Page 90 of Caged In

To the point. No explanation. Izz wants to know. “How come you get away with it?”

He can visibly see Sinn'ous’s internal sigh. And he isn’t the least bit concerned he may be irritating the male. He lets his grin widen and his eyes puppy-dog at the black ones watching him.

“People are too scared to say anything against it.” Sinn'ous inhales half the joint pinched between his fingers. The orange tip eating through the end to race up towards his lips.

Izz had been on his way to his own cell to stock up, but . . .

Glancing into Sinn'ous’s cell, he scans the items taking up so much cell space . . .

It would be unjust to leave it like that, to not relieve Sinn'ous from the burdens.

Besides, the treats in Izz’s own cell are also Sinn'ous’s. It wouldn’t matter if he simply nicked the stuff in here, instead of having to walkallthe way back to his own cell.

Izz enters the Satanic space and goes to the cupboard with its doors hanging open. The chocolates and other goodiesareon full display, ripe for his picking.

Crouching down, he takes his time sifting through them and stuffing his pockets.

“By all means . . . help yourself,” Sinn'ous’s sarcastic tonefills the cell, Izz can hear his underlying amusement. So he’s not worried he might have gone too far.

“Don’t worry, I am,” Izz laughs as he stuffs more chocolates and bars into his prison pants.

He pecks Sinn'ous on the lips on his way out. Watching the small smirk pulling at the male’s lips.

“I’ll see you after work,” Izz throws over his shoulder, as he hits the top of the stairs.

Man, it’s good to be alive.

28

Izz chooses to work alone, away from everyone else. He wants to clean and eat and not have to worry about being in any conversations. He especially wants to be as far away from David as possible, he doesn’t want to overhear another blow upabout his‘protection’. Not that David has the guts to talk directly to him—only talks about him to others.

He starts his work on the other side of the laundry room, loading machine after machine. Snacking on chocolates between each bundle of clothing.

Izz’s joyous mood is holding strong against the unruly tangle of sheets he’s manhandling into an empty machine—the load not giving up without a fight. It’s as if it has a deep-seated phobia of being clean. He concentrates on the task at hand, ignoring the inmate he can sense approaching.

His wishful thinkingif-I-don’t-acknowledge-you-you’ll-leaveis sucked down the shitter when they open their mouth. “I’m sorry.” A voice Izz recognises, not one that’s usually directed to him personally.

He really doesn’t want to say anything, he grits his teeth and reluctantly faces David.

Why is David here? Can he not tell Izz doesn’t like him?

David shuffles his feet, blurting out, “you were right. I was being an asshole. You hadn’t given me any reason to say those things about you. I shouldn’t have said anything. So I’m here to apologise and hopefully hit a restart on us.”

Fool me once . . .

Izz’s not convinced, “I’m not interested. You said what you did. Put out how you feel about me, without knowing shit aboutme. That’s on you. I’m not interested in having anything to do with you.”

Why would he stoop so low as to befriend someone who clearly hates him and judges people without knowing them. He’s open minded about making friends with all types of people, but a person who blatantly pokes fun at others, bullies, spreads around made-up shit . . .

Nah, he’s good. He’d rather befriend this pile of wet clothing he’s about to manhandle out of one of the old machines—which is beeping its demands to be empty, the urgency unnecessary—it’s not going to explode if it isn’t emptied immediately. Whoever invented this machine should have known how annoying it is to beep louder the longer you ignore it.

Demanding machine and its high pitch whining.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay.”

Why is he still talking? It’s not as though I hedged around my answer, the message should be clear.

Izz ignores David. Stuffing his hands into the machine’s belly to heft out the wet load, ready to switch it into a dryer and finish the process. Other inmates will do the folding after it’s dried and load the trolleys to do the deliveries to all the cells.

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