Chapter 10: Down Bellow

Jordan

There’s something about blood on your knuckles that calms you down.

Maybe it's the color. My favorite color.

Maybe it’s the heat that comes with it.

Maybe it’s the pain attached.

Maybe it’s the fact that, for once, the world stops asking you to explain yourself and just lets you burn.

Roach made a mistake.

I gave him a warning. For someone who is sane is enough. Instead he went on step on my fuckin’ foot. I'm so glad he saw all the warnings and chose to walk through trouble. I am that Trouble.

So yeah. I painted the yard with him. I made sure to burst his fucking face so he will be terrified of his own reflection.

Highly satisfying. The release of pent-up anger.

Now the guards were dragging me away like some stray dog that got into the neighbors’ chickens. One of them had his elbow jammed into my back like he was trying to break a bone. Another kept shouting in my ear like I was deaf. I wasn’t deaf. I was done. These guards—most of them—are so quick to put me on chains. It's their second favorite after receiving their paycheck.

“Once again you've brought your malicious self into the spotlight”---they will say with a firm smile as they shoved me to the wall and cuff me. They're no far worse than I am.

They are damaged.

Crafty mother fucking maniacs, thriving at bringing guys like me to their knees.

What is more annoying is the fact that didn’t cuff me the normal way. They zip-tied my wrists behind my back and pulled them high until my shoulders screamed. My arms had gone numb by the time we reached the corridor that led to the solitary block.

I stumbled once—on purpose—and they shoved me harder for it. Pain flares up to my arms. But that's what I haven't already spent nine years of my life getting used to. I now see pain as a fierce itch, tickle in my spine.

I'm almost numb to it.

“Big man now, huh?” one of them snarled, breathing hot coffee and whatever cowardice tasted like. “Tough guy out there. You feel tough now?”

I didn’t answer.

What was the point?

Words were wasted here. They only mattered if you screamed at them so they'll drive a punch to your face. Or if they bled so they will tear your skin further apart.

The door buzzed open. These were smaller cells where they kept people like me.

Heavy steel groaned as I was marched inside.

Solitary was cold, even for Blackbridge. The temperature on the side of this prison fortress drops to fifty degrees Fahrenheit by day, and seventy-five by night.

For all I know, this is an underground cell where people's souls were given in exchange for their freedom. I've been wittinesses to countless bodies, drawn out of here.

No windows. Three fluorescent lights lying parallel on the ceiling.

Just Marble. Glass. And silence that could break a man in days. I feel like I'm a test subject whenever I'm placed in one of these transparent boxes.

They didn’t throw me in.

They placed me.

Like an offering.

The cell was nothing—just a toilet, a floor, and a slab that didn’t deserve to be called a bed.

They cut the ties, pushed me forward, and the door slammed shut behind me. I stumbled forward and looked back at them the moment I got stable on my feet.

One with a cold stare said, “Say goodbye to your former cell, Vex. This is your new fuckin' suite.” he stepped into the cell, looking deep into my jaggered soul. “There are stricter rules here. “There are also some of these zappies installed beneath your feet. Raise your voice, zap.” He motions the zap thingy in his security belt. “Ruin the glass, zap.You step out of line, you deal with me. Please, step out of line. Hmm?” His tone is low as his words slurred.

I'm so pleased with the smug I had on my blood smeared lips— I can see it through his eyes. Motherfucker thinks he's intimidating.

“You of all people should know threats are not new to me. I've been in this custom made shithole five fuckin' times.”

“Maybe this time will be your last, Vex.” He said, his head cocked to one side as he leaned his weight on one foot. “You've been living under the mercies and grace of your father in heaven. But those grace and mercies can and will be taken from you by the authorities here on earth. I've had enough of your shit…”

“Have you?”

A muscle flinched in his wrinkled face.

“Step out of line, Vex, will you?”

“Sure bet your ass, I will.”

His nose flared. He wasn't going to see the last of me until one of us died. And from the sure odds, it will be his ass going in six feet first.

He stomped off to wherever, leaving me with the two other guards who locked the cell without holding my glare.

I stayed on the floor for a long minute the moment they were gone. Listening to the buzz of the florescent light. I hate hearing this sound up close. I can just punch…no.

I flexed my hands. Blood stuck to the creases of my knuckles, already drying. My lip was busted open. Just a little. My eyebrow split again.

I’ve had worse.

I’ve given worse.

I leaned my head back against the wall, eyes adjusting to the near-black.

My heart hadn’t slowed down yet.

Roach’s face flashed behind my lids.

No regrets.

That’s the rule.

But it was too quiet here. Too still.

That’s when the other ghosts came.

*****

Elle’s voice. Her disappointment. The tremble in it when she said she didn’t want me near her daughter.

“You’re poison, Jay.”

My mother, strung out on the couch, eyes like glass marbles, watching me clean up the broken bottles.

My father’s boot.

The blood on the kitchen tiles.

The hunger.

The fists.

The silence.

*****

I pressed my palms to my face.

No.

No, I’m not going down that road tonight.

Not here.

Not like this.

I curled onto the floor. My ribs ached. My knuckles throbbed.

The light flickered off, then came on.

This time with a louder buzz.

And then came the knock.

Not on the door. On the wall.

From the next cell over

Three soft taps. Pause. Then two.

I wasn't the only one here. I recalled an inmate, Morse, who thought the best way to escape this prison was to deliver a nice upper cut to a guard on duty, and head straight to the security doors.

Some of these inmates need mental care instead of a fucking jail sentence.

Solitary wasn’t always solitary.

In this cell, someone was always listening.

I knocked twice in return.

Didn’t say much. Just enough to say still breathing.

The reply came back, softer this time.

Then silence again.

That was all you got down here.

Knocks and silence.

Until they brought your tray.

The tray came hours later.

Cold grits. No spoon.

They do that sometimes. Just to remind you they own your mouth.

I ate with my fingers.

Didn’t complain.

*****

Time crawled in solitary.

There’s no clock. No sky. No voices.

Just your heartbeat.

Your breath.

Your thoughts.

That’s where the punishment was.

Not the walls.

Not the cold.

The remembering.

*****

That night, I didn’t sleep.

I stared at the ceiling and thought about Quincy.

The way he looked at me right before the guards dragged me out—like I’d peeled off a mask he didn’t know I was wearing.

That’s the thing, Rich Boy.

It ain’t a mask.

That is me.

The rage. The fists. The mess.

It’s just that you got too used to the version of me who jokes about oatmeal and throws you protein bars.

But this?

This is who I’ve always been.

And still… Part of me hated that he saw it.

Hated that it mattered.

*****

The door clanked open two days later.

Fresh air brushed my skin like water through a broken roof.

They didn’t say anything.

Just tossed me a clean shirt. Told me to shower.

I walked back to GenPop in silence.

No one said a word as I passed. But I saw their eyes.

Some nodded in approval.

Some stepped back.

And then there was Quincy.

Leaning against the wall.

Arms crossed.

Eyes guarded.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t sneer.

His bright blue eyes watched.

And for a moment, I didn’t know if he was scared of me…

…or for me.