Page 64 of Babalon

“Yes ma’am.” I say, my smirk growing.

Leaving her be, I sit down at one of the tables. Matias is playing cards with a few of the guys he spends a majority of his time with. About three tables down to my right. He’s kicking their ass; the man is good at what he does and entertaining as hell too. You can tell he was the class clown in school.

To the left, one of the new kids is hold up with a pencil and a piece of paper, maybe writing home to whoever he is thinking of—instead of using the phone like normal people. The prison has landlines that are set up like pay phones, which I am sure most people have no clue how to use. If you don’t have money on your books, you can call ‘collect’ and get the person on the other end of the phone to foot the bill.

There are the visual phones, too, which is kind of like sitting in visitation and talking through a handset and a glass window. Then, of course, there are burner phones that you can get a hold of while in gen pop. They typically come with payments that you don’t really want to make. Such as finding drugs for the person who is currently hiding the phone, sexual favors for others, and then other things such as cigarettes. It is all dependent upon what that person wants, and if you can talk them into passing the phone on.

After about a week or two of the phone circulating, it’s pulled, damaged, and replaced when a new shipment comes into the prison. Which solidifies my suspicion regarding guards here who are peddling, but I only care about one of them.

Yeah, I care about her. I probably always have, to a degree, but I’m not afraid to admit that shit now.

It takes a little bit for her to finish up, but she eventually does and approaches my table. I can feel her before I see or hear her, like my body is attuned to my cruel sentry. There are worse things, I tell you. Feeling your woman without the need for words is definitely not terrible.

While I haven’t entirely decimated her yet, I want to. I don’t want her to walk this planet thinking there isn’t, at minimum, one person that is completely infatuated with her. She has the pull of a black hole, and I can feel her drawing in every ounce of my being.

“Let’s go, inmate,” Nadia calls out.

Slapping my hand on the table, like Matias does, I push away from my seat and walk over to her. I was half expecting her to put me in some sort of restraint, but she doesn’t—we’re making progress.

Making me proud, baby girl. If only you knew.

At some point over the past few years, she changed her shampoo to something equally girly, pomegranate or some shit. Today, however, she smells like she did when I first met her—citrus and honey. I’m not saying that she ever smelt bad; no, nothing like that. She’s just rekindling a lot of memories that I have since pushed down. Especially the ones where she turned on me and started acting like a fucking terrorist.

Walking in front of her, I lead the both of us towards the rec yard. Inmates we pass thinking nothing of it as they move out of the way like Nadia was parting the Red Sea or something equally biblical. It’s wild to think she has that sort of power here, butwhen you have the things inmates want, they’re more likely to respect you out of fear. Losing their plug is detrimental in their eyes, and as shameful as it may be, Nadia is good at running. She’s good at everything she does.

Pushing the door open, I hold it open for her to walk through then head to the far right. There were a set of benches bolted down to the concrete that we can sit at. The summer is finally starting to give way to the fall—a slight chill in the air—so it makes it nicer to sit out here, especially for what I have planned.

I want her to open up to me, I need her to. I want to know everything about this woman, and I have more than enough time on my hands to crack her wide open.

Facing one way on the bench, Nadia sits down and faces the other, like were watching each other’s back out here. I suppose, in a way, we were.

“What do you want, Kace?” she starts off, not one to beat around the bush.

She’s so impatient.

“Remember the other day where I gave you two options, and you took the latter? Well, there was a third, but I figured it would be best to discuss it when I wasn’t ready to break you.”

“You going to tell me what the hell it was or continue being vague?”

“I want you to open up to me. Tell me what the fuck happened to you that has you so uptight and… vengeful.”

“Fat chance, Kace.”

She goes to push up, but I quickly turn, and grab her wrist, yanking her back down to the bench.

“Don’t do that shit, Nadia. It’s time to talk. Tell me. I’ve watched you for years. I know there’s something there, I can see it when we are together, and the only way I can be safe with you is knowing what to avoid.”

I didn’t want to come into this so strong, I wanted to give her the time and space to talk about it without pressure, but the damn brat always wants to do things the hard way—her way. Fine by me, as long as it gets done.

This time, Nadia allows the weight of the oncoming conversation to press down on the both of us. I know it wasn’t something savory and she knows I won’t give up. I need to know. If I am going to figure anything out for the two of us, it is imperative she trusts me.

“I’m not special, Kace. Things happen to people all the time,” she starts, pulling her wrist from my hold and sitting back down.

“I understand that, but to some people you are special, and you deserve to be heard. So, out with it.”

“You’re a dickhead, you know that?”

“Don’t fucking deflect.”

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