Possessed - Bucky Barnes x OC

Part 49

"Inmate." A correctional officer's voice rudely boomed through the echoey cell. Banging his baton over the bars loudly, shaking James from his train of thought.

Officer Schmidt had been assigned to James from the moment he got back to Riker's. Just another obese white man with shockingly abusive control issues. He had quite the reputation of being a corrupt officer. Basically running his own drug ring from the inside.

James laid flat on the frigid concrete of his cell, head resting on the paper thin pillow he was provided. Ignoring him.

After his outburst, ripping his bunk off of the wall the few days before, they outright removed it from his cell as a punishment. Nights were spent sleepless. Hours of shivering on the floor, intertwined with haunting nightmares, wearing him down to a lowly state of insanity.

"You have counseling. Let's go."

"I don't feel like going to school today, mom." He muttered, keeping his stare at the ceiling.

Schmidt stormed off, pissed at the attitude.

James had refused counseling since he had arrived. He didn't want yet another pair of hands trying to pick his brain apart. He had seen his fair share of therapists over the years. Spending tens of thousands of dollars on the best the world had to offer and they all made the same diagnosis— Antisocial personality disorder. A sociopath. Sometimes with the added narcissism diagnosis.

Most of the time talking to those so-called 'experts' was spent manipulating them. Getting them to collude unknowingly. He had mastered the art of seeming stable and rational.

People were easy that way. Simple minded folk being completely taken advantage of by the charming devil James could be. It wasn't until he met— Her. The little curly haired angel. His doll. His weakness. She made him realize he had a microscopic amount of normalcy in him. Some semblance of romance made his stone cold heart beat again.

James slammed his head back on his pillow again and again, trying to literally knock the thought of Her out of his brain. He figured with just enough brute force, he could forget the girl altogether.

Once the intrusive thoughts slowly filtered away, he closed his eyes, enjoying the silence of his cell. Plenty pleased with his success at dodging everything he didn't want to do from the moment he was booked.

Although his ample experience with the system gave him literally zero privileges around the joint, it also allowed him the advantage of having an established reputation of someone that shouldn't be fucked with. Most of the guards knew firsthand just how dangerous James could be.

Just as he started to doze off, two more guards came back with Schmidt. Standing like a wall of pure power trip on the other side of the bars.

No words were exchanged this time. The men rushed into the cell, crowding James. Ripping him up to his feet.

"I said, I didn't fucking want counseling." He growled, eyes wide. Absolutely disgusted by all the clammy, grime covered hands on his skin. The feeling was leaving him enraged.

"You don't run this place anymore, inmate." One of the guards spat back, voice strained from trying to hold him up, getting dangerously close to James' face.

While his arms were held back, Schmidt landed a hard punch to his jaw. His head knocked back, but he didn't even register the pain. Years of violence making him practically numb to it. Sometimes he swore his pain receptors didn't work anymore.

Despite that, blood pooled in his mouth. He spit out a wad, unintentionally landing it on one of Schmidt's boots. He would've outright laughed if it weren't for the sheer fury racking through every last nerve of his tattooed body.