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| Day 67 out of 3652 |
Stepping out of my cell and into the day area for the first time since I entered the penitentiary felt like breathing again—though calling the air "fresh" would be a damn lie. It wasn't fresh, not even close. It was thick, heavy, and carried that stale scent of sweat and desperation. But after spending a week in solitary confinement, it was different, and for now, different was good. They said it was for suicide watch, but the isolation? That shit was enough to push anyone to the edge. It was like drowning in silence. So, stepping out now, surrounded by the noise and chaos of the day room, it felt... better. I wouldn't say good, but better.
I was lucky to have no cellmate. Luck? Nah, maybe that's too generous. More like calculated. They knew better than to stick me with just anyone. Now I was among the worst of the worst. But that didn't bother me. I was built for this.
As soon as I walked into the day room, it was like the air shifted. All eyes locked on me, sizing me up. I could feel their stares burning holes in my skin, whispering my name like I was some legend. Word spreads fast in here, especially when you're the guy everyone's heard of but never seen up close.
Every time I passed a group, the chatter died down, replaced by low murmurs and quick glances. I could hear snippets of the talk, the rumors that had been brewing since the minute I walked through those gates:
"Yo, that's Breezy."
"Told you that nigga was in here."
"He's the most prolific drug dealer on the East Coast, no cap."
"Heard he got mad bodies on him. Cold-blooded."
The whispers didn't faze me. I kept my face straight, eyes forward, never breaking stride. If anything, it gave me a sense of control, knowing they knew who I was. I wasn't just another number in the system. I was a name that carried weight, and in here, that meant something.
The room was a jungle, and I wasn't just another animal trying to survive. I was a predator, and predators don't flinch. I scoped out the place with a quick glance, reading the room like a dealer reading cards at a high-stakes table. The tension was thick, like it could snap with the wrong word or look. Some dudes kept their distance, either out of respect or fear. Others watched with curiosity, like they were trying to figure me out, waiting for the chance to test me.
I found an empty table in the corner and sat down, leaning back with my arms crossed. I wasn't here to make friends, but I wasn't here to make enemies either—not yet. The guards kept an eye on me, the same as the inmates, but I'd gotten used to that. Everywhere I went, someone was always watching, waiting to see what I'd do next. That's what happens when your reputation walks into a room before you do.
But I knew the truth behind all the whispers and rumors. Yeah, I'd done dirt. I wasn't innocent. But in here, everyone's got a story, and everyone thinks theirs is the most important. I didn't care about the labels they threw on me. "Prolific drug dealer," "killer," "boss." That shit didn't define me. It was just noise.
