Reasonable Doubt ✔ | Open Novella Contest 2020 | Complete

Nine - Colt

I've always loved tinkering with and fixing things. Bicycles, washing machines, cars; ain't ever mattered. Kept my hands busy, a needed reprieve from the rigors of private school and Maxwell.

When I got older, I needed to be a better heir. So I turned the skill to people; picked them apart piece by piece. Knew where to rachet, hammer, and screw to get the desired result. That's what you do in law - manipulate the presentation of information.

There are manuals, case studies, prior litigations and lawsuits which reference established criteria for interpretation. Prison is similar. Seven years has me familiar with most gang signs and state-sanctioned protocols. I see what other inmates do, how staff and peers handle it. Adjust my response accordingly.

I ain't ever read, studied, nor heard of wanting to go down on your cellmate.

The way he smelled, the way his bare skin felt against my palm. I swear there was something deep and pungent there. Green went to emerald, clouded, made me burn.

I am so thoroughly fucked.

That stunt was like Pandora's box. The temptation of pleasure and sensation opened and now unignorable. Little things culminate, become everything. Working with him on his GED assignments, struggling with my limited Spanish through the soap operas. It doesn't matter what we're doing, we're doing it together.

I find myself reaching for him more and more, catch the act just in time. Always when he lets me glimpse the vulnerable side hidden behind a deep scowl and hard jaw to everyone else. He smiles more, lets me see the deep dimple he has.

I want to hold him, offer strength and comfort. He's incredible, shouldering this weight. I want to make him see that in himself. I need him cherished and adored as he deserves to be. Not trapped in a cement and steel box.

Foolish. Even if my shenanigans find him released before ten years, I can't have him. I'm not whole.

The more time that passes, the more I'm haunted. Not by the usual nightmare, but by hope. I'm starting to see my life in his, how we might exist outside the rebar and crash gates. It scares the shit out of me.

We go to tattooing at night after the near-miss. Alex gets faster, more acclimated. He repairs and retouches the eagle.

Even with the mild burn of the ink, I feel his fingers more acutely. Though my eyes are on the door to watch for the CO, my attention is entirely on him. So animated, accent musical as he talks about everything and nothing. His old life, his family, how much he misses his mother.

It reinforces how wrong this is. While his eyes shine, mine are dull. Alex vibrates with life. I shelter the shards of my soul in an onyx box.

I do the only thing I can: clamp down. Get a grip. Focus on maintaining control.

Without the farm, I'm trapped in a cell with him for long hours. It redoubles my efforts to coordinate with services outside. I achieve more in a week than I did in a month under the blistering focus. All so that I'm not left alone with Alex.

When he talks, I grunt responses. When he's back from GED classes, I feign sleep. At rec, I run my hustle, build up a nest egg for the streets.

It's not enough. I'm still unchaperoned with him ten hours a day. The emotions and feelings are like a bomb threatening to obliterate us both. Only I don't have the manual to disarm it.

"It's turkey patty day," Alex offers when our door pops for chow.

I glower. "And?"

The hopeful smile falters, dimple fading. I feel like a dick. "Thought you might want to make a break instead."