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“Steak. No doubt about it.”
“God, you’re such a man.” I laugh and Puck holds his chest like he’s offended.
“Oh yeah, so what about you then?”
“Mac and cheese,” I say confidently, ready to defend myself.
“What are you, a twelve-year-old girl?” He laughs, and I slap his arm, knowing his comment was already coming.
“I’ll have you know mac and cheese is the gods of all pasta dishes. It’s pasta and cheese. Come on!” I defend, not ashamed of my food choices. We sit and laugh over the silliness of the conversation, and I look around the cell and sigh.
“God, this place is such a shithole. Please tell me it gets better than this.”
Puck laughs and shakes his head.
“Unfortunately not.”
“How do you not get super bored? What do you do for entertainment?”
Puck scoffs. “Entertainment? Theo, look around, there’s nothing to do. Unless you want to train with me every day and get some push-ups in?” he waggled his eyebrows. I pull a face and shake my head at the thought of doing push-ups.
“Well, what about all the marks on your wall? What are they?” I ask curiously.
“Just years and years’ worth of shit that pops into my head. Names of people I love, words I’m feeling at the time, sentences I remember from random conversations, advice I can remember being given back when I was a lad.”
“Advice like what?”
“Silence is full of answers.”
I sit and ponder over the meaning, when he chuckles and nudges my arm.
“See, you don’t reply and I know what’s going through your mind. My father used to say it to me. If I’d done something wrong, broken something and lied about it. I’d never confess and he’d always tell me my silence was full of answers. He was always right too.
“Then he died when I was a teen and my mother could never seem to find the words to tell me and that’s when I knew he’d never been more right. Even from your silence now, Theo, I know what you’re not saying.”
I look up at him and try to find the right words to say, but like he said, sometimes there are no words and silenceisthe loudest answer.
“I’m sorry, I—”
“Forget about it. Now, let’s christen this cell of yours, T.” He waggles his brows at me.
“What?” I flash my eyes over his face, the sudden change in conversation startling me. I hope he’s joking. He chuckles at my reaction.
“Ease up. I meant the walls,” he says and flicks a pen knife open that was stashed inside of his jumpsuit.
“Where did you get that?” I ask, sitting up onto my knees, excited at the prospect of having a weapon.
“I run this place, didn’t you know?” he retorts sarcastically, although I don’t think there was anything sarcastic about it.
He turns around and starts scratching into the brick wall. I watch the muscles in his arm contract with his hard work.
“I don’t doubt it after the way everyone’s been running away from you. What do you do, kill anyone who looks at you?” I smile as he side-eyes me from where he’s carving into the wall.
“Do I look like a serial killer to you?”
I lean back and take in his huge frame and bulking muscles and tilt my head.
“Yes.”
