Locked up l.s.

10. So, how do we do this?

It's my birthday today so you can consider this chapter as my gift to you. Have a great day!

Huge thank you for everyone who is reading this. Feel free to give any feedback. I'm slightly nervous about this book and dying to know what you think.

L pov.

We've been discussing about the different design ideas. Or morelike I have been suggesting ideas which Styles keeps declining because of "prison code" as he calls it.

"Oh now I know. I know! I want a tear on my cheek. It would be so cool"

"No. Absolutely not."

"Why not? You said you can do anything.?"

"Some tattoos just mean something in here. You can't just take one, you have to deserve it first. Besides weren't we supposed to cover that scar on your ankle. Tattoo on cheek wouldn't do much."

"Okey. But I want something that screams prison tattoo for everyone so I can show it to people and tell them that I was inside."

"If you earn them. Then sure."

"Okey. How about a spider web?"

"Uh I don't know. They usually mean that you have been in the system for a long time and this is your first sentence am I right?"

"Maybe first time in prison but systems are no strangers to me. Been in the foster care since fourteen or something. Does that count?" I immediately regret telling him. I actually have no idea why I did. It just slipped. I don't even know the guy.

I hate that I don't seem to know how to control my own mouth. It's clear that Styles sees the panic and regret in my face. I hate it.

The pity is clear in his face. It always is when I tell people but he doesn't comment anything. Instead he says "Fine. Let's go with the web."

Well at least I got my wish. And his reaction was better than fake empathy that most give. But there still remains this feeling. That he knows too much about me and I need to make sure that he doesn't use that information against me.

Styles's face is back to normal. He really seems not to care. That's good.

...

It's lunch time. Me and Styles just sit down in the table with our trays. Today's menu is meatballs and spaghetti.

There's three other inmates in the other end of our table having a laugh. When they notice us one of them greets Styles. I remember him being his customer from couple weeks ago. Other two I've never seen before but Styles seems to know them.

There's a little space between us and them. And they don't really pay attention to us.

"I assume this is your first one?" He suddenly asks me while rolling some spaghetti in his fork.

His voice is lower than usually. Probably because he doesn't want the guards or anyone hearing the conversation. But that's unlikely since the cafeteria is a loud place. Still I choose to answer as quietly.

"Tattoo? No what are ya talking about? you have seen my skin. I do have tattoos." I say pulling my sleeve up meaning to show some of the ink on my skin.

"No I meant first one in prison?" He quickly corrects himself.

"Oh... right yea it's the first one but I've done one myself in a house party if that counts." I answer and put some food in my mouth.

"But you have never made your own ink or needle?"

Okey. Now I was confused. "wot? Made my own... ink?"