elude // jahseh onfroy

2 - bailed

Jahseh

Ski's last words before he was taken to sign his release papers left me shook. He bailed on me and now I'm alone for four goddamned weeks. Four weeks doesn't seem like a long time once you've done another 17, but this time, it's different.

On the way to the kitchen, I realise everybody who once ignored me is now glaring at me. I'm the lone wolf, which means I'm a target for fucking everybody. Prison is a hellhole, no doubt about that, but having to roam the hallway alone is worse.

Keeping my head low as I enter the kitchen, I find my individual list of tasks for the lunchtime meal.

"Look at him, cuz," the large man from this morning whispers. I snap my head in his direction, my brows furrowed with worry. The anxiety kicks in when he whispers something to his friend, their eyes fixed on me. I'm fucking angry now.

"Yo, what the fuck you sayin', man?" I growl at them, causing a few people to flinch.

"You a dumb ass mu'fucker," the guy spits back, a sly smirk on his lips. In that moment, I see red. My fists curl but I stand on my ground.

"You don't fucking know me, man! Don't go talkin' shit, vro!" I scream at him, almost at the goddamned verge of jumping him. The large guy remains amused by my aggression, which irritates me even more.

"Vro?" he laughs cockily. "Who the fuck you think you are usin' Broward County slang?" the guy fires back at me. I swear I am this close to losing my fucking temper. He laughs on the side to his friend before taking a few steps towards me, his cocky smirk still on his face. "Unless you from Broward County yo'self."

I remain silent at that. Never fucking tell anyone where you're from in prison. My rage-filled eyes remain on his, my fists still tightly clenched as we glare at each other. It almost seems like we're about to start a brawl, but the asshole remains still as he taunts me.

"You don't fucking know me," I growl.

"Oh, I do, cuz. You a 'hardcore' SoundCloud rapper," the asshole says, drawing air quotes like he's fucking educated. "Yo, listen to this!" he exclaims to the crowd. Asshole points his fat finger at me, but he already has everyone's attention. "This guy thinks he gon' be a superstar. Some next level Tupac shit!"

The crowd explodes into a round of laughter, making my cheeks burn with a mix of anger and embarrassment. This is what I meant. Without Ski, I'm a big fat joke. Asshole shakes his head in amusement.

"Let's face it, cuz. You ain't ever gonna be shit. Fuck, you probably got in this shithole for clout," Asshole snorts, making the crowd chuckle again. Clenching my jaw, I take a step back from Asshole and his friend, trying to calm the hell down before shit escalates.

But for some reason, I can't hold myself back when Asshole starts to mock my song. The one and only song I've ever dropped: Vice City.

"I seem depressed, always getting jerked off never less. This time you're in prison, putting you to the test," Asshole sings, but he sings like a dying cat in heat. He does a hand gesture — the 'killaz' sign but backwards, mocking me, making the guys laugh. "Look at me y'all! I'm XXX-Ten-Tae-Shon and I got depression!" he pretends to sob, waving the 'inverted killaz' sign in the air before roaring with laughter.

That's it. That's fucking it.

I see red and before I know it — my hands are wrapped around his neck. I've pinned him to the sink, his large bald head inches from the tap. He grunts, making a choking sound. I swear I've got him. I'm gonna kick his ass. 

But suddenly, my grip around his neck loosens and Asshole violently kicks my leg. I'm sent across the room from the blow, making me let out a scream. The rest of the men in the kitchen yell in excitement, as if they had been silently waiting for a brawl.