CARNIVORE [MxM+]

End of Part One. [Revised]

Eight months later

MATHIS WAS NERVOUS. He had never done anything like this in his life, and it showed, but he was no longer the sheltered little boy he had been raised to be. This was his first job ever, and he wasn't going to screw it up. His mother's voice rang in his head, telling him that it was okay to get nervous-- because the men he was tasked with watching at his new job were dangerous, so it was important to always be on edge. Murders, rapists, gang bangers, white supremacists-- you name it. The prison had it all, and he interacted with them every day. 

But today was different. Today, he was tasked with speaking to one of these psychos personally. All he was doing was escorting a prisoner to meet with a visitor, but considering this prisoner was a convicted killer, he thought it was a pretty big deal.

He nervously fidgeted with the collar of his uniform. He waited for the officer behind the glass window to give him a thumbs-up before buzzing him through the main gate. This is where that psycho was calling his home: cell block D. 

His neck grew sweaty, and his throat became dry as he got closer to his destination. He did his best to remain calm and ignore the prying eyes, repeating his mother's reassurances in his mind. He didn't meet the inmates' eyes as he passed them. His mind and feet were too busy focusing on dragging him to cell A-1-33.

He thought about the man who lay there in that cell. He was a monster, not only because of his hulking size, but because of the things he had done to end up in a place like this. He was convicted of numerous crimes, but the ones that stood out the most were these: murder in the first degree, eight felonious counts of child abuse, and countless drug charges. 

And he wore them with a smile. This man deserved never to see the sun again, and that was clear. That's why Mathis despised the fact that he'd be escorting him to see the living proof of his evilness. His stepson.

Mathis didn't know his name, but his heart ached for the boy. He knew it was wrong, but he thanked God that he himself was blessed with such kind parents.

He did his best to ignore how terrifying the prisoner was and signaled for him to follow. The prisoner obeyed, keeping close to Mathis so he wouldn't set off any alarm bells. Due to Mathis' impatience, it didn't take long for the two to leave the cell block.

Mathis turned left down a hall toward the west wing. That was where the prison held its interview rooms. The hall was seamless with nothing but rows and rows of doorways on either side, and a single label above each, numbering them. At the end of the hall stood a man in an expensive-looking suit with a stoic look on his face.

As they got closer, Mathis noticed that the man rivaled the prisoner in size. Mathis also took time to observe the man's body language. Even though he looked proper on the outside, with his back straight and his hands folded out in front of him, Mathis could tell the man was livid. His jaw was clenched harshly, and the knuckles on his hands were white from how hard he was using them. He wondered why the man was so angry.

The man moved as they grew near, revealing an open doorway behind him. From here, Mathis could see the room's dark walls, designed to make the room feel smaller. In the center of the room stood a cold, steel table. These rooms were so empty that they seemed haunted. But he knew this room held more. He knew that as soon as he handed off this prisoner, he'd be making a boy relive his worst nightmares by bringing his abuser straight to his doorstep.

Mathis entered the room with the prisoner in tow.

And there he was, standing on the other side of the table with his hands supporting his weight, was the boy. His eyes were downcast, bleeding into what Mathis could guess was his abuser. He looked closely, and he could've sworn he saw a flicker of a flame burn in the boy's retinas. His raven-black hair plastered his face in a delicate mess, making him look more handsome than he already was. Mathis joked to himself, wishing he looked like that when he was young.

Upon the prisoner's arrival, the boy sat in his chair, gesturing for the prisoner to do the same. He did, and suddenly the room became deathly silent as the two stared each other down, the boy's dull green clashing painfully with the prisoner's onyx brown.

Then, after what felt like hours, the boy spoke.

His voice was so filled with hatred that it genuinely made Mathis fear for his safety. "Jason. Nice to see you. Shame you aren't dead yet."

Jason grunted, shifting in his seat to get more comfortable. He paused before looking the boy in the eyes as a sadistic sneer carved its way onto his face. "You speak as if I should be, boy. You're funny." 

Love you.