Chapter 11: Peace and Quiet Suck

Quincy

I never realized how loud silence could be until Jordan was gone.

It’s been four days.

Four days without him breathing beneath me on the bottom bunk.

Four days without that god-awful humming he does after lights out.

Without him mocking my posture or tossing a protein bar at my head when I skipped breakfast.

Four days in a cell that feels colder now.

It’s not like we talked all the time. Hell, most days we barely spoke unless one of us needed something. But there’s something about his presence—loud, unfiltered, alive—that filled the space.

In his absence, the walls feel tighter. The ceiling lower. My thoughts louder.

He had his own brand of humor that distracted me from the fact that I’m all alone here.

Now that he’s been placed in another cell—now that my distraction is gone—I’m left with a rush of wild, heart-wrenching thoughts.

Dad, going ghost on me.

Stacy, disappearing like Aang.

And it’s worse at night.

I read the same page of my book five times last night. Couldn’t tell you a single word of it.

All I could think about was Roach’s face—or what was left of it. The way Jordan’s fist moved like it had somewhere to be. Like it had a vendetta of its own.

Roach was rushed to the emergency ward shortly after the guards took Jordan away.

The inmates carried on with their lives like that day never happened.

No one asked about Roach’s health.

No one cared.

I realized that goons like Roach had no cellmate.

He was avoided by everyone—just like Jordan.

Somehow, I was forced to pair up with one of America’s most aggressive youths.

Now I have to care about him… because he’s my cellmate.

The cell has shrunk by half in his absence—the same thing I complained about the first night we slept here.

I should be disgusted by the kind of person he is.

Terrified, maybe.

But all I felt was a sharp tug in my chest.

And confusion.

So much confusion.

Because I’d told myself I wouldn’t care.

Told myself he was just a cellmate.

A vulgar, maddening, punch-happy wolf who didn’t know the meaning of personal space—and who got off on making sure he was the source of both my good and bad days.

But he’s also the guy who shared his food with me without asking for anything in return.

The guy who made the walls of this cell feel… bearable.

The guy who apologized with silence and sarcasm instead of taking the formal route and addressing the issues head-on.

And now he’s gone.

Shoved into some solitary block they call the underground—a part of the prison they don’t let you talk about. Not unless you want to join the ghosts.

Word flying around says one hardly gets out of there alive.

Regardless of how strong you are, the cold will break you from the inside out.

Bit by bit.

Till you’re left in a million pieces.

In other words, death will be the finality of your fate.

The guards won’t say a word about him.

No updates.

No timeline.

Just shrugs, radio chatter, and the clank of keys on their belts.

I’ve spent most of today sitting on the top bunk, staring at the one beneath me.

It’s still messy the way he left it—blanket twisted like he tried to fight it in his sleep.

His rolled-up towel still hangs from the corner of the mattress like he’s coming back any minute now.

But he’s not.

And I… I can’t stand it.

---

So I do something stupid.

I wait until yard time ends, then approach the admin hallway.

That’s where the senior guards walk through like royalty—Kevlar vests, smug expressions, clipboards they never write on.

I wait for one of them to stop.

“Sir,” I say. My voice cracks. “I—I need to ask about my cellmate.”

He doesn’t stop. Just side-eyes me. “You don’t get to ask questions.”

“I’m not asking for special treatment. I just… he’s been gone for days.”

He turns. A tall guy. Officer Bill.

He’s the one who always checks the cameras and rarely blinks.

“Vex?”

I nod.

“He’s alive.”

That’s it.

Just He’s alive. That’s a good one. But still…

No mention of when he’s coming back.

No confirmation that he’s okay.

Of course, they never cared.

Especially if it was the fall of someone like Jordan… or Roach.

I take a step closer. “Is there any way… I mean, is there something I can do? Can you transfer him back to the cell? I’ll take full watch if you want. I’ll keep him in check.”

The guard looks me over, lips twitching like I just told him I loved the food here.

“You volunteering to babysit the pit bull?”

I meet his gaze, holding my breath. “Yes.”

That’s not what I thought it would feel like to say. But now that I’ve said it—well, yeah.

“Why?”

Because I miss the way he made this hell feel a little less suffocating.

Because I can’t sleep.

Because I hate eating alone.

Because I lack snacks from the commissary.

Because I’m not sure who I am in this place without him shadowing me.

But I say none of that.

I just shrug. “He’s my cellmate. That’s all.”

Officer Bill considers me for a moment, then huffs through his nose.

“I’ll put in a note. No promises. If he screws up again, you’ll both be wearing orange down in the Ice Cell.”

“Understood.”

I return to my cell before my legs collapse.

I can’t believe I just did that.

I can’t believe I meant every damn word.

---

Two Nights Later

I’m reading—again.

Still not absorbing a thing.

The door buzzes.

For a second, I don’t react. Just keep my eyes on the page.

Then I hear the keys. And the footsteps.

I stand fast, the book slipping from my fingers.

A guard opens the door.

And Officer Bill steps in with a straight face and a hand on his hip.

He gives my cell a once-over before landing his gaze on me.

“I’ll tell you this for free, Laurent. We’ve been watching you for the past month. You’ve been good. But that cranky-ass cellmate of yours…”

He points a finger in my direction.

“He’s gonna fuck up. He’s more than just a bad influence—he’ll…”

“Trust me on this one, sir. I’ll keep him in check.”

For a moment, he glares at me.

What must be going on in that big brain of his?

“I’m counting on your damn word, Laurent. Come with me,” he says over his shoulder as he walks out of my cell.

I follow. Arms folded to my chest.

Curious. Anxious.

---

They make me wait at the entrance of the Underground Cell, alongside other inmates.

I’m waiting. Cold chills traveling down my spine at the change in temperature of this place.

Then I see him.

A gash across his brow.

Bruises forming constellations on his cheek.

All I can say is—he’s not dead.

Not yet.

He’s walking toward me.

Staggering, rather.

More importantly… he looks at me.

Really looks.

Like he wasn’t sure I’d still be here.

Like maybe he thought he’d never make it out of there alive.

Blackbridge is strict with its no-fighting rule.

For all I know, Jordan would rather die than live by that rule.

“So long, jackass,” I say.

Jordan doesn’t reply right away.

Just scans the hallway filled with inmates like he’s been given a second chance at life.

A guard comes by with his stuff—his towel, his boots—and hands them to Jordan.

Then he nods once.

“Yeah.”

---

Back in Our Cell

Jordan moves to the lower bunk and drops onto it like gravity just remembered who he is.

For a long moment, neither of us speaks.

It’s a comfortable silence, knowing full well this cell is slowly going back to its normal size.

My thoughts are about to be flushed down the drain.

Then I say it.

“I asked them to bring you back.”

He looks up.

“What?”

I clear my throat. “I asked one of the guards. Said I’d keep watch if you acted out again.”

He stares. Silent. Unblinking.

And then—something shifts.

His shoulders drop. His eyes narrow—not in anger, but like he’s searching.

“…Why?” he asks, voice low.

And for the first time, I can’t lie.

Because I don’t know the full answer.

Because it’s not just that I missed him.

It’s the way I started thinking like he would.

It’s the way I started listening for him at night.

It’s the way this place feels less like death when he’s around.

So I just say, “Because I didn’t want to sleep alone.”

His gaze softens.

He chuckles—barely.

“Damn, Laurent,” he murmurs. “You’re starting to sound like a lonely-ass chick.”

“God forbid,” I mutter, but it’s light. Dry. Familiar.

Jordan leans back, arms behind his head like he never left. “Well. In that case, you’re stuck with me, pretty boy.”

I glance down at him, a strange flutter in my chest.

“Not like I had a choice.” I shrug.

As I climb back onto my bunk, heart still pounding, I hear him mumble—

“Yes, you did.”