Page 19 of Caged In

He squirms at the look that gets cast his way. Nervous doesn’t even begin to describe how he’s feeling about this conversation.

“I see . . . And your cellmate would be?”

Maybe Izz should leave and forget about the job? He can always buy wool from Commissary and take up knitting. Do they sell wool at Commissary? He couldn’t afford it even if they do. He might have to resort to unravelling the threads in his shirt, use those to knit himself a hat or something—

Actually, he would rather gouge his eyes out with a spoon, instead of being caught knitting by another inmate. The no-eyes thing could work in his favour too, savehim from the sight of the counsellor’s heavy examining gaze and observant eyes.

“Reni,” Izz tentatively replies.

“Reni . . .” The man taps his lips and glances into the far corner as if the answers are written on the ceiling’s faded paint.

“I don’t know his last name, or even if that’s his real name. He said he was the guide for new inmates—”

“Ah. yes, yes, that would be Romos Casimiro. He’s a lovely inmate, very well behaved. A good thing you have him as your cell buddy, there are a ton of unsavoury inmates in this prison who would make nightmarish cell buddies.”

That is not helping his nerves. Isn’t this guy supposed to be a counsellor here to help people? Not send them into panic attacks and have them leaving the office with more worries than they came in with.

And why call it buddies? Makes it sound like a little kids’ camping trip—a boy scouts’ mission—not an inescapable cage filled with hardened criminals.

“I—yes, I guess. I haven’t really met many inmates yet.” Well, there are those two creepy A-Wing locals—who left a bad taste in his mouth. He’s in no hurry to bumpinto them anytime in the future.

There’s also the serial killer, although, technically, Izz hasn’t met him. Merely observed the inmate from a safe distance. Which gives him stalker vibes now that he puts it into perspective in his own mind. Why does he feel like the creeper in this instance? The male’s a serial killer. Who wouldn’t stareon their first day?

Besides, Izz was studying the male before he found out about the killing part—he’ll choose to ignore thewhysto that part of the story. He was not eye fucking a serial killer. Nope. He was studying a potential threat. That was all.

Even you don’t believe that lie.Izz’s inner voice mocks him.

“Perfectly understandable,” the man’s professional tone wafts into Izz’s ears. “You’ve been here for what? Less than twenty-four hours?”

“Yeah.” Has it truly been so little time? Izz feels a million years older than he did when he arrived. He’s going to be a walking casket on his release day at this rate.

“Okay, so, about the job. Ah. You can’t really pick. The system picks for you. Takes a day or two—usually—to work it out. I’ll put your name into the programming thingy and presto magic-o, you’ll get your assignment.”

Izz sighs. He can’t choose what he gets—he had to come here to get a job, but he can’t choose it. And they put his name into the system themselves, to wait for a machine to hand them a result. Why didn’t they automatically do this when he was being processed into prison in the first place? Instead of wasting all this time.

“Not to worry,” the counsellor continues, “if it’s something you hate, you can file paperwork to me for the Warden and see about getting moved. Although, it can take months to sort out. Warden’s a busy man. And he has to approve all transfers. And a job transfer is low on the scale of importance. Sitting under—approval for cell transfers or Wing transfers, inmates movingin and out of solitary confinement, and a whole heap of other prison related drama I won’t bore you with. It’s simply easier to stay in the job you’re assigned, grit your teeth, and muscle through—you’re not here too long anyway. Unless, you’re in fear of another inmate at your job stabbing you or harming you in some way. That usually jumps the transfers of jobs up in the Warden’s to-do pile. Usually. If you happen to get stabbed, you’re pulled out immediately.”

Great, so if Izz hates the job, he has to endure it unless someone hates him more and shivshim.

Excellent. Izz rolls his eyes internally.

How is this man a counsellor? He’s more of a doom and gloom giver. Handing out all the information—including every piece of bad information—even if you don’t want it.

“So . . . Ah . . .” The counsellor contemplates. Tacking on questions after a short stretch of silence that Izz refuses to fill, “how are you finding it so far? No troubles?”

“Prison?” Izz questions, he doesn’t particularly care what the counsellor means—

Izz wants to leave, will it be rude toget up and walk out? You can’t be sent to The Hole for that, can you?

“Yes.” The counsellor leans back in his chair, settling into a more comfortable position.

Izz’s anxiety spikes at the movement, an indication this conversation is going to be longer thanhe first hoped.

“I haven’t really seen much of the prison,” Izz thinks of the two inmates outside his cell, they hadn’t really done anything, except be creepy. He also isn’t a snitch. “It hasn’t been too gruelling so far. I’ve got a group that’s been helping me out, my cellmate introduced me to them, they’re the . . . people he hangs out with.”

He’s not sure it’d be wise to call themThe Gangin front of this counsellor, even if they aren’t technically a true gang. At least . . . that’s what Reni told him . . .

“Sounds like you’re finding your place and fitting in nicely. It’s good to find companions to keep you from going numb in this place. But just remember, it is prison so don’t get too attached to people in here.”

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