“Don’t say much, do you?”
I nod curtly because she’s right: I don’t fill the void with nonsense. I speak only when necessary.
“I’ll make sure you’ll have no problems. I don’t want problems.” She slides the key across the surface, not asking about my nickname.
“Neither do I.” I reach for the key card, but Venus slaps her hand over mine. My hand instantly curls into a fist, and my entire body goes into fight mode, but I take a small breath, reining in my need to inflict pain.
“Ice machine is just around the corner, and all rooms are nonsmoking.” One wouldn’t dare pollute this upstanding establishment.
She lets me go and smiles. “Enjoy your stay. You’re in room fourteen. You need me, you’ve got my number.”
Instantly, I draw my hand back and unclench it slowly. Venus seems unmoved by my weird behavior.
With the key card in hand, I thank Venus, before walking out the door. The moment I’m outside, I take two deep breaths to subdue the roaring demons within. Being touched is my hard limit. Don’t touch me, and we won’t have a problem.
I don’t like people being all up in my grill. After being inside for so long, you forget the touch of another human, and you learn to live with it. And, after a while, I began to like it. I liked the solitude because touch connects you with another, and that’s something I’m not interested in.
Getting my shit together, I stroll down the covered concrete walkway. My room is the second to last door on the left. I swipe the card over the sensor and wait for it to beep, permitting me entry. When I open the door, the four in my room number creaks and suddenly falls, swinging from side to side and hanging upside down. Its derelict condition reveals what I’m in for once I step inside.
Without further delay, I enter my room, and it’s exactly what I expected—a small, simply furnished room with a private bathroom.
Closing and locking the door behind me, I kick off my boots and turn on the wall heater. The red carpet is filthy, and the cigarette burns hint that those before me didn’t give a shit about the no smoking rule.
I walk across the room and into the bathroom. Flicking on the dim light, I see I have a shower/bath combo, a sink, a mirror, and a toilet. Some cheap toiletries are neatly arranged on the cracked marbled counter. Looking at the small shower, I realize I’ll enjoy this the most. Being able to take a warm shower without having to look over your shoulder, worried you’ll get knifed or fucked for your bar of soap, will be nice.
Stripping, I hang up my clothes on the silver hook and turn the water to hot. The bathroom instantly fills with steam. Not caring that the temperature burns my skin, I step under the spray, the constant chill from my bones slowly disappearing as I turn my body from side to side.
Being robbed of the simple pleasures in life may seem unfair, but I deserve it. I deserve it all.
When I think about how I robbed someone of simple, everyday luxuries, I suddenly feel underserving of this small piece of happiness. I don’t deserve happiness. I gave up that right when I made the biggest mistake of my life.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I breathe through the memories as I turn the faucet to cold. Bracing my palms on the tiled wall, I drop my head between my splayed arms. The silver chain dangles like a pendulum around my neck. I pray the cold water will wash away my sins, but it never does. It just highlights that no matter whether I’m free or behind bars, I’ll forever be enslaved to the past and what I have to do to feed the demons inside me.
I’ll forever be imprisoned to the day I picked up a gun and shot a man in cold blood. However, the only regret I have…is that I got caught.
Thanks to my trip down misery lane, I’m left restless and not in a good headspace. Maybe I could score some pussy to help take the edge off. But I haven’t been with a woman in so long, I’d probably embarrass myself the moment she undresses. I’m not here for that though. I have a job to do.
Wallowing in my self-pity isn’t doing me any good, so I grab my key card and slip it into the back pocket of my still damp jeans. I noticed a Goodwill store a few blocks up. I’ll walk off the heaviness and hope like hell this feeling of despair goes away.
Not that it ever does. But maybe today is different.
It’s dark out, and the heavy rain has turned to a light drizzle. Keeping my head down, I walk to the store, not interested in bumping into any trouble. I plan on staying hidden in the shadows because there is no way I’m going back inside.
They say prison changes a man, and they’re right. I learned that quickly when my eighteen-year-old ass got thrown into a cesspool of the depraved and was expected to fend for myself.
I thought I was a gangster, and my smart mouth would get me through, but all it got me was three busted ribs, two black eyes, and a different use for my smart mouth. From that day forward, ties to my past were brutalized, and I was no longer Cody Bishop. I was Bullseye. A nickname I earned from the vicious men I called my roomies when they learned my story.
After that, the naïve wannabe gangster became the unfeeling asshole I am today. Prison taught me how to lie, cheat, and steal. I wasn’t interested in being anyone’s bitch, so I transformed from the gangly teenager to a six-foot-four, two-hundred-pound fighting machine. I worked out when we had yard time, and when we were herded back into our cells, I did what I could in my six-by-eight space.
Training kept me sane. And it was the only thing that kept me safe. But no matter how big you are, someone is always bigger and badder. And my big bad came in the form of a neo-Nazi by the name of Snow White. He got his name thanks to the drugs he dealt before he got caught.
I subconsciously rub over the six-inch scar that runs from my right kidney up to my spleen. I was told that getting stabbed seventeen times and surviving was a miracle, but I don’t agree. Dying would have been the easy way out. But surviving alongside Snow and thugs just like him trained me to become who I am today. And that’s someone you don’t fuck with.
I push open the glass door of the small, overcrowded Goodwill store and head over to the men’s apparel section. I don’t need much, so I grab the essentials. After the bored teenager rings up my haul, I pay and then shove all my belongings into the duffel I also bought.
“Have a nice day,” she robotically says even though it’s pitch black outside. Detroit does that to people. Before long, all days blend together, becoming one long, tiresome, monotonous day.
The store clerk’s interest is suddenly piqued, however, when I take off my thin hoodie and slip into the black leather jacket I just bought.
She couldn’t be much older than eighteen, and I revisit the idea that maybe I could burn off some steam by scoring some pussy. But the idea falls flat on its ass when an older man comes into the store, his arms filled with goods. He stops in his tracks when he sees me.
“Brandy, everything okay?” His gaze darts back and forth between us.
“Yes, Dad, everything is fine,” she replies, clearing her throat, appearing embarrassed to be caught staring.
“Okay then.” He walks past me and nods. “You got everything you need?”
He’s doing a poor job at disguising his disgust that I’m anywhere near his beloved Brandy. But I don’t blame him. I need to get used to these side glances and being treated like the inked-up criminal that I am.