44. Who wants to?

He leaned back in his seat, lowering his head for a second in one fluent motion, before looking into my eyes.

"Alright." Languidly and so damn casually that I felt insulted by him not taking it seriously.

"WHO WANTS TO FUCK YOUR UGLY FAT SISSYMOLE ASS? I HATE YOU, I KILL YOU!" I couldn't suppress it, slamming the speaker against the glass and punching it when it wasn't enough.

"FIRST DEGREE MURDER WITHOUT THE POSSIBILITY OF PAROLE, ARE YOU KIDDING ME, YOU MOTHERFUCKER?!"

The guards came to me and slammed my upper body against the desk on which the bulletproof glass sat. They cuffed me again, this time behind my back. I just started to scream randomly, and the next time I was pulled up, I saw Henry standing and pressing his hands against the glass, looking at me intensely. He also seemed to grip the speaker hard against his ear.

"YOU FUCKER BROUGHT ME IN HERE; I GET IT EVEN AND KILL YOU FOR REAL!" Being practically carried by the guards, I kicked my legs, which was just fruitless with the cuffs, before my body shook again heavily with a claustrophobic seizure.

"I HATE THESE CUFFS! GET THEM OFF ME! I HATE IT, AAAAHHH, FUCK!" I was dragged out of the room, and I couldn't get a hold of it at all, screaming my lungs out.

"HENRY DEVIN, YOU ARE MY FUCKING NEMESIS. I WILL KILL YOU!" I was carried somewhere, constantly shaking because of the damn cuffs. 

Finally, they were taken off, and I had felt finally able to breathe again, as I was shoved in a solitary cell.

I had a hard time catching my breath and cursed silently. I had planned to deepen my relationship with either my shitting buddy, or break the dude in the cafeteria to show them that my ass was not easily obtained.

Now it came sooner than I thought. Being alone also had its perks because I could cry in my arm. All my fucking life was thrown away because of these damn twins. 

I wished I had never talked to that shitty Henrietta, or at least killed her for real. I still remember her bored look when being confronted with me being suspected of murder. I really kind of liked her, and I feel so set up by the whole world. Besides the few standing on my side, the rest are just so damn assholes; I hate them.

Just cause I helped her! Or because Kenny2 was a dick, but what the fuck has that to do with me?

Henrietta and Henry should sit here; they have destroyed my entire life. I will never marry or get children…wait.

Aren't there some crazy chicks that marry murderers. I stood up and kicked the door.

"HEY! Isn't there some dating site for prisoners? What's it called? How do I register?" I kicked the door until I heard some dude laughing.

"What's it to you, you fucker, got a chick yourself or turned already gay?" I bellowed.

"You should be new." The voice chuckled.

"Yeah, and I like it so much that I will stay for the rest of my damn fucking life!" At the end, my voice broke, and I shut up before the last of my self esteem was going down the drain.

The first time I had the vision about my friends suspecting me of murder, I should have told the old dragon to fly me aboard. Ah, fuck. I am so damn dumb. At least should the strange deer eat Henry up so that I had a reason for being here.

My cellmate sighed wistfully.

"It will get better, don't worry."

I didn't answer; I just thought that if I was shitting here, this guy would hear it. We were all men, but fuck, I want my fucking private space. Isn't this against human rights? Just a fucking cabin would be enough.

I was let out in the evening because I hadn't actually hurt someone, not even destroyed something, which was a bit of a blow for me because I gave it my all.

Getting back to my cell, I sat down again with my prison mate.

"You know....men are really bad. Especially the one with the blue eyes. You have to take care of yourself. Red eyes are unusual, but they are still good people. Blue is bad. Really bad."

He was such a good listener. We talked for a long time, where I planted discriminating shit against blue-eyed and black-haired people in his mind, especially the ones with moles, before planning how to get that assumed child molester to pay. 

We (I) talked about castrating him and breaking his hands, maybe getting out one eye or two. 

My cellmate imitated my motion where I plopped out of the eyes, and we both laughed, making plop-sounds. I knew I had left one of my screws outside, but it makes me feel better to do whatever, so I will just go with it.

Then we started to high-five, and fist bump, and time went by faster than I thought. We were called to stand ready to be cuffed for dinner.

Finally, ah, I am still so damn angry and I urgently need an outlet.