Page 101 of Blackout-

I screamed for her.

I cried for her.

And finally, I lied to her.

I told her Daddy was coming for her and that everything would be okay.

The nightmare finally ended when I felt someone kick me in the shin. My eyes sprang open and through the fog of sleep, I focused on Bishop.

“For fuck’s sake, man, you’re screaming like a little bitch,” he sneered, narrowing his cold blue eyes on me. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

He took a step backward, and I threw my legs over the side of the bed as I sat up. Dropping my head into my hands, I tried to slow my racing heart and erase the nightmare from my memory, but it was no use. I could still hear the baby crying.

“I couldn’t get to her,” I muttered hoarsely as I peeled my hands away from my face and peered up at Bishop. He rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated breath while crossing his arms against his chest.

“Fine,” he hissed. “I’ll bite but only because I want to get some fucking sleep and maybe if you talk it out, you’ll quit thrashing and rocking the cot. I thought there was a fucking earthquake,” he grunted, pausing for a beat as he studied me intently, watching as I swiped the beads of sweat away from my forehead.

“Who couldn’t you get to?”

I struggled to swallow as I met his gaze.

“My daughter.”

God.

Saying those two words out loud gutted me. I shook my head as I combed my fingers through my hair.

“My wife is pregnant,” I told him, knowing the guy didn’t give a fuck. “I don’t even know if it’s a girl, but I got this feeling…” I added, bringing my fist to my gut. “…right here and it’s telling me, I’m going to have a daughter.”

Lifting my gaze to him, I watch Bishop uncross his arms and look towards the sink. The photo of the little boy was back in its rightful spot and he stared at it longingly. I don’t know if it was because I was reeling from the nightmare or if I was feeling the effects of the loneliness, but I kept talking to the man I swore to make my enemy.

“Did you get that feeling with your son? Did you just know?” I asked him both curiously and desperately. For some strange reason, I needed him to confirm that what I was felt was genuine. That a father’s intuition was every bit as real as a mother’s intuition.

He didn’t answer me.

Instead, Bishop turned his eyes back to me and I swore they were a shade darker.

“Go the fuck to sleep,” he said. “Next time you wake me up, I’m going to shove a pillow over your head.”

Without another word, he climbed the short ladder and got back into the top bunk. I didn’t fall back asleep. I didn’t even close my eyes. The baby’s cries echoed in my head and when the guard opened the fucking bars, I fucking ran out of that cell as quick as my legs could carry me, foolishly thinking I could escape my demons.

Now, here I am, hours later with my fucking lunch tray in my hand, staring at Bishop who sits alone at a table scarfing down a slice of stale white bread. Before I can think better of it, I cross the mess hall and make my way to the table. I don’t ask for permission as I sit in front of him and when he lifts his head to scowl at me, I tip my milk carton towards him, silently saluting him.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asks as I gulp down the milk.

“What the fuck does it look like I’m doing?” I volley, swiping the excess milk from the scruff covering my lip with the back of my hand.

“It looks like you’re eating lunch with me,” he sneers as I tear the cellophane from the bologna sandwich. Bringing the bread to my mouth, I meet his gaze.

“Then, I guess I’m eating lunch with you,” I say before taking a huge bite out of the sandwich. I cringe as I chew. I don’t know what the fuck I’m eating but it sure as fuck ain’t bologna. Bishop continues to stare at me through narrowed eyes and I force the shit down my throat. The thought of eating another bite turns my stomach and I push my tray towards him.

“I’m Blackie,” I tell him, forcing my eyes back to his. “Seems only fair you know my name after what happened this morning,” I add, sighing as I push my hair out of my face uncomfortably. Swiping the applesauce from my tray, Bishop leans back and removes the lid. Once he’s got it off, he digs his plastic spoon into the cup and lifts his gaze to me.

“Black like the aura of darkness hanging over your fucking head,” he deadpans, shoving the spoon into his mouth as he continues to study me.

It’s a pretty solid analogy.

“Exactly.”

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