I pulled my hoodie over my head, hard, the cotton catching for a second on my ears.I was hot suddenly, flushed with anger, embarrassment, disgust.
“We never had a thing,” I said, breath clipped.“It was survival.That’s it.”
He sniffed.“Still counts.”
“No, it doesn’t.You were a barrier to keep me safe from the other guys, not a boyfriend.”
He looked mock-hurt.“Wow.That’s cold, Brad.”
I shoved my feet into my sneakers like I was trying to kick-start my escape.“You’re the one who kept calling me Babycakes.”
“I thought it was cute!”
“I thought it was harassment.”
He let out a little sigh, as if I’d broken his heart instead of just his delusion.“You’re really not gonna miss me at all?”
“I’m gonna forget your name the second I walk out of here.”
Marvin chuckled, unfazed.“You say that now, but once you’re back out there in the cold, cruel world, getting ghosted by dudes with daddy issues and weird fetishes, you’ll remember me.You’ll remember that I appreciated you.”
“Appreciated my dick, you mean?”
“Well.Yeah.”He shrugged like that was the same thing.
There was a heavy pause.
“I’m serious,” he added, a little softer.“You were… not the worst.”
I didn’t know what to do with that.So I didn’t do anything.Just slung my duffel bag over my shoulder and stared out the bars.
That’s when the footsteps came.Slow, echoing.Steel-toed boots on cement.Then the familiar jingle of keys.
A CO appeared in front of the bars with a clipboard and a bored expression.
“Mitchell.Let’s move.”
Marvin sat up like he wanted a better look at my departure.His voice followed me as I stepped out of the cell.
“Guess this is goodbye, huh?”
I didn’t answer.
“You’re gonna miss me when you’re out there, Babycakes.Don’t pretend you won’t.Who’s gonna call you thick in a respectful tone?”
I kept walking.
“Call me!”he shouted.
I turned back just long enough to flip him off.
“Fuck off, Marvin.”
* * *
The clink of keys echoed down the corridor, the heavy footsteps of the correctional officer matching my own uneven strides as he led me through the sterile maze of the Queensboro Correctional Facility.The walls were a tired gray, scuffed and chipped, like the place had been scraped by life itself and left to bleed quietly.
I kept my head down, one hand shoved deep into the pockets of my hoodie.The weight of my duffel bag felt oddly light compared to the invisible chains still wrapped tight around my thoughts.
