Page 26 of Caged In

Izz does not appreciate being in the spotlight. Or that everyone keeps assuming he sold his ass for a frickin’ mattress—

“No. I. Did. Not. If whoever left the thing was stupid enough to do it without arranging a deal beforehand, then they are going to be sorelydisappointed when I tell them to piss off, I’m keeping the mattress, their claim to it became null-n-void the moment they left it on my bunk. It’s mine now. They can screw off,” Izz may have raised his voice to quite a degree in his anger, but it is valid and he is not apologising for it.

Everyone at the table gawksat him. Zidie—trying to suppress a grin. Reni—blinking in shock at the outburst. Isco—displayingno sign of caring. Phelix—stunned bewilderment. David’s face is a tight knot, his lips thinned out, like he’s irritated—with what? Izz couldn’t tell. Erik . . . holds an understanding, sad, expression . . .

Erik’s expression makes Izz anxious, so he spuns back to face the rest of the table. The pale vampire is the only one presenting a slightly apologetic face for the crap they were saying about him.

Izz exhales, pressing his fingertips into his eyes, irritated with everything. He’s already on the edge of completely losing it. And the day has barely begun.

Everyone at the table resumeseating in silence. No one wanting to poke the proverbialbear sitting with them. Everyone solely focusing on their own meals.

Great, now I feel like the asshole.

Blake’s clearly worried and trying to look out for him, and he took the guy’s head off for it. Even if Blake was being slightly overbearing and rubbing him the wrong way by making out he can’t take care of himself. He has to admit, it’s somewhatcorrect, he is a terrible fighter and would have trouble keeping himself safe.

Is it that obvious?

Izz pulls his fingers away from their assault on his eyeballs. Little white and black flecks sparking over his vision in protest to their rough treatment. Even with his sight on the fritz, he can still see the serial killer across the room. See the way the killer is studyinghim.

He’s caught in a tangled web, unable to turn away from the predator’s gaze, even if he wanted to—

A barely visible half smirk lifts the edge of the killer’s lips, it’s gone in a flash, so fast Izz’s convinced he imagined it.

~~~

Izz finds himself in a small room—compared to A-Wing and the cafeteria, this room is tiny. One door entry. A small television set, boxy and old, is mounted on the wall in the far corner. To its left is an ancient microwave sitting on a shelf that is likewise mounted into the wall.

Several tables are scattered around the room—the first ones he has seen not attached to the ground. The chairs are likewise free standing and horribly uncomfortable.

The cushioned armchairs encircling the television are appealing to him, however those are occupied by multiple inmates. Including one inmate reclining back in the chair—eyes not focused on the screen—as another inmate straddles his lap, very obviously with his hands down the reclining inmate’s pants and face tucked into the other’s neck.

Izz rearranges his position in his chair as his pants became increasingly tight. He can’t help it, it’s been a while for him, and those two are rubbing it out practically in the middle of the room.The guards are none the wiser, leaning back in the corner, in their own little world, laughing and talking, ignoring the inmates. Apparently they don’t give a shit about inmates having sex out in the middle of the damn room.

The guards in this cage are dreadful. Why do they bother hiring them? The inmates would farebetter if they were left to fend for themselves.

“You’re up, Izz,” Reni slaps a palm down on the table to get Izz’s attention.

He pulls his distracted mind back into the game, studying the cards fanned out in his hands. They aren’t playing for any valuables or cash which he appreciates, as he has nothing to betwith. No way is he putting his second mattress into the pile,and apart from that he only has his clothes which he doesn’t want to risk losing.

“This room’s pretty small, how do they choose who gets to come here or not.” Izz mulls out loud, picking out a card to throw onto the pile.

“There are seven like this,” Reni begins to explain, “Although, one’s limited to I-Wing, so six rooms for the rest of us. They’re supposed to be allocated to each Wing, but this one, in B-Wing, is the only one not taken by a gang. The rest are owned and you invite trouble onto yourself if you venture into any of them. This room is for the rest of us non-gang worthy inmates. Yay for us, hey.”

So gangs in prison really do take over and form territories. A good titbit of information to file away for later use. He doesn’t want to encroach on a powerful drug gang’s patch. He has a sense it would end painfully for him.

“I-Wing? I haven’t seen anyone with‘I’in their prison ID.” Izz has read a lot of ID numbers, purely because they’re right there in large lettering on the front of everyone’s shirts. Kind of hard to miss. Similar to the guards who have a three number ID on their uniforms.

“That’s ‘cause it’s for the Psych-Wing rejects,” Zidie cuts in, and Reni raps the back of his head. He laughs as he shoves Reni, sticking his tongue out.

“I-Wing is allocated to inmates who get released from the Psych-Wing,” Reni corrects, sending Zidie a look. “To integrate them into the general population, it’s only small, holds ‘bout thirty inmates, if their cells are doubles like the rest of us. Those inmates wear purple. There are none at the moment. The Wings for Gen-Pop are A, B, C, E, G, and H. Stay away from H-Wing, that place is run by a nasty individual you don’t want to meet. Sinj got lobbed into H-Wing although he has an . . .understanding with the boss man, so he’s safe as chips. The rest of us steer clear.” Reni throws down his next card, sifting through what he has left.

An understanding? Wonder what that implies. Is Sinj a drug runner for them or something?

Izz wants to ask, and at the same time he finds it safer to keep his mouth shut and ponder it internally. He doesn’t really need to know, it’s his curiosity that wants the answers. Won’t affect him not to know, selectively oblivious to everything drug related is the way to go. If he doesn’t want to create enemies, which he definitely does not want.

“M-Wing, we call Med-Wing, which as you can probably guess, holds the medical rooms, doctors and all that needley stuff—hate needles, they give me the heebie-jeebies,” Reni shudders, exaggerating the movements, to demonstrate his dislike. “F-Wing is the Psych-Wing, J-Wing is The Hole, D-Wing you already know—counsellors and self-help whichever. K-Wing has everything visitation related, Warden’s office and guards’ Break-Room and lockers—”

“Hence why the guards’ presence is thick in K-Wing,” Zidie tapes on. Widening his eyes at Izz, his grin obliterating his pretend fearful expression.

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