Chapter fifty three
Firstly, no claustrophobic human could survive it. I wasn't sure if it was how used to luxury I was, but the walls around me seemed like they'd close upon us someday.
Plain darkness hung in the aura; real darkness and of course that which my roommate exhaled.
While I heard the cell door get shut and locked, I felt his gaze on me. As uncomfortable as it was getting, I used the ticking seconds to "admire" my new home.
If there was a next life, a life sentence in this dump was enough to make you make better choices in it. The only attempt at furniture was the hopeless bed that seemed to be in the mercy of weak legs; while the only form of comfort was a ceiling fan I'm pretty sure was broken.
The walls were an eyesore, with a billion names of probably past prisoners scattered about its vicinity.
The tiny bulb must have even had its dim light shaded by the cobwebs around it; while an unsightly uranium was fixed at a corner. Some people would rather get eased in whatever clothes they had on; myself inclusive.
When there was finally nothing else to admire and pass the time with, I finally gazed straight at the bulky man whose legs hung off the upper bunk as he sat on it.
And there I was thinking the uranium was the worst sight to look at.
What now? Sigh, ignore him and get uncomfortable on the hard mattress or exchange pleasantries with a jovial introduction? Thinking of the latter, that seemed unlikely to happen.
He passed as every typical prisoner I imagined. Bald, huge, deadly stare and of course, good old-fashioned tattooes that ran down both his fit biceps.
Having studied him through enough, I met his hard glare. "Jeffrey Thompson," he scoffed. "I never imagined such an opportunity, but, I'm flattered to have you here with me."
I could hear the drip of sarcasm in every single word he let out. I think what he really meant was WELCOME TO HELL. It was almost readable in the look he gave me.
My head couldn't quite process a reply to give him; consequently, I began my journey to the bunk, if a microsecond of walking could be considered a journey.
His legs came in the way too suddenly I almost bumped into it. However, I was accurate to stop right before then and just glare.
Humans…
"You don't ignore me when I speak," he said. "No one does."
Right. Tell that to Jeffery Thompson. Sighing, I reminded myself this was a period of change and maturity, although a minute part of my mind imagined him on the floor while I bashed his head against the uranium.
Once again, I looked towards him. "What's your name?"
His brow cocked with disdain and confusion. Here in jail, anyone could be humbled. I mean, I never imagined myself getting bullied by an average, lowlife gangster.
Arrogance, Jeffery, said the voice in my head.
When he chose not to reply -quite expectedly- I had the idea to scan the wall by his bedside. Along with hundreds of other names and abstract words carved on the surface, I found the newest.
"Alan," I read out. Wouldn't have guessed that from the looks though.
His sigh was just the confirmation I needed.
"I believe you won't regret my being here if you pretend I don't exist," I admitted. Even with the hardness added to the dose of his glare, I couldn't help the expressive part of me that kicked out everytime I was pissed.
"Was that a threat?"
"Well, threats are mostly empty and all…" I shrugged. "So, take this as a warning if you like."
I saw him laugh in disbelief, almost hilariously. Expectedly, since everyone took me as a joke lately.
"You think this is a boxing ring, Jeff??" He suddenly jumped down to the floor and practically walked to my face. "We could end your existence in…"
"Return to your post, Alan!" A voice boomed from behind me. Even without turning back, I could tell it was Cyrus who was only checking up on me like every other cop was ordered to. "Now!"
Alan's stare moved from me to the guard on the other side of the bar door. Very slowly, he stepped backwards. However, I think he did realise the favouritism I was receiving.
Surely, this meant I was in trouble.
Right after he was back on the bunk, I sent Cyrus a nod and bent over to the lower, empty bed and climbed into it.
A normal bed would sink in like a soft, fluffy bad of feathers. However, this bed was a thin layer of hard foam.
Were beggars choosers? No.
I finally uncovered the tome in my hand which I'd covered with my shirt. Joey's Bible.
Looking at it, I decided this was my period of change and self realisation. Although unsure if I was really staying here for my entire life, I believed and had faith everything was going to happen for the best.