Prisoner 842

"It's okay." His voice floated up to me. It wasn't okay. In school when I was little a teacher had scolded us when we replied with 'it's okay' to an apology. She'd said that was permitting the action, and not recognizing it as something that was worthy of an apology. I'd slighted him, my actions had instilled fear in him, I had affected him negatively, and that was not okay. I wanted to tell him it wasn't okay. To look in his eyes and have him feel the weight of my apology, but I laid there in silence instead, the weight only affecting me.

"Lucy?" He asked. I hummed in response. "Can I..." He fell silent.

"Yeah?" I said after some time.

"Nevermind." He grumbled.

"It's okay. I won't mind." I said. Curiosity drove me more than anything, what could Andrew, the sad, quiet, prisoner under my bed, have felt worthy of asking me?

"Can I touch your hand?" He asked. I blinked for a moment, surprised. Suppressing a laugh, I nodded.

"Of course." I said. Part of me expected him to grab my hand and pull me off my bed. Part of me expected him to lace our fingers together like we were romantic little love birds on a date. Neither of those happened. His fingers touched my palm, they were feather light like he was afraid I'd be burned by his skin. I vaguely wondered if this was why old prisons had segregated the sexes. But then they still thought of them as binary, and therefore more easily divided. His fingers were rough, like he was used to working with his hands, but his touch was light, like he was barely more than a ghost. He traced the lines of my palm, as if trying to tell my fortune, before going down each finger. His musings went up my palm to my wrist, reaching the hem of my sleeve. I wondered if he'd push it up and keep going, tracing nonsensical lines into my skin. His fingers paused at a patch of slightly raised skin before he retracted.

"Down the road not across the street." I said. My voice was more amused than bitter, a folly of my past. A person who no longer existed, I killed her to become someone new. "Couldn't even get that right though." I laughed. He was silent and for a moment I was afraid my words had disturbed him. "Sorry." I hoped my dark humor hadn't negatively affected him. I'd already been too much trouble for him, I didn't want to add any more to my list of sins.

"Why?" He asked. Why what? Why was I sorry? Why did I try to kill myself? Why did I fail? I asked myself that last one many times.

"Why what?"

"Why sorry?" He asked. I wondered for a moment, what did he think of me? In that moment, did he think I was a failure? A loser? More trouble than I was worth? Nothing more than what I'd told myself already, I supposed.

"Suicide isn't a fun topic." I said. "Most people find it...troubling to talk about."

"I'm not most people." He replied and I could hear levity in his voice. It was a strange sound coming from him. It didn't sound like he was smiling, just that maybe he was a little less sad for a moment. "Thank you."

"For?" I was confused. But he never answered. I fell asleep with my hand still dangling.

---

The morning came, and with it, breakfast. Breakfast meant another look at Prisoner 798. Andrew tried to walk behind me again, but I was ready this time. I nodded for him to go in front of me, and he gave me a quizzical look. I nodded for him to go again, and he frowned, but complied.

"Back for more?" Prisoner 798 chuckled. I would only get one shot at this, and if my plan failed I would be in trouble. The kind of trouble you don't come back from. I listened, and waited, and watched the floor for the subtle hint of a shadow. When Prisoner 798 swung at me I caught his wrist between my side and elbow and twisted. He stumbled forward, having been caught by surprise and fell. The direction lights flashed and our rooms opened back up. We began filing back into our rooms, but Prisoner 798's door remained closed. After we were all safely housed Andrew looked at me with what appeared to be irritation.

"You could've done that the whole time." He hissed.

"It wasn't worth the chance. I can take a beating. I'm fine taking a few punches, but he hit you." I said. Andrew frowned and turned away. "No one hits my friends and gets away with it." I smirk.

"You shouldn't've put yourself at risk for me." He replied.

"What's done is done. I said. A little later the lights flashed and we were sent back out for breakfast. Our table was just me and Andrew, I wondered what had become of Prisoner 798's roommate. When we got back to our room I almost wanted to laugh.

"It was weird having such a quiet meal." I said. Andrew nodded before sinking into his bunk. "What do you think of me?" I asked casually as I climbed into my bunk.

"Talkative." He replied. It wasn't a resentful or annoyed tone, it was observational. I smiled. I supposed that was true. I hadn't spoken to anyone in years, but something about Andrew made me just want to tell him things. "Surprising." He added.

"How so?" I chuckled at the thought.

"Day one you got beaten and cried in the shower. I figured you were a soft little girl." He said.

"I'm here aren't I? You can't really be soft here." I laughed. "I cried out of frustration not pain." I added. He snorted as if amused by my defensive tone.

"And me?" He asked. I was surprised he wanted to know. What did I think of him? Or more aptly, what could I tell him of my thoughts?

"You just look sad." I said. "I can't always get a read on what you're thinking beyond that." I said. He seemed to consider this for a while.

"Just ask." He said at last. I wanted to laugh. As if it were so simple.

"Why did you want to touch my hand?" I asked.

"Ask something else." He grumbled. I laughed. Of course.

"Are you mad at me for Prisoner 798 hitting you?"

"No." His answer was immediate, like it was a simple question.

"You should be, it was my fault." I huffed. He was silent, I wonder if that meant he was considering the situation, what if he did decide to be mad at me? I shouldn't be inciting this, I should be defending myself.

"I chose to protect you." He said at last.

"I should protect myself. I shouldn't've gotten you involved. It was my fight but you got hurt." I was arguing for him to be mad at me still, I should stop that.

"Are you saying I made the wrong decision?" He asked.

"Yes. No... I was in the wrong." I was confused, what should I say. I was the one that started this mess, both with Prisoner 798, and this argument with Andrew. Was this even an argument? I seemed to be both sides of the argument, the prosecution of my own defense. Slowly Andrew stood from his bunk and leveled a stare at me.

"I wouldn't change my decision." He said, staring at me.

"You should." I grumbled.

"Maybe." He nodded.

"Why did you protect me?" I asked. He looked at me again, any levity at my foolishness from my previous 'argument' dissipated. He stared at me a moment and I felt the weight of his gaze. "Was it for my food or for something else?" I asked. I'd been under the assumption that it was for my food, but his unwillingness to answer made me think maybe that was wrong.

"Ask something else." He looked away. I was so curious, he seemed to be willing to discuss most things, even dark topics, but then freeze at questions I assumed to be mundane.

"Why are you here?" I asked. The question was so existential, I wondered if I should've added the qualifier of non metaphysical answers, but he didn't seem the type to think in such a direction.

"Murder." He sat back on his bunk and looked at his left hand, flexing it and moving his fingers as if some memory had struck him. "I killed 8 girls." He said, tone soft. I thought that if this were a movie, this would be where they added some kind of flashback, maybe a montage. Girls laughing before he jumped out of the bushes and stabbed them or something. When he looked back up at me it was as if blinking away a fog, the memory had clearly enveloped him. "You?"

"I killed my parents." I replied. It seemed tame in comparison, but a murderer is a murderer. He nodded. We sat in silence for a bit, remembering, maybe reminiscing. The light flashed for lunch, we ate and came back, I handed him what I hadn't eaten and sat on the floor.

"Tell me something that makes you happy." I said. He seemed to consider this a long time. I wondered if he had so few things that he really had to dig for an answer.

"Hot food." He said at last. I smirked, of course it would be food related. "You?"

"I miss the smell of grass. That mix of freshly cut grass with the gas of the lawnmower, it was just a nice smell."

"What else?" He asked, eyes lingering on me with a quizzical stare.

"Music." I smiled wistfully.

"The moon." He said. I thought back to the moon and felt myself harden. My body tensed and I suddenly just wanted to retreat under a blanket. Andrew's memory of the moon was probably a positive one. I could not share the sentiment. He seemed to notice the change in me and frowned. "Lucy?" He asked. I shook my head, trying to loose myself from the memories.

"Sorry, um...fuzzy socks." I said. It was weak, I'd only had one pair so it was barely nostalgic, but I wanted to continue the game.

"Are you okay?" He asked. I smiled and held my hand up on the edge of his bed.

"Can you do that thing you did again? It was soothing." I asked. He seemed concerned by this, and considered it for a long time, staring at my hand like it was a snake in grass. Eventually, he gave in, and began tracing nonsense on my hand again.

"Soothing?" His voice was small, hesitant.

"I find you soothing." I nodded.

"I just told you I murdered 8 girls." He frowned.

"I feel like if you were going to try to kill me you would've done it already." I shrugged. "I'm not scared of dying." I added.

"You should be." He grumbled, dropping his touch on my hand and looking away.

"Who says we're not dead already? Maybe this place is purgatory. Or hell." I looked at the bulb that flashed for meal times.

"It's not." He replied. I stared at him for a moment, wondering what had gotten him so flustered.

"Why did you kill those girls?" He looked at me a moment before his eyes fell to the floor.

"They lied." He said, voice small.

"About?"

"I asked if they were afraid of me. If they were afraid of dying." He said.

"Most people are." I shrugged. He shook his head.

"Three of them said yes, and I killed them because I couldn't stand the look in their eyes." He paused a moment, remembering.

"And the other five?"

"Four said no, but I could tell. They would shake and cry and beg me not to kill them. The last one though, she's the reason I got caught." He said. "I asked her, are you afraid of dying? Are you afraid of me? She looked me in the eyes and said no. Part of me wanted to believe her, she seemed confident. She started touching me. It was...strange. But then I grabbed her by the throat and I saw that same look. The same one all the others had, I lost it. It felt like something in me snapped. I got messy, careless."

"She tried to take control." I said nodding. He looked at me, and I started to understand more of what made Andrew who he was. "So why haven't you killed me?" I asked.

"There's no fear in your eyes." He frowned. "Not of me, not of Prisoner 798, not of death, there's just...nothing." He said.

"What can I say." I shrugged and laughed, but he seemed amused by the whole thing. "Did you want them to be afraid of you?" I asked. He seemed to consider this, as if he'd never asked himself this question before. "It spoils the fun of it if they don't play along." I said, my voice going soft.

"Fun?" He cocked his head like a confused dog. I nodded.

"Everything humans do, is either to survive or to live." Our bodies are desperate to survive, but we eat and drink until our insides rot. We fuck until we lose whoever we were before the world turned us into whatever we become. That's all just to live, to feel like we're alive. The connection to another living human, like a lifeline, like proof we're still alive. We make ourselves feel like we're on the verge of death, pushing boundaries with drugs, just to glimpse the other side. "Like we're leaning over a cliff trying to see what's at the bottom. The only way you'll know is if you jump, but our bodies cling to land. The split between living and surviving tears us apart inside until we're nothing but a husk... but maybe I just sound crazy." I laughed.

"No, I think I get it." He said, considering my words. "You tried to jump though." He said thoughtfully. I smiled, a dark smile. A smile filled with memories of a time before, a me before. I felt drowned by them, suffocating in my own failure. I'd locked the door and looked at myself in the mirror. A fist shattered it and I could no longer remember whose it had been. I looked at my hand, scarred, but from this? I had so many blemishes from long ago ailments, fights, beatings, general wear and tear. Who's to say anymore? I'd taken a shard and drove it into my wrist, repeating the words in my head. I heard them in his voice. When I woke up in the hospital I made the decision. I did belong on this earth, there was still time. When I was released I had to walk five miles to get back home, no one had come to get me. Why would they? I was a failure. I remember seeing their faces. I remember him saying something about how I couldn't even get that right. He stared down his nose at me. And just like what Andrew said, something inside me snapped. He fought back. He had reason to, he was someone worth something. But I fought with the vicious terror of someone with nothing to lose. I was worth nothing, my only purpose in life was to rip his throat out so he could never speak down to me again.

"Couldn't even get that right." I laughed bitterly at the memory. Andrew stared at me for a long time before shaking his head. He opened his mouth to speak but the light flashed for lunch. We ate and returned in silence, as if this heart to heart had never occurred. As if I didn't just want to stay in our room and share all that had ever made me sad. I wanted to tell Adrew everything. I wanted to bare my soul to him. I didn't believe in souls, but I wanted to share all that I thought and had ever wanted to say but couldn't find the right way to say it. I dropped the small portion of food on the corner of his bed and went to climb the little ladder to my bunk but he caught my hand. I stared at him wide eyed, frozen in place.

"Ask me again." He said. "Why I touched your hand." I got down from the ladder and stood in front of him, staring into his eyes.

"Why did you touch my hand?" I asked. He exhaled through his nose, a slow breath before he nodded barely perceptibly.

"I wanted to know if you'd be scared to touch me." He said.

"If I was, would you try to kill me?" I asked. He shot me a look, a warning glance, before his eyes fell back to the floor. "I'm not afraid of you. I'm not scared of dying." I said it again, firmly. With conviction, the words pulling up from my gut and through my chest with confidence. "Why did you protect me?" I asked. He stepped back from me, keeping his eyes down. I stepped forward, closing the distance between us, a move that made him exhale sharply. I couldn't tell if it was fear or anger, maybe both. "You said mine. Were you talking about me or my food?" I pressed my luck. He looked up at me and for a moment I saw the veil of sadness lift. He looked like a predator. He was eyeing me and I wanted to reciprocate, but I stayed as I was.

"Which would you prefer?" He asked.

"I think you are ill prepared to attempt to tame me." I smirked. The look spread, he looked predatory. He was on the hunt and I was his target. His hand moved forward, landing on my hips and pulling me closer.

"Who said anything about taming?" He exhaled the words, barely more than a whisper, onto the soft skin of my neck. I felt shivers run up my skin as I leaned forward, closing the gap between us. "Tell me what you want."

"Make me yours." I sank back onto his bed, allowing him to pin me back to his mattress.

"As you wish." He tugged my uniform jumpsuit off me, peppering kisses and bites along each new inch of exposed skin. When my breasts popped into view he took the time to give them some much needed and much appreciated attention. He licked and sucked the areola like a lollipop, sucking it into his mouth before pulling back until his teeth released it on its way back out, letting go with a slurp. When each had received love he resumed his descent, allowing his biting to get harder along my stomach and by the time he reached my hips they were leaving little red marks. He was careful to avoid my tender bruised areas, ghosting over them. He lingered around my thighs to bombard hickeys and bites along the inner sides of my thighs, but left me waiting as when he was finished abusing the skin of my thighs, he continued downward. When my jumpsuit was around my ankles he pulled it off and used it to tie my wrists to the bedposts. He hovered over me, taking in the sight. I probably looked a mess. I was panting, nose and eye still swollen, large bruises on my belly and several on my shin, and now here I was lost in the abyss of lust at a few nibbles. "What do you want?" He asked. I stared up at him, feeling like I was swimming in a pool of human anatomy to find him.

"Please." I panted.

"Please what?" He asked, putting his hand on my chest and tracing nonsensical lines.

"Do whatever you want to me. I want to make you feel good." I said, my voice lost in a husky lust. He shook his head.

"Describe it Lucy." He leaned in and sucked the lobe of my ear into his mouth. Letting it go with a slurp and a nibble he moved his mouth to latch onto my neck, biting and sucking and tracing the outline his teeth left with his tongue.

"I want you to fuck me." I said with a moan as his hand moved to my thigh. "Use my body, anything you want. I want you to cum in me."

"Why?" He asked. The question caught me off guard and I had to take a moment to push the haze away before I could consider it. He took this moment to move his mouth back to my nipples, as his hand danced along my thighs.

"I want to be yours. I want to make you feel good. I want to be the one who makes you forget the world. I want to see you lose yourself in me." I said. He sat back and slowly began removing his jumpsuit. I was desperate to feel him, I wanted to touch him, taste him, I wanted to feel every part of him. He pulled his jumpsuit down to his hips, allowing his member to flop out.

"Where do you want it first?" He asked. Everywhere. I wanted it in all of me, I wanted to feel it, I wanted to feel him. I moaned and trued to wiggle my hips, but he lowered himself on me, locking his knees on either side of my hips. "Words Lucy." He tutted.

"Mouth." I said at last. He hummed in response and moved to line himself up with my mouth. Because of the darkness of his bunk it was difficult to see, but when the head tapped my lips I knew. It was thick. A dribble of precum smeared on my lower lip and my tongue darted out eagerly. He stayed stationary, allowing me to lick along the mushroom top and down the shaft. I sucked one of his balls into my mouth, slurping and lapping at it before doing the same for the other. When I returned to the tip of his penis I pushed the head into my mouth. Still silent, still motionless, he let me do what I wanted. I sucked as much of it as I could into my mouth, feeling it press the back of my throat. I stayed there a moment, feeling my desire to gag and my body's need for air rise. Finally I pulled back, keeping the head in my mouth, I swirled my tongue around it, sucking and bobbing on just the tip. I went deeper with every bob, until it reached the bag of my throat with every thrust. I felt his hand go to the back of my head and softly push himself deeper. I kept going, feeling my throat constrict around the intrusion until my nose was firmly against his abdomen. He held me there a moment before releasing me. I coughed and sputtered.