Page 22 of Fragments
I know it’s hypocritical for me to be so possessive of Lexington, when I spend ninety percent of my existence in this prison getting railed from both ends by everyone who isn’t him. Irealizethat, but it doesn’t change how I feel. And believe me, if Lex ever allows me anywhere near him again, I will not hesitate to take another stab at making him blissfully miserable.
But he never does, and I get why. And while I don’t necessarily consider the hurt I inflictintentional, he doesn’t see it that way. He just hates me, forever throwing roadblocks between us that feel like an infinite itch in a place I can’t scratch.
My mood is spiraling. Plopping down onto the floor, I decide to distract myself with a workout. I do a hundred sit-ups, and I’m shaking, moving onto push-ups, assisted with my feet on my bed. Between the grunting and sweating and muscle strain, my mind is weaving through the past, a scattered slideshow of memories winding me up into a frenzy.
Eventually, I collapse onto the floor, breathing hard. Squeezing my eyes shut tight, I curl up into a ball and cover my head with my arms. A scream leaves my lips.
Burn burn BURN.
Burn it all down.
When my eyes reopen, I think some time has passed, though I’m not certain how much. My lids are heavy, body stiff and achy as I pull myself up off the floor. Sounds from the opposite hallway alert me to someone’s presence. I don’t care who it is, I need them.
Shaking my bars, the door makes a subtle clanging noise as I shout, “Hey! Get in here!”
The door to the row opens, and Officer Hancock strolls through, casting me an annoyed look. “What’s with all the banging, 48?”
“Will you bring Byron over here, please?” I ask him, batting my eyelashes at his pretty face.
He’s good-looking too. Believe it or not, most of the guards here are attractive, which is kind of fascinating. Maybe it’s just prison goggles, but still… it’s nice to be surrounded by hot dudes, especially when the rest of this setting is beyond fugly.
“You’re high,” Hancock scoffs, turning away from me.
“Please, Simon,” I beg, using a salacious tone I know he likes, because he stops moving. “I just need to talk to him for a second.”
His face tilts in my direction. “What’s in it for me?”
I’m sighing inside.These guys are all so predictable.
“Whatever you want, gorgeous.” I wink at him.
He seems grumpier than usual, but he gives in and stomps up the row, two cells over.
Walking in a circle, I chew on my lower lip, considering how to make this work.
It probably won’t. Seriously, it’s so far-fetched, it’s in Canada. But I have to try.
Hancock returns with my pal Byron Kang in tow, cuffed. “You have five minutes.” He opens my cell and shoves Byron inside, closing the door and standing guard outside.
Byron shoots me a puzzled look that has me grinning.
I like him. He’s one of my favorite people.
“What do you want?” he rumbles. “O’Malley and I are playing poker, and I’m winning.”
I chuckle. But then my amusement slips away, and I gulp.
“I need him, Byron,” I whisper. His face falls a bit, but he covers it with a scoff. “Please… I just need your help.”
“Ren, why do you keep torturing yourself?? And him. Both of you,” he grunts. “You’retorturingboth of you with this incessant bullshit. Just let it go.”
“I can’t, you know that.” I rub my eyes. “He told me not to give up on him. Hetold mehe’s in love with me…”
“No, he didn’t,” Byron growls. “Cut the shit, Ren. I know he didn’t say any of that…”
“He did! He did, I swear,” I gasp, crowding him. He backs up into the bars, blinking at my face, dark eyes shadowing something I can’t quite place. “Tomorrow… in the showers. We can play…” My voice trails, fingers sliding along the waist of his pants. He swallows visibly. “And he can be there. He’ll like it. It’ll feelgood, I promise.”
He looks like he wants to protest. But he won’t.
