Caged In (Caged Prison #1)

12

Breakfast hits all too soon the next day. Izz couldn’t avoid it because the guard marched into his cell and told him he can either get up on his own, or be dragged out to prep breakfast, and then go to solitary confinement —they don’t call it The Hole, guess the guards’ are too cool to speak prisoner.

Izz informed the guard he’d choose the former and be at breakfast prep. Even when he was nearly overwhelmed with the urge to blab, he knew it would do him no good. The guards’ don’t care—

Which is how he ended up in his current position—hiding out alone in the dark of the showers. Uncanny doesn’t even begin to describe the place. He thought he felt wary in the showers when it was open for the inmates to use. That pales in comparison to the trembles racking his body with nervous anxiety while alone, with little more than a square of light by the door to navigate his surroundings.

It is way worse in the dark. As if he’s the star of a horror film, about to be dragged back into the shadows and murdered in the dark dingy cold room.

He does not relish the idea of his death certificate reading the cause of death as a prison shower shanking—shivving?

He thinks he’s been sitting on the cold tiles for the better part of an hour. His ass numbed out a while ago, he no longer has feeling in that part of his body. He’d like it to have been an hour, but knowing his luck in this prison so far, it’s likely to be more like ten minutes. Wishful thinking has him hoping it’s the former.

So far so good.

No guards have come in looking for him. No alarms have gone off indicating his disappearance has been noticed. Things are starting to look up. If he can hang out here until the breakfast siren sounds—when the rest of the prison becomes alive with activity—he’ll be in the clear, at least for breakfast prep. He has no idea how he’s going to avoid lunch and dinner. But he has to try.

He’s in no hurry to go anywhere near Levis any time soon. He intends to avoid that particular inmate like the man has a contagious disease—Levis gives off the aura of being a contagious disease, let alone carrying one.

~~~

Izz jumps when the sirens chirp, echoing off the tiled walls. Marking the beginnings of a new day and the start of another meal. One he has successfully avoided prepping for. Avoiding the kitchen boss for another shift. He hopes he can do so for the whole day.

A new day in Hell.

During the tedious time he hid in the showers, he had planned to go to breakfast and sit with The Gang. To occupy his mind at least. However, he quickly dismisses the idea. Levis will be there, demanding an answer as to why he wasn’t at breakfast prep.

He can’t very well say he overslept and missed it. They both know the guards collect the kitchen inmates for morning prep. There is no way to sleep in and miss it.

He feels like a criminal—scratch that—he feels like a tiny mouse in a criminal’s house trying to avoid the gigantic cat that wants to toy with him before it consumes him.

He’s grateful when he manages to avoid any and all guards. Making his way back to his cell without being dragged in for breakfast cleaning and thrown in The Hole.

He’s becoming paranoid, frightened out of his wits that Levis is lurking around every corner, ready to pounce on him. He’s seriously considering The Hole as a good alternative instead of this consuming anxiety eating away at him—

Speaking of eating, he’s starving. He hasn’t eaten since . . . breakfast yesterday? It’s all piling on top of him—the stress, the mentally draining breakdown in his cell last night, his restless sleep. His body is gnawing at itself. And he can’t do anything about it. He’s not going into the cafeteria. He can’t. He’s stuck. He has no idea what he’s supposed to do.

If only Reni were here, his cellmate would have answers. Reni would no doubt sneak food out of the cafeteria for him. He’d even take Zidie’s childish thought processes over his lack of ideas.

He requires food, and soon. He’s not going to be able to go on like this for much longer. Not without his stomach eating itself. Or without what little muscle he has withering away to nothing.

Tripping into his cell he makes his way to the sink. Splashing cold water over his face may help his mind spit out some ideas. He’ll waterboard the answers out of his head, see what magical plans his brain will cough out under duress—

A metallic glimmer catches his eye on his way past his bunk. Backtracking, he squints at the shine peeking out from under his pillow. He rocks back and forward in his flat prison-issued shoes, nervously reaching out to grasp his pillow, lifting it to reveal what’s hidden beneath—

If this was a horror film, I’d be yelling at the screen, telling the idiot not to look under the pillow.

What’s revealed is not a murderer’s axe under his pillow—that last part has a real possibility of happening, given where he is. No. What’s revealed is a bag of potato chips, beef jerky and a chocolate bar . . .

Izz positively gapes.

Where did it come from . . .

He glances around. Like the furniture will fill him in on where the food appeared from, on who brought it here and why?

Reni is in The Hole. Same as Zidie. Izz has been avoiding the rest of The Gang after what he overheard.

Maybe Blake? Although Blake doesn’t seem like he would do this—actually he has always been nice, and he gave off caring brotherly vibes. It must have been him? Izz feels terrible for ditching them now. Especially if Blake had been the one to drop the food off. But what if it wasn’t him?

Pursing his lips, he leans out the cell door, grasping the bars on either side to hold his balance in his lean-and-spy. Head tilting in both directions to check out each side of the second-floor platform.

Absolutely no one can be seen anywhere. No talking. No footfall. Only silence greets him.

Ducking back into his cell, he contemplates the food. His stomach growling, demanding he quit stalling and start binging.

He shrugs, what could be the harm in it?

Ripping into the plastic wrapping of the jerky first, he shoves a hand in, grabbing out the meaty treats. Eating the dried slices of goodness so fast he barely tastes it. His body telling him it hasn’t eaten in days, his stomach continuing to growl and churn as he feeds it. Like it’s angry at him for starving it for so long. At least his stomach’s no longer trying to cannibalise itself, so that’s a bonus.

~~~

Izz tries his best to avoid lunch. Tries to hide out in the yard but a guard finds him. He tries to argue he’s unwell, and therefore not fit to be preparing meals for others, and doesn’t want to make anyone else sick. The guard’s response is that they don’t care, informing Izz that he’ll be thrown in solitary confinement if he doesn’t move it. In the end, Izz’s lugged back inside by the guard who waits at the door until he walks into the kitchen.

Izz would choose option two and gratefully go to The Hole. If he didn’t still have to prep lunch before being thrown in there. He wanted to go to The Hole in order to avoid the kitchen. Not as a punishment on top of going to the kitchen.

“Where were you for dinner prep yesterday, and breakfast this morning?”

Izz closes his eyes to the familiar voice sleazing up behind him, the voice he dreads hearing.

Why couldn’t Levis have been sick—literally anywhere else other than here. Izz cautiously turns, facing the beefy man, whose arms are crossed over a wide chest. Inspecting him like a disapproving boss who can’t figure out why their employee is skipping work.

I’m sure if you think on that one real hard, you’ll figure out why I wasn’t here. Izz rants angrily in his head. Too nervous to speak any of it out loud.

“Sorry, I wasn’t feeling the best,” Izz mutters. Wishing he could disappear, “I’m still not feeling well but the guard didn’t give me a choice, I had to come here.”

Izz flinches when Levis reaches out. Not sure what to expect but completely taken off guard when the server touches his forehead. Like someone would do to a sick child. It’s strange. Leaving him standing there like a stunned fish.

“You do feel a little warm,” Levis informs Izz, letting his fingertips linger on Izz’s skin before dropping his hand away. Not stepping back to give Izz room to breathe. “I’ll keep you on light duties today, Sugar. You can do a run down on what we have for the dinner supplies, make sure it’s in order for meal prep.”

Levis ambles off to yell at a few inmates about stirring their pots correctly—something along the lines of smelling burning, and not letting it stick to the bottom.

He zones out, allowing the yelling to waft to the back of his mind—or rather, the boss screaming at other inmates while they bow their heads in shame. Either way, Izz lets it sift out of his immediate consideration to become a background noise he ignores.

Collecting the clipboard hanging on the wall outside the pantry room’s door, he reads down the list of items required for dinner prep. There are a lot of products on the list. All in bulk quantities.

This is going to take a while.

~~~

He’s still counting and ticking off the list as the sounds of lunch wrapping up reach his ears—

Panic seeps into his bones, his heart rabbiting as his ears strain at the voices outside the pantry. Listening for one voice in particular. . .

Izz can’t hear Levis in the kitchen, he takes the opportunity to make good his escape. Fumbling the clipboard back into its holder. Swiftly rushing out of the kitchen.

Darting through the double doors at the kitchen’s exit, he’ll have to take the long way back to his cell. It’ll be worth the extra exercise to avoid being spotted by Levis who is serving the last few inmates standing at the food bar.

He’s sure someone’s following him back to his cell. Checking over his shoulder every ten seconds, his paranoid mind expects to see Levis around every corner or standing right behind him.

He’s more jumpy than he has ever been in this cage. And he’s more alone than he has ever been. With Reni and Zidie in The Hole, he is left to fend for himself in the carnivorous general population.

He sighs with relief when he reaches his cell. Rushing into the barred room like the place is his own personal prison. His protective bubble where no bad can ever breach its threshold.

He’s too depressed, and anxious to worry when he finds more snacks on his bunk. A packet of chips, and some other food items which are extremely appealing to his starving stomach.

He kicks out his fearful thoughts. The who, why and how questions surrounding the food are not welcome. He can worry about it later. Right now, he’s hungry and this is edible. He will take it and enjoy it. Without thinking about who put it here and why. He doesn’t want to think about the consequences for him to accept the snacks. He will forget his fears and drown his stresses in the sugar-filled snacks he’s been gifted.

Let the worries wash over you, Izz. You can stress over the consequences at a later date. His inner voice instructs.