Page 15 of Babalon

She quickly yanked at my cuffs before my legs decided to work, making me stumble, only to drag my deplorable ass down the hallway.

Yes ma’am, anything you say ma’am.

The cafeteria is lively as always. The slamming of metal trays against the tops of the tables, grown ass men grunting like they’re throwing around weights at the gym, and the ever-present sound of my heart racing in my ears.

Docs call that tinnitus, right?

All I can think about is whatever the hell happened in the hallway. I don’t consider myself an unlucky man, but I could have stopped it. Right? Right. I’m grown, not a tiny thing. I work out in my cell. Push-ups and squats are what get me going inthe morning. I’m a 39-year-old guy and she’s smaller than me. I could have taken her; I just didn’t want to. At least that’s what I keep telling myself all while staring down into the slop on my tray. I don’t know what type of poison they are feeding us today but it looked like some sort of cream-based soup and some dry ass cornbread.

When you’re locked up, you learn to eat anything that is put in front of you. For some inmates it’s bland food, for others its drugs, and for some it’s body parts. I’m not talking about cannibalism or anything, which I am sure someone around here does, but these men swing whichever way gets their dick wet. I guess when you’re that desperate for human contact, you will take anything you can get.

Doesn’t make me any better— I just got my rocks off with a guard.

It’s safe to say that we are all touch starved but I’m not, not anymore at least.Shetook care of that. Now I just need to find a way to keep her far from me; her hand felt so fucking good that I’m disgusted with myself on how sleazy I was acting.

She humiliated me, took advantage of me, touched what wasn’t hers to touch, but fuuuuuuuuck me…. I’d let her do it again.

No, the hell I won’t!The other side of me bites back.

Unable to contain my groan, my hands come up and run through my hair as if they had a mind of their own. Clenching somewhat and pulling at the platinum-colored strands just before I huff. What do I do now? Pretend like nothing happened?

“Yooooo, cotton top, what’s poppin’?”

Releasing my hair, I looked towards the direction that accented voice came from. Holding onto his tray, his jumper slung low on his hips, white wife-beater covering the top half of him; orange is definitely his color.

“Matias, what’s up man?” I asked, watching as he got closer and tossed a leg over the table bench, so sure of himself.

Matias Ayala, the only friend I have in here. Half the time I wouldn’t consider him that, he’s just one of the only inmates that doesn’t like to fuck with me. He’s in his early 30’s, Hispanic, broad shoulders with ink that covers every square inch of visible skin outside of his face. He has a girl at home who has a Jody of her own, and I hate to hear that she is unfaithful but when society caters to sex, this is what you get.

Matias is in here for gutting a few police officers. Apparently, one slapped his abuela around and he, being a runner for the Cartel, wasn’t having any of it. So, he ambushed the two officers, drugged them, beat them senseless for a few days then used a bread knife to saw them open. Story is, he had the guts of one tied around the others neck until he passed out and just kept repeating it until he died. Again, that’s a story. People make up shit in prison all the time, paint a worse picture of themselves; self-preservation they say. When you operate on a crime of passion, or anger in his case, it’s kill first and play later— he was a badass through and through.

“You sitting alone again, amigo?”

“Always, you know I have no interest in forming ties here. It’s get in and get out.”

“Hah! You’re not getting out of here my friend,” Matias drawled, that thick Hispanic accent accompanying his words. He turned to his tray and started shoveling the food into his mouth, sans manners. I’m sure this will go over like a lead balloon when the skinheads look over. I’ve never played their stupid race games but they still insert themselves into my bubble. That’s why Matias was so fond of me, but that is a different story for a different day.

“You doing alright? Saw you pullin’ at that hair of yours again. Something on your mind?”

Perceptive fuck.

“Nah, was late to that Criminal Justice class and didn’t get any notes down so I have to show up early next week before class starts to catch up,” I replied.

“That female officer still gunning for you?”

I stalled, becoming silent despite the ruckus of the cafeteria. Imayhave mentioned Nadia’s behavior towards me a time or two, if you want to call it that. She’s just hateful and needs to find someone to torture for the hell of it. I’m the lucky schmuck that gets her undivided attention— at least I know she doesn't hate me entirely. Snatching up my spoon, I glared down at the… what the fuck is this again? Soup? And dig in.

“Always, man, always. Enough about me, how’s your girl?”

“Fuck that puta, I know she’s fuckin’ someone on the outside. Looks like he slaps her around a bit, too. Last time she came to visitation she had a busted lip. Serves her right, if you ask me. Shouldn’t take dick unless you’re attached to it, ya know?”

“Not at all, Matias.” I laughed.

“Anyway, Kace, chow isn’t why I sat down. Word on the street is that the brotherhood is trying to sell you for information on the kinfolk. They started down with the homies but we gave ‘em nothin’ so they’ll be headed to the Asian-persuasion next. May wanna keep your head low for a bit. Maybe get caught up with that female officer and dropped down in the hole for some safety.” He grinned, dropping a not-so-subtle hint.

“Fuck, I don’t know shit about the kinfolk,” I groaned. Nate the Ape is at it again, I’m sure. “Thanks man, I appreciate the heads up.”

“No problem. Listen, cabrón, I got your back if you need anything, alright?”

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