Reasonable Doubt ✔ | Open Novella Contest 2020 | Complete

Twelve - Colt

"Okay." The nurse presses a gauze pad to my arm, withdraws the needle. "Hold that there."

I do as I'm told, stifling a yawn as she places a bandage overtop. 3am for a blood draw is early, even for me. The last one I'll have inside these walls. The last time I'll have to hide the venipuncture mark with long sleeves. The last time I'll see the little nurse managing my case.

It's bittersweet. Everything is in line for a life outside of here. I have an apartment, a job, and a doctor to follow-up with my meds.

I've been preparing for this day the past six months. I fought hard enough for this early release. I should be thrilled. Except no matter how much planning, how much research, the reality is crushing.

I ain't been in the real world for over seven years.

I take everything a day at a time. There are still a few loose ends to tie up. Richardson, for one. I'd rather not leave Lawson to deal with that prick alone.

I pull in a few favors in Alex's absence, convince the sergeants I need to move. They're more than happy to oblige.

Change is something we expect. Cell assignments are fluid, depending upon gang status, medical needs, or ethical affiliation. Those demonstrating excellent behavior or with less than two months on their sentence can move to A-Alpha.

My new cell is on the third range and offers a bird's eye view of the dayroom. Single-man, my own six-by-eight piece of paradise. No warm body with gorgeous green eyes to crack me.

We get more privileges, out-of-block time. Of course, it affords me more of an opportunity to run Lawson's game.

I let the drugs, the farm, and my pending release occupy my attention. I certainly don't ruminate on the feel of Alex in my arms, how perfect he'd fit. Even jagged and bleeding, it was like he'd always belonged there.

I didn't want that range check to end. Fantasies of his eyes, bleary and satisfied, ensured I didn't sleep that night. Nor any night since.

Only now the insomnia is welcome, protects me from fixating on what I can't have. The CO's keys or sudden roar of the steam-powered ventilation jolt me from a riptide of longing. Always the feeling of falling, that strange sense of weightlessness that trills the heart and upheaves the stomach.

Dreams formerly filled with shadows and hate are now permeated with green growth. The rot in my chest has fostered a bloom I hadn't thought capable. The terrors aren't gone, but they're muted. Now I hurt not for shame, but for emotions unrequired.

Before I would find the stars, remember the promise of freedom. Instead, I deep breathe, picture Alex's dimple. The one that only pops with a genuine smile. A memory I'll cherish forever.

Memory is all I'll have.

I chant it, over and over. Better this way. I'd rather leave him thinking of me sending him prepared and ready to court. Not the pitiful creature LeCI created.

Weeks pass without word. There are 2,500 men in here, easy to remain anonymous if you know how. Still, I keep tabs on Alex, avoid him at all costs. I know what will happen if I meet those green eyes again. The walls and lines I've drawn will blur even further, my control will falter.

I will break.

I learn that he's housed with Raphael Lopez. It's a good match. I know from what Alex has told me that they were part of a crew on the streets. Lopez's affiliation with the Folk Nation will probably take some of the gang's heat off the kid, too.

The door pops for recreation. Lawson joins us in the halls from G-Golf, heading toward the yard. Like he's supposed to be here. Richardson and another KF member eye us knowingly.

It's going down today.

We head to the basketball courts without really discussing or agreeing to it. Players in legitimate games clear out, make room for the show-down. Bets are placed, seats taken. Prison entertainment at its finest.

Lawson and I remove our shirts, poise for the start of the game. Two-on-two, call your own fouls. It's more like a dance than a cage match. Concentrate on making baskets and simultaneously beating the tar out of the other players. Elbows check brows and cheeks during guards and blocks. We come out of lay-ups with fists aimed in downward jabs.

I dribble the ball, pass it to Lawson. Richardson goes to intercept. When he turns his head, I donkey punch him. The blow sends him face-first into the concrete. Once I'm sure Lawson has the ball, I promptly haul Richardson to his feet and charge right back into the game.

An observer with a stopwatch blows the whistle, calling an end to time. Reflexively, I turn. Only my gaze snags on dark hair and bright green eyes.

Shit.

AN://

Thank you so much for reading! :D

How do you feel about the fights Colt gets into running Lawson's game? Cell fights, basketball - it's a dynamic that occurs quite regularly. Fighting without fighting.

Colt's loosing his mind ;D. Alex tracked him down after all.

As always, I appreciate any and all comments, votes, etc. I truly value any and all input to improve the writing <3.

Stay safe out there!

~T