Bridges barely talks to me all the way back to Third Block. A part of me would rather die than start the conversation, but after five minutes of him shaking me down the halls, I break.
"Did I praise you enough, my Lord?" I ask, dripping with sarcasm even though my cuffs are tighter than ever. "Is your pedestal high enough now?"
The Lieutenant grimaces, probably debating whether he wants to talk to me, too. Finally, through gritted teeth, he replies, "It could be higher."
"But high enough to let us out of lockdown, right?"
The bastard tightens his hold on my bare arm hard enough I know it'll leave even more bruises than the ones I got from training with Mace.
God he's a prick—and damn, how is he so strong? He's not even that big—compared to Mace—but that uniform might be hiding a lot.
He doesn't stop squeezing my arm until I let an "ow" slip out of me, but the dead silence is all that I get in response this time. I debate threatening going to the Warden, but snitches in prison aren't exactly known to be treated better.
When I'm returned to my cell in Third Block, I don't risk looking in Ox's direction while Bridges uncuffs me—even though I'm burning to. Mace stands up off his bunk and I see a bit of relief in his eyes at the way I've come back in one piece. I don't get to enjoy the budding warmth deep inside me now that I'm back with Mace; the Lieutenant gives me an unhelpful shove back into the cell and then pulls the steel door to shut me back in.
But… he promised to lift lockdown?
Bridges gives me a cruel smile through the window of the steel door.
I want to scream. I want to throw it in his face that he's a liar and doesn't make good on his deals. I'm angry how stupid I'd been trusting him to begin with.
All of this must show on my face because Bridges rolls his eyes at me and speaks in a low voice through the window. "You thought I could lift lockdown in under five minutes?" I feel that itchy heat rising from my chest to my face again. I'm about to open my mouth but then he continues. "It'll lift tomorrow morning," he says, before suddenly speaking loud enough for all of Third Block to hear, "Okay, Kitty?"
The shock and indignation I feel at the nickname explodes out of my control and I launch at the window without thinking. It's too late anyway; Bridges is strolling away down the mezzanine and all I can see is his back.
"Fuck you! Fucking psycho—fucking power tripping, smug-ass bastard! Go fuck yourself!" I scream to him from the small opening. Mace's hand clamps down on my shoulder and with a strong tug, he pulls me away from the window.
But not before a familiar low whistle sounds across from us.
"Wooow," Ox laughs, his deep voice echoing. "What a mouth."
I've never felt so angry in my life—never had to. But Bridges? Even if he isn't a liar, he's still a fucking asshole. My hands have never shaken like this before. My head has never felt so hot and clouded.
Maybe Mace is rubbing off on me in the worst way…
When I look at him, Mace is far from disappointed in me. There is a rare wide smile on his face, and his grey eyes are lit proudly. "That might eat into your allowance, Kid," he jokes. He stares through the little window to make sure Bridges isn't coming back around for me, and I take a seat on his bed, still shaking.
"Ugh! That slimy motherfucker… he drives me nuts…"
Mace sits beside me, running a hand through his bouncy curls. "If I said the same things you did, I'd be six feet under by now, Kid," he says. I throw him a look that suggest he better save it for another time. "He's going easy on you. That's a good thing."
"Ha!" I scoff, angry adrenaline still pumping through me. "He called me Kitty, Mace…!"
I feel like I'm tattling to my Dad or something. I expect Mace to flip out like he does when Ox says it, but he offers a surprising shrug instead.
"That's just to mess with Ox."
I fold my arms over my chest, disbelief written on my face. But I can't forget where to direct my anger; I'm reminded when I finally notice the black eye blooming on Mace's left eye.
"He did that to you!" I stress, unfolding my arms and gesturing his eye. "Don't defend him."
But Mace must be in love with the Lieutenant because he still doesn't take my side. "That's because he thought I was roughing you up." My mouth drops open like he can't possibly be serious. "Look, Kid, it might be hard to understand because you're not a parent—"
"Neither are you!" I explode. The words rocket out of my mouth before I can hold them back. I watch them hit Mace full-on and the anguish that overwhelms him is immediate. Suddenly, all the unmanageable anger I was feeling disappears. In its place is a hollow ache that I could even say such a thing. "No… I mean… Mace—I didn't mean that…"
But the damage is done. He turns grey eyes away from me and growls out his next words. "Get off my bed."
"Mace!" I insist, but I move anyway because a week has been enough time for me to know when he asks something, I'd better do it quickly. "I'm sorry… really… Bridges he—he got under my skin and—" you weren't taking my side. You should be on my side.
He doesn't respond, just whips off his top and lays down like it's time for bed, turning his back to me.
"I'm sorry," I repeat again.
When I'm in my own bed, staring up at the ceiling, I keep recalling the hurt in Mace's eyes; the hurt I caused him. It's an insufferable, deep ache that is somehow even more unbearable than all the rage I felt earlier at Bridges.