Therapy Session (Mac Prison)

Twenty Two: Burning

Today was laundry day. Hurray. Paul and a few other Saints spent a good portion of the morning gathering the dirty laundry around the prison and then taking it downstairs into the laundry room. Paul was in charge of pressing the clothes, which was basically being in charge of a giant iron that dried clothes and removed the wrinkles. As he stood there waiting for the first batch of clothes to be finished, he couldn't stop thinking about Mac and their shared kiss. Did Mac know what had happened? It was a possibility, seeing as how Mac avoided him like crazy. Though that was sort of normal. But typically if they passed in the hall or something, Mac would glare at Paul and when he made a snide remark, Mac would tell him to fuck off. But now Mac would keep his head down as they passed each other. He came to the conclusion that Mac knew what had happened, and was now avoiding Paul at all costs.

When the first batch of laundry was handed to Paul for pressing, there was the sound of a bottle breaking down the hall. Officer Holden, who had been supervising, stood up and went down to investigate. Paul ignored it; it was probably just someone being clumsy and breaking something. He pressed a couple shirts and glanced up, noticing that Holden hadn't come back yet. Paul narrowed his eyes in suspicion, but what was he going to do? He had a job to do.

Then he heard footsteps coming down the hall, but it sounded like there was more than one person. His head shot up, just as something soared through the air, landing in a basket full of dirty clothes.

"Molotov!" Someone roared, just as the basket erupted into flames. Paul's eyes widened, and he whipped around and raced for the fire extinguisher. Just as he grabbed it, more molotovs were thrown in, catching more baskets on fire as a couple fires started filling the air with black smoke.

"Everyone out!" Paul roared, trying to tame a fire nearest him. No one hesitated, just ran out of the flaming room. As soon as he was certain that everyone was gone, he turned and raced for the door as well, abandoning the fire extinguisher after he realized there would be no way of taming this fire. He heard the fire alarms blazing above him as he neared the exit of the laundry room.

Suddenly Paul was grabbed from behind and ripped back into a solid body. He turned, just as a fist came crashing on his face, almost knocking him to the floor. He struggled to stand upright, but a hard foot came into contact with his stomach, knocking the air out of him. He clutched his stomach, fighting for breath, when he was grabbed by the hair and thrusted back into the blazing laundry room. His attacker followed and stood over Paul, who was still trying to catch his breath in the smokey room. The attacker leaned down, and though Paul couldn't see past the pillowcase covering his features, he knew the man was smirking. "We win." He growled, right before taking the fire extinguisher and smashing it against Paul's left shin, cracking the bone. He roared in pain, knowing fully well that he wouldn't be able to walk now. Then he received a harsh stomp to the chest, and Paul could feel several ribs cracking, taking every last ounce of air out of his lungs. Then his attacker turned around and removed his mask, tossing it into the flames before running out as well, leaving Paul alone and in pain. He tried rolling onto his side, but that made him moan in agony as he had to roll onto the bad leg. He struggled to crawl forward, but fuck he still couldn't catch his breath enough to recover from the kick in the chest. Not to mention the fact that it was searing with the pain of his damaged ribs.

Fuck, this is it. This is how I die. Tears pricked at Paul's eyes at the thought. He didn't want to die, not like this. Not alone and helpless. He struggled to crawl towards the door, but each movement only made him stop and groan. He couldn't move. This was it. He opened him mouth, hoping that he had enough breath left to at least try to get help.

"H-help, please." He called weakly, his chest prickling in pain just from talking. "P-please help me."

Meanwhile, in the gym, Mac heard the sirens go off. He groaned but continued running on the treadmill, knowing that it was just some stupid drill. He was working out alone, trying to distract himself from the ideas of Jesus. He didn't like him, no matter what Trisha had said. He wasn't a gate gay, he was straight. He had always been straight, he'd only hooked up with women before prison, and Trisha was the only girl he had enjoyed hooking up with since he had gotten to prison. He hadn't wanted to fuck any of the guys here, and he didn't want to fuck Jesus. Especially since Jesus had clearly forced a kiss onto Mac when he had been drunk. What a dick move. But shit, did that mean Jesus was gay? Like truly gay, not just gate gay? Mac mentally scoffed. Why the hell should he care about Jesus's sexuality? He didn't care, unless Jesus tried something again.

He got off the treadmill, but the sirens were still going off. He glanced up, a little bit confused. Damn, how long did these alarms go on for? His mind briefly flashed with the thought of there being a real fire, but surly they would've said so over the intercom of it was real. He wiped the sweat off of his brow and pulled his shirt on again, deciding to leave the gym and head to the rec room.

But when he stepped out of gym, he could smell the smoke. Fuck! Yeah, this was a real fire. Why didn't anyone come for him. He took off running to the right, where he saw the smoke coming from. But the closest exit was towards the fire. He could only hope that the hallway wasn't on fire yet...

He raced down until he froze. The fire was coming from the laundry room, and he had to pass the laundry room to get to the exit. He was about to start running when he heard something faint. He paused, trying to hear it again.

"P-please help me." Someone called weakly... from the laundry room.

Mac glanced down the mini hall that led to the actual laundry room. He could see shadows of the orange flames licking the walls, and hesitated. Fuck he didn't want to go in there. He should just run, just run away and pretend he didn't hear the man calling for help.

"Please, someone." They called again, fainter than before, and Mac's stomach twisted. He groaned. He didn't need anymore nightmares of people dying because of him.

Mac ran into the laundry room, covering his mouth with his shirt collar to keep most of the smoke out. He ran until he saw a curled up body in the center of the floor, motionless. Mac's heart skipped a beat. Shit, was he too late?

"P-please help, s-someone." The person begged weakly. Mac ran forward, but stopped short as he saw who was calling for help.

Jesus.

Mac hesitated, glancing behind him at the exit. Jesus was his arch rival, someone he didn't care about, someone he should hope died. But... fuck. What about all that Trisha had said? About how Mac needed someone to rely on. He knew that Trisha was probably only temporary, and Rick only had a few more years left of his sentence; Jesus had life with him. He... he could rely on Jesus, maybe.

"H-help me, s-someone help me," Jesus begged again, oblivious to Mac standing there.

Mac bit his lip and ran forward again, kneeling behind Jesus and rolling him onto his back. He let out a cry of pain, clutching at his chest while tears swam in his grey eyes. They locked onto Mac, a look of genuine surprise on his face. "M-Mac?" He whispered. Mac noticed the soot and drying blood on his face, but he didn't have time to ask questions.

"Can ya walk?"

Jesus shook his head, and before Mac could do anything he clutched Mac's sleeve. "P-please don't leave me," he begged, true terror flashing in his eyes.

"I won't." Mac murmured, surprisingly gently. "C'mon, we gotta go."

Mac situated one arm under Jesus's shoulders and another under the crook of his knees. When Mac lifted him, Jesus let out another cry of pain, pressing himself closer to Mac's chest. One hand clutched Mac's shirt while the other was curled into his own chest. Mac straightened up, and now Jesus's forehead was pressed into the side of Mac's neck.

Mac ran like hell, getting out of the laundry room with his lungs burning from inhaling the smoke. Just as he was emerging from the room, he heard heels clicking down the hall towards the exit.

"Mac!" Trisha coughed, making him glance over at her. "C-come on! We gotta go!"

"No shit Sherlock!" He snapped, but followed her outside the emergency side-door.

Several other inmates were standing outside already, none of them injured, yet an ambulance was ready to take anyone injured. And Mac was grateful for that. He headed over to where a couple workers were getting a gurney ready for Jesus. Jesus, meanwhile, was still pressing himself heavily to Mac's chest, as if he were terrified of letting go. When Mac set him down, he clutched at Mac's sleeve and stared up at him in fear. "D-don't leave me," he begged again.

"Yer goin' to the doctor. Ya gotta let go." Mac murmured gently, knowing fully well that though it'd look bad in front of the other inmates, Jesus needed something soothing. "You'll be fine."

Jesus relaxed his grip on Mac's sleeve and let the hospital workers load him onto the ambulance, glancing at Trisha and Mac. "Anyone else?"

Mac shook his head and glanced over at Trisha, who also shook her head. The hospital workers nodded and called something to the driver. They shut the ambulance doors, and drove off.

Tee hee I'm evil. 😈