Page 77 of Caged In

Where did Sinn'ous vanish to?

He’s surprisingly naked without Sinn'ous next to him for protection. He’s barely been in the other’s presence, yet he feels as though he’s missing an essential part of himself while walking the corridors alone—save for his cellmate.

Reni’s uncharacteristically quiet this morning, does he know? Or simply suspect?

Arriving at the cafeteria, he finds an empty table in Sinn'ous’s usual place. It amps up his heart rate, not having Sinn'ous here. His mind running away from him with thoughts of where the male could be. His imagination blurting out scenarios of death, with Sinn'ous as the victim. Lying alone in aback prison room, having been ambushed and shivved by several inmates . . .

You need to pull yourself together.

He’s so far off the rails he isn’t sure he can come back. His life is forever changed. He is forever changed. So much death has taken place in here. So much suffering and pain. So many events have stabbed at his sanity. Brutally destroying who he once was—a far-off distant self he can never reach ever again. He is a forever-changed man. And this Hell-hole has done it to him. He’d come here as a decent man, he’s leaving as an unseemly disgrace. There is nothing he can do to stop it. The events have already taken place.

This is who I am now.

Izz sits—like every other meal—with his cellmate and The Gang. At the same table. In the same spot.

He should change it up. Do something spontaneous and different. Like . . . sit on the floor. If only to break out of this repetitive existence. Maybe the change in routine will stop his downfall into madness.

He fears it may be too late, fears he’s reached his lowest point. And he’s standing at the bottom, looking up the dark tunnel to the person he used to be. The person who’s hovering far away at the top of the gloomy cavern. Forever unreachable.

He keeps his head down. Ignores the entire table. He doesn’t want to join in on The Gang’s discussions. Doesn’t care if they are talking about him. Doesn’t care if they notice something is wrong with him. He doesn’t have the energy to pretend he’s alright. When he’s not. He’s breaking. He’s dying inside. A disgusting disturbed . . . thing . . . that doesn’t deserve to be treated the same as before.

He is not the same. He’s a murderer. A criminal. A disgusting weak individual who can’t defend himself. He deserves everything he got. Deserves what they did to him. It was karma—if he believes in that type of thing—for what he had done . . . to the guard . . .

So much blood . . . There had been . . .

. . . So much blood . . .

It took Izz a long time to realise the conversations have dried up and died off. A thickening silence clouding the table. The calm of the forest as a predator stalks. No sounds made, in fear of being caught, of being discovered. It’s self-preservation.

He frowns in confusion at the others seated around him. He’s sitting at the end of the row, allowing him to see the entire Gang without turning his head. Everyone is staring at him, their eyes wide.

What’s everyone looking at? Does he have something on his shirt?

Izz glances down at himself, finding nothing out of the ordinary. His new, grey, prison assigned clothes, in tidy order. Clean and neat. His eyes observing zero discrepancies in the colouration of the crisp grey material—

A tray clicks down beside him, brushing against his own tray with its close proximity. A large body taking up the seat next to him—

Izz freaks. His mind short circuits and spazzes out for a second before it resumes working, and everything clicks into place. He already logically knows who it is. Why else would the table have gone dead silent?

He turns his head, thrilledto see Sinn'ous is not lying dead in a forgotten prison cell. He smiles softly as Sinn'ous settles down beside him. Then—because he fucking can, why the hell not after what Sinn'ous did for him—he leans into the male, his side flush against the larger frame—

A sharp intake of breath—is the collective response from The Gang. You can hear a pin drop. He’s sure they aren’t breathing. Come to think of it. The entire room seems to have come to aspeechless pause. As if everyone is collectively noticing that the most-feared inmate—who usually sits at his own table—just sat down next to a bunch of inmates.

Next to Izz.

All the prisoners and guards are holding their breath for the serial killer to attack.

Instead, Sinn'ous places a chocolate pudding cup and a little bowl of soup, down on Izz’s tray. Fingers brushing Izz’s arm as Sinn'ous pulls his hand away.

He would thank his saviour, but his throat is killing him, he does not want to talk. Doesn’t want to remember why.

Instead, he picks up the pudding, taking hold of the cold plasticcup. Discarding its floppy top, he scoops out its contents. Stuffing it into his mouth. This must be where Sinn'ous had vanished too. Collecting pudding and soup. How? He hasn’t a clue. Threatened a kitchen worker? Most likely. He can’t say he feels sorry for them. He hates the kitchen staff. Hates most of the people in here, they are assholes.

His body permits the food to stay down. It doesn’t immediately evacuate it out. His stomach settles and relaxes, happy with the meal. A gift from Sinn'ous that Izz’s body doesn’t want to disappoint him by throwing it back up.

The cold chocolatey treat soothinghis burning throat. He takes comfort in it. He is sick of the constant tightening burn whenever he swallows or moves his head. The cold treat helps to neutralise the sensations he doesn’t want to look at too closely. He never wants to relive those experiences. He wants to forget. Wants it to be a long-lost memory.

Dementia would be nice right about now.