Page 94 of Blackout-

Breaking the stare off between us, I look towards the bottom bunk. As I’m about to side step him, he uncrosses his arms and holds out a hand, blocking me from moving.

“I asked you a fucking question.”

My eyes dart to the hand blocking me before I reach out and wrap my fingers around his throat. In one fluid motion, I toss him against the cinder block wall. He grabs a hold of my shirt and tries to push me off him, but my grip tightens around his neck as I widen my stance and lean my weight onto him.

“Is that any way to greet your fucking new cellmate?” I growl.

“Fuck you,” he hisses, spit flying through his teeth.

“Wrong answer, motherfucker. Now, I’m gonna give you a pass this time because you don’t know me and I’m the guy invading your fucking turf, but if you ever come at me like that again I won’t be so fucking kind.” My fingers dig into his flesh as his cold eyes remain impassive. After another moment, I release my hold on him and take a step back. He doesn’t make a big deal about catching his breath or even lift a hand to his bruising throat. Instead, he points to the photograph of the boy and narrows his eyes at me. With his voice hoarse from the struggle, he issues a warning of his own.

“Off limits.”

I lift an eyebrow but don’t look at the photograph.

“Your kid?”

“You hard of hearing? I said,off limits.”

“Fair enough,” I relent. As curious as I am, I respect boundaries. Especially when it comes to someone’s kid or their woman. “You got a name?”

He remains quiet as he pushes off the wall and crosses the two feet separating us. Without giving me another glance, he hikes himself onto the top bunk.

“I don’t like slobs and I don’t share my shit,” he says, folding his arms under his head. Spreading his large frame over the cot, his feet hang off the edge. If he’s bothered by it, he doesn’t show it. “I get out in three months and I can’t afford any trouble. Stay the fuck out of my way and I’ll stay out of yours. If I catch you lookin’ at my kid again, I’ll slice your throat when you’re sleeping.”

“That’s a mighty big threat for someone who don’t want any trouble,” I volley, crossing my arms over my chest as I lean against the wall.

“It’s not a threat, it’s a promise,” he corrects, keeping his tone even and his eyes on the ceiling. I contemplate answering him but decide my newfound cellmate ain’t worth my fucking spit. I also decide I’m going to rip the picture of his boy in half when he goes to sleep. Maybe then the motherfucker won’t be so quick to threaten to slice my throat.

“Bishop,” he grunts.

The one word forces me to lift my eyes to his.

“Excuse me?”

“My name,” he replies. “It’s Bishop.”

I don’t give a fuck what his name is.

The motherfucker made an enemy today. He’ll be lucky if I let him live to see tomorrow.

“That’s your cue.”

“I don’t take cues from anyone,” I tell him as I push off the wall and make my way towards the bottom bunk. Folding my frame onto the cot, I stare at his bunk and try to drown out the noise on the cell block. Bishop doesn’t say another word and soon the correctional officer calls lights out.

I don’t sleep.

I don’t even close my eyes.

It’s not fear that keeps me awake. I know if I close my eyes, I’ll see Lacey’s face. It’ll start off as a dream. I’ll relive all the good. Every beautiful smile and all theI love you's. The nights we spent laughing, fucking and loving. I’ll see those two pink lines and that grainy sonogram. Then I’ll think about the names she’s picked and maybe even say them aloud while I sleep. Soon the dream will turn to a nightmare and all I’ll hear are her cries. All I’ll see is the pain reflected in her eyes as she begs me to look at her. I’ll plead for my subconscious to stop inflicting torture on me and when it doesn’t, I’ll wish for poison.

Just one hit.

A tiny rip.

A single prick of the needle.

I’ll get nothing.

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