle before pulling up my chair and taking a seat across from him. I take another healthy swallow before looking back at him.
“Stand up and show me your injury,” I tell him, nodding at the red spot on his pants.
“I-it’s nothing,” he stammers. His eyes are wide and fearful, and mine narrow.
