Go away,I think. I’m not getting up from my bunk until he
leaves. “Hey,” he says. Seeing the breakfast tray, untouched, he
asks, “Didn’t you like the pancakes?”
I’m not shooting the shit with this kid. As
he sets the tray he carries on the floor and removes the breakfast
tray from the slot in the door, I frown at him and ask, “Where’s
Conlan?”
“What do you want him for?” Tobin
counters. He places the breakfast tray on the floor by his feet and
then lifts the one he carried in, eases it into the slot. “You
getting lonely in there?”
Oh God, just go away. He makes me sick.
But he doesn’t leave. Instead he curls his
hands around the bars and presses his face against them, leers in
at me. “Hey,” he says again, lowering his voice. I glance up—I hate
that grin of his, that unhealthy shine in his eyes. “Come
here.”
“No,” I tell him. “Go
away.”
Tobin leans against the bars, rubs his groin
along the hard steel, and his eyes slip closed in pleasure.