In Third Block, breakfast is delivered in the morning to each cell—even the steel-shut ones. Whether you're locked down in confinement or you're on good behavior, breakfast is the same for everyone: a bowl of tasteless, runny porridge and four pieces of toast.
Despite being starving all night, I find I have no appetite as soon as it's in front of me. My stomach turns before I can even eat a spoonful of the sloppy goop.
"It's alright if you use the toast as a vehicle for the porridge," Mace comments cheerfully, helping himself to my meal. He spoons the porridge onto a piece of toast and eats it in only a few large mouthfuls. I feel sick just watching him.
An hour of upset stomach later, I'm faced with having to take my first shit in front of Mace. There is no privacy in our cell and even though a cold sweat has run through me from the efforts of holding it in, I'd rather die than go.
"Weren't you potty trained?" Mace laughs. "Just go already before you boom-boom in your pants."
"Look away then," I beg, seriously about to explode.
Mace rolls his eyes and turns on the spot to face the bars, making a scene by plugging his nose. The whole act is humiliating.
"I hope you know how to wipe your own ass, at least," Mace says as soon as I'm finished. I give the middle finger to his turned back and proceed to wash my hands at the tiny sink on the back of the steel toilet.
This is the next 365 days of my life.
My heart starts pounding in that anxious way it's never done before setting foot in prison; it's a new, tight feeling that makes me lose all thoughts and seize up.
"Hey, kid—" Mace interrupts my spiralling with a helpful shake of my shoulders. "Relax, alright? It's just a toilet."
But it's more than just the toilet. It's everything! It's the slop, it's the blanket, it's the fact that Ox got ripped from his bed and fucking taken—and that it could happen to me too—!
"Relax," Mace demands again, reading the panicked thoughts all over my face. I almost crack from the weight of them, but staring into Mace's hard eyes has at least some of my sanity coming back to me. He is so rock-steady that it's almost infectious, and after a few deep breaths he claps me on the back and steers me to sit on his bottom bunk. "Just sit for a second and get yourself together."
For Mace, this is considerate. It's these tiny gestures of kindness—if you can even call them that—that fuels whatever trust I have for him. Normally I would just expect everyone around me to treat me nicely; part of the pretty privilege I've only ever experienced. But Mace offers so little, that I do not take it for granted.
I breathe deeply, putting my head in my hands and leaning forward as I try to calm down. Mace even takes a seat beside me and offers some firm pats on the back with low encouragements. "That's it, just breathe... Jesus, I didn't think it would be a shit that finally made you crack."
I can't help the laugh that bursts out of me. It's almost hysterical.
I lift my head out of my hands and turn to Mace, surprised by what I find. A warmth behind grey eyes I haven't seen before; a wide smile showing a missing tooth in the back of his mouth.
"I feel crazy," I admit with a shaky laugh.
"Welcome to the club," Mace returns, smile slowly fading.
We share a small silence before footsteps sound in the mezzanine outside of our cell. The anxiety returns to me, but this time-next to Mace—it's not nearly as overpowering. My whole body stiffens as a lone guard walks to our cell with a bundle under his arms.
"A gift for the newbie," he announces dryly, shoving the bundle through the same slot as our breakfast.
Mace stands up and grabs it, as if knowing my knees are too weak. As the guard leaves, he hands it to me with a cocked brow. "Who's giving you gifts your first day?"
Wrapped inside a spare orange uniform is a bunch of luxury items. Toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, shower gel, shampoo... and a small carton of cigarettes that are of no use to me. A small card is tucked inside the cigarettes and I open it up to read a small note from Lieutenant Bridges.
"Don't get killed - B"
I almost shove everything to the ground, but I know how much I need these things. Instead, Mace helps put everything on the small shelf above our toilet. When he stops in front of me again, he is still looking at me weird.
"I could'a sworn Bridges wanted to kill you himself yesterday," he mutters.
Me too.
Five minutes later, a large buzzer sounds throughout Third Block that has me almost jumping off Mace's bed. The sound of locks electronically opening whirs throughout the upper floor and I watch our cell door open on its own.
"Ready, kid?" Mace asks.
I am not.
Still, I follow him out of our cell and onto the mezzanine. Down the walkway, two guards are stationed at the top of the stairs leading down to Commons. I watch some of the inmates shuffle their way out of their cells and line single file towards them.
Before I even know what I'm doing, I'm glancing back towards Ox's cell—completely shut. But—visible through the small window—I see Ox's face peering out. It's still completely black and blue, but I can't look away from him. I know that even though they are swollen almost shut, he can see me.