Page 8 of From Best To Bested

Roman wouldn’t be contained, but he didn’t want to hit her, to hurt her, even though he wanted to continue fighting.

He still thought about how fast the truck hit Stacy. He still thought about how much blood there was, how much of Stacy’s insides were littered across the ground. Littered because they were useless to her now. There wasn’t a goddamn thing Roman could do to temper back the night. Stacy had died on impact, and the worst part was that he hadn’t stopped fighting. Anger had consumed him, and while a flicker of Roman’s vision caught sight of the horrible events his shove had caused, most of him still wanted to break the man beneath him.

Now, he wanted to break the man even more, toss the blame onto him. Blame him for everything wrong in Roman’s life. It seemed so easy to pour out that fury through his fists. It took everything to pull Roman off the half-dead drunk, and Roman still fought, still raged against the police.

He didn’t rage during the trial, though. No, all his anger had been knocked out of him the first time the police showed Roman a collage of Stacy Anderson’s corpse.

“I hope you die in there,” Stacy’s mom had hissed.

That wounded Roman. His apologies to the court meant nothing to her. The years he spent as Stacy’s friend—as Stacy’s anything-but-a-boyfriend because she had goals to check off in life first. The years he joked with Stacy’s mom, singing a song she’d endured a billion times before Roman, but still managed to sing along with him every now and then. He credited his cute face; she claimed he had a good voice.

None of it mattered anymore. Roman had lost that life the minute he faced charges. He tried to push Stacy out of his mind, a difficult task since she haunted him most days.

Roman’s release from solitary didn’t come as a comfort. Yes, he could finally have engagement with other humans again, but the taunting comments had only gotten worse in his absence. Inmates practically lined up to pick a fight with him, provoke him again, get him another month of solitary, or worse. He had no friends, no allies, and no relief from the barrage of enemies. Roman needed to put a quick end to this situation.

Patience had never been a virtue Roman mastered or respected, finding it more imperative to lunge for an opportunity instead of waiting for the earth beneath his feet to settle. Roman bolted for the cafeteria. Early or not, he didn’t care. He silently waited for the lunch crowd to arrive, and once they had, Roman approached Ezra and his new flock of followers. In the month since he’d seen Ezra, the only thing that’d changed about him was the stubble on his face, which hid the boyish features he had when they first met, and there was this air of well-trained arrogance that oozed off him waves.

Levi, however, appeared hollowed out and exhausted. It pained Roman to avert his gaze from his friend, but right now, he couldn’t chance eye contact. He was furious and ready to fight, but seeing Levi truly evaluating him would steal his anger and replace it with sadness.

“I want a rematch,” Roman demanded.

“And I want another appeal.” Ezra shrugged, licking pudding off his spoon. “Wants don’t mean a fucking thing.”

“You got lucky before,” Roman said, placing his hands on the table, unyielding to the group sitting around Ezra. “But when the Challenger’s Chance comes up, I want you to know I’ll be there. I want you to see me coming, a courtesy you didn’t offer, but now I know your tricks.”

“Tricks?” Ezra tsked, still fixated on his dessert over Roman. “Tricks are what sad people call talent. They don’t understand it, so it must be deceit.”

Ezra was warping things, goading Roman, which he realized and did his best to ignore the bait. It had been a trick, a cunning and calculated one, especially for a man who professed to have only just arrived at Marlow Penitentiary that day.

The last time they fought, Roman went easy, Roman was tired, and Roman fell for an obvious ploy. It wouldn’t happen again.

“Just be ready to hand that title back over.”

Ezra chuckled. “You assume I would accept your challenge for a rematch.”

Roman scowled. “Are you too big of a coward to face me again, to face me head-on?”

“You have nothing I want,” Ezra said, finishing his pudding and reaching for Levi’s. “Yet, I seem to have everything you crave.”

Roman’s eyes finally flitted to Levi. A shell of his former self. He sat silently next to Ezra, surrounded by the other men at the table, and didn’t look up from his own tray. He’d gone ghostly white since the last time Roman saw him. His shoulder-length hair seemed stragglier, and despite being a lighter brown, it held a haunting darkness to it, adding to Levi’s empty blue eyes and vacant expression.

“There’s no challenge to dethroning you again,” Ezra said, pulling Roman’s attention back. “Might add to the humiliation,but I’m no monster. I don’t wanna see you suffer just because you’re arrogant.”

One flick of his gaze back to Levi said that was an utter lie.

“How about this.” Ezra cleared his throat, commanding the already captive attention of his table. “You come to me with a real offer, something worth my time, and I’ll entertain your rematch. I’ll give you a chance to lose to me again. Fair and square. Sound good, friend?”

Ezra extended a hand like they’d shake on it, shake on some unspoken wager Roman would have to set the terms to, and hope Ezra would accept. He slapped away Ezra’s friendly hand. When a man at the table rose in defense, Roman glared, daring him to step up.

Part of Roman wanted to end this here and now. Fight Ezra, fight all eight men at the table, fight the guards who’d sweep in to break things up, fight every other inmate who’d cheer at his defeat. But Roman wasn’t that arrogant. He knew even he had limits, and damn if that wasn’t humbling.

Ezra snapped his fingers, and everyone at the table stood, not to fight but to follow as Ezra took his leave. It was at this moment that Levi looked up to steal a look at his friend. Roman wanted to speak, to ask what had happened to Levi this last month, but he had ideas. Terrible, terrible ideas. Ezra whistled, and Levi’s head snapped back to his tray, where he quickly shoveled something in his mouth, anything for sustenance, and then got up to trail behind Ezra like a fucking pet.

It infuriated Roman, fueling him to find a solution. Roman left the cafeteria in search of something he could offer to convince Ezra to accept a rematch.

The day didn’t offer Roman any solutions, just more reminders of his new place in life. Dinner had been scarce since someone decided to throw a bit of extra protein into his meal in the form of dead bugs. A few more men instigated things,attempting to provoke Roman, to make him swing first. Not that it really mattered in the grand scheme. The guards turned their attention elsewhere when someone taunted Roman, but he knew the second he fought back or even defended himself, if one inmate were brazen enough to raise a fist, it’d be Roman who would end up back in solitary.

That night, Roman managed to convince a guard to add him to the arena attendance.

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