Page 17 of Caged In

“Yeah, ‘cause cleaning peoples socks is difficult ‘work’,” Erik snapsat Reni, using air-quotes on ‘work’to mock him. MimickingPhelix with flashing the middle finger.

“You’d have to see the counsellors to get a job assignment,” Izz flinches when Blake’s voice emerges from the space right next to him.

I need to observemy surroundings better, so I know where people are.

Drawing in a deep breath to calm his nerves, Izz gives Blake his undivided attention. “Where do I find them?”

“We can drop you off at his office, on the way to E-Wing, I need to drop this stuff off at my cell anyway.” Blake jostles the papers and chips in his hands which Izz hadn’t seen.

So much for taking notice of his surroundings, that conviction lasted a good two seconds.

If I don’t get it together, things could turn sour real fast.

“That would be helpful, thanks. This place is like a maze.” A deadly maze, with criminals around every corner. Technically Izz’s one of those criminals too, according to the law. But laws shouldn’t stop you from getting help when you need it.

I didn’t do it for myself.

He sighs, he would like a map to study so he can find his way around the maze of cages. He has a hunch asking a guard for a map of the prison would not work out so well. They’d probably add time for an ‘attempted prison break’—or something colourful like that—just to be assholes. Reminds him of the first guard who shoved him around, and fastened the cuffs excessively tight—

“You’ll get used to it.”

Izz blinks—like a stunned puppy—at Blake’s response.

Did the vampire lookalike read his mind?

Blake smiles softly, obviously noticing Izz’s confusion. “The prison. You’ll get used to where everything is.”

Ohhhhh . . .

He’s relieved no one can read his mind, or he’d feel like more of an idiot than he already does. He’s way too out of it. Actually thinking Blake read his mind. For someone who’s a social butterfly, he sure is acting like a socially awkward recluse.

The sad smile Blake gives Izz says, ‘it isn’t something you want to get used to, but spend enough time here and it’s inevitable’.

Izz doesn’t want to spend enough time in here to get used to it. However, he doesn’t have a say in the matter. He is stuck here, until the day his sentence finishes.

7

Izz drifts behind as The Gang ambles their way down a corridor. The others are eating while engrossed in subject matters he can’t engage in—without background information. Discussions of previous days in their prison life. Names of inmates or guards he doesn’t recognise. Locations in prison he has no clue where to find. He’s a little disgruntled at being left out, it is his second day here so he shouldn’t feel frustrated with drifting on the outskirts . . . He is though . . .

Zidie tore off a hunk of his chocolate bar, presenting it to Izz in his outstretched hand, a chocolatyswirl of nuts that Izz eagerly accepts.

“Thanks,” Izz nibbles it delicately, savouring the treat for as long as possible.

Anxiety at seeing a counsellor has his stomach participating in acrobatics and the chocolate chunks within it practising aerobics. He isn’t sure why he’s antsy, usually he doesn’t squirm away from social interactions.

His mind and personality are frazzled in this place, he hopes he can regain his old self. . . . Eventually. Whoever this counsellor is, maybe they can help him on that front. To find himself again, and to cope with this new life he’s been thrown into.

“So what job will you get? Huh? Huh?” Zidie energetically interrogates, circling Izz in a dizzying fashion, while spontaneously skipping, “You better pick laundry. Don’t you dare ditch me for that stupid library.”

Izz laughs, grabbing the overzealous inmate by the arm to halt his erraticmovements. “I guess—”

Zidie grips Izz, tugging him into a bone-bending bear hug, shaking him back and forth like a dog with a chew toy, “Bye, bestie,” Zidie gesturesto the door nextto them.

Oh, they arrived quicker than he’d expected.

“Don’t disappoint me,” Zidie throws out ominously, swinging an accusing finger towards Izz.

He rolls his eyes. That man is crazy. Yet Zid is no doubt going to make this cage bearable to live in. Somewhat acceptable to call it . . . home—

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