Forbidden Love [BxB]

Side Story Part 1

Prison Days: Part One

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Ryan's POV

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As I crossed the threshold into the massive hall, the air seemed to grow heavier, weighed down by the cold, unyielding walls that towered around me. The gray stone stretched upward, dark and lifeless. Three levels of iron-railed balconies wrapped around the perimeter, each lined with prisoners who stood silently in the shadows.

Their eyes followed my every step, cold and unblinking, like predators sizing up their prey. My skin crawled under their gaze, a creeping unease clawing its way up my spine. I could feel my heartbeat quicken, a dull throb in my chest, but I clenched my fists, forcing myself to walk with steady steps as I followed two officers from behind, unwilling to show the fear gnawing at the pit of my stomach.

On each balcony, the prisoners loomed behind the bars, their faces obscured by dim light, yet I could sense their eyes—hungry, calculating, and relentless. Some leaned forward, gripping the iron bars with pale, skeletal hands, their knuckles white from the tension. The soft murmur of voices drifted down, echoing off the walls.

"Is he a boy or a chick?..."

"How does he have that angelic face?..."

"I feel like I'm getting a b*ner just by looking at him..."

"Oh, man... I wanna smack that a**..."

...

The sound of our footsteps reverberated through the hall, each echo bouncing back to me in the thick silence. I kept my gaze forward, trying to ignore the weight of their stares, but the tension in the air was suffocating. Beneath my forced calm, fear simmered, twisting in my chest like a coiled snake. But I swallowed it down, determined not to let them see the cracks forming in my facade.

It's alright, I'm not that weak anymore...

I can protect myself...

I won't let them put their hands on me...

The two officers halted in front of the last cell on the right side of the first floor. The metal door groaned as one of them swung it open, the sound scraping through the stillness like a blade. He turned to me, his voice sharp and commanding, "You'll be staying in this cell."

I swallowed hard, my throat tight, as I stood frozen in the doorway. For a moment, my heart seemed to pause. I glanced inside, my eyes tracing the cramped space. Four bunk beds, two on each side, their steel frames bolted to the cold walls. The dim light flickered above, casting shadows that made the cell seem even smaller.

A man, likely in his late forties, lay sprawled on the bottom bunk to the left. His bald head gleamed under the flickering light, and his black eyes tracked my every move, cold and unreadable. A thick beard covered the lower half of his face, making his expression harder to read. Above him, another man sat on the top bunk, a book in his hands, though he wasn't reading anymore. He looked younger, probably in his early thirties, with dark brown curls falling messily over his forehead and sharp green eyes that darted between me and the officer.

On the right side, an older man, perhaps in his fifties, was perched on the edge of the lower bunk. His short white hair was neatly cropped, and a thick mustache framed his mouth. He was focused on wrapping a bandage around his left wrist, but as soon as we entered, his hands stilled, and his gaze lifted to size me up.