After our short conversation, Vic and I ate dinner in silence. I say 'ate', but it was more like me awkwardly prodding my food with my spoon, due to my lack of appetite and aching jaw, and Vic hungrily stuffing his face.
After the designated hour (we got less time during breakfast, as the meal was generally smaller) the usual man called out for us to return to our rooms. I recognised him as Officer Wentz, but everyone just called him 'M'. I didn't know why – maybe it was the first letter of his name or just a stupid nickname.
All of us obeyed and parted ways. I scurried to my cell and speedily closed the door, relieved to be away from that huge mob of people, which always gave me unimaginable anxiety. I sighed as I collapsed onto the bed, knowing that I still had 5458 days left here. Yes, I count.
It was only 7 pm and surprisingly I wasn't feeling tired at all, which gave me more time to think about Vic. What was he doing? One minute he's scaring my ex-friend, the next he's ignoring me, then he acts like the nicest guy on the planet, even though he's probably a murderous psychopath.
His plan was probably to befriend me, make me comfortable with him, until he would inevitably strangle me in one of the bathrooms, with no one watching. Because what else would he want? Ashley left me as soon as he found out that I was a rapist, so why would he be nice as soon as he found out that I'm a rapist? This man was hard to figure out.
I still didn't know how Ashley could have found out about me anyway. That information was confidential and only the officers here knew about it, but they were not allowed to go around telling everyone. Maybe he heard one of my conversations? Or somehow my file was left out in the open for anyone to read? Or I talk in my sleep? That last one wasn't very likely though, as his cell was on the other end of the section to mine and I don't think I sleep talk.
I averted my gaze to the ground. My drawing from a couple of days ago was still there, mercilessly halved. I got up and placed both pieces on my small desk, before picking up my notebook and drawing for a couple of hours until I finally fell into a deep slumber.
The next morning I awoke to the soft sound of tapping. Tap... tap tap... tap... tap tap... It was not very loud, but loud enough for my ears to register it. I bit down on my lip, holding back a yawn. I felt the presence of someone in my room.
Hesitantly, I lifted my eyelids and slightly shifted on the bed, just to be greeted by an unusual view.
"What are you doing?"
Vic Fuentes was leaning against the door to my cell, drumming a mindless rhythm, on the metal, with his fingertips, while his other hand held my notebook.
His eyes averted from the book, to me, then back to the book, as if I wasn't even in the room.
"Your drawings are good," he commented, swiftly flipping to the next page and analysing it. I quickly sat up in bed, not enjoying the fact that he was seeing my works. Yes, I was proud of a few of them, but the others were quick and meaningless sketches.
"Who's this?" He flipped the book around so that I could see it and I was greeted by a drawing of Copeland, which I had done about a week ago.
"Give that back," I ordered, standing up from my previous spot. Vic gazed at me with that same amused look on his face, as if I was doing something entertaining. What was entertaining about demanding that he returns my book?
"Not until you tell me who she is," he smirked. I was not going to play his game and went forward to snatch the book out of his hands, but he lifted it up above our heads much like a parent would do to their child or an older sibling do to the younger. I was confused. What he trying to accomplish? – I was taller than him and could just reach for the book without a single problem. However, his plan became quite obvious. Yes, I was taller, but the only way for me to get the item was to come closer to him and we were both aware of the fact that I was not keen on doing so.
"She's my daughter," I sighed in defeat.
"You draw her a lot," he mused, viewing the picture once again. He was right, I did draw her a lot. "What's her name?"
"Copeland."
I knew that I was breaking rule one of every single prison – 'don't give away any personal information' – but I felt compelled to talk. It was almost like I knew he wouldn't judge me or use the information against me. Ashley had seen a couple of the pictures too, but he never bothered to ask about them, so maybe Vic's curiosity was what made me trust him more.
"That's a pretty name." A small smile played on the man's lips.
"How did you get in my room?" I changed the subject, genuinely curious. It still felt early and there was no way someone would just let him in.
"It's not too difficult to get in and out of places, here," he chuckled, but I did not see what was so funny.
"Tell me," I demanded. I still had no idea how I was so comfortable around him. All the other men made me want to cower away and curl up in a ball, in a corner; whereas Vic did exactly the opposite: he made me want to be close to him. I still wasn't fully pleased with being physically close to him, like even touching, but his presence gave me a feeling of safety. I guessed that, now that people saw us sitting together, they assumed that I had his protection and I wouldn't even try to hide the fact that I hoped I did.
"I used this," Vic fished into the pocket of his jeans – in my opinion, these should not have pockets, as anyone could sneak in a knife and slit someone's throat (or their own, if they were really that desperate) – and produced a petite roll of tape. It was like one you would find at any boring office. Vic moved towards the door and clasped the handle, opening it with ease, even though the computerised mechanism should have been keeping it sealed. He pointed a finger to the gap where the lock would usually fit and I was surprised to see a thin strip of tape covering it, disabling the door from securing itself.
Was that all it took to trick the system? If so then I was surprised that no one had escaped (that I know of).
I slowly nodded my head, deciding to not ask him about how he got the tape, in the first place, or how he saved my door from fully shutting, without me realising. It would only waste even more brain cells.
Vic and I stayed like this for about another hour: me sitting on the bed and him leaning against the door. I offered him a place to sit, but he declined, muttering something under his breath, which unfortunately I did not catch. We chatted about my drawings and me, in general, talking about my family and what I did before I landed here. Then we moved onto him and, just like me, Vic was not very keen on revealing much about his family. He just informed me that his mother was Irish, his father was Mexican and they both lived in his hometown in San Diego. Also I found out that he used to work as a librarian which, in my opinion, was quite interesting, as he was viewed as such as frightening person.
As the time ticked by, I found myself fearing him less and less. We ignored the breakfast call, having too much fun to even pay attention to it. I felt like I could tell him anything, but still stopped myself from doing so. We went off on random topics, telling stories and recalling memories; all while engrossed by each other's voices.
"...and then they stole all of my stuff and threw me into the pool and posted the videos to MySpace," I told the story of how I had aggravated a few older students, while in high school, and regretted it soon after. The tale had Vic throwing his head back in harmonic laughter, which strangely was like music to my ears.
"You were such a wimp," he teased, messing up my hair with the palm of his hand, as he had moved over to sit next to me a while ago.
"No, I wasn't! They were like twice my size," I argued, defending younger Kellin and sticking my tongue out at him playfully.
"You better keep that tongue in your mouth, or I'll make you use it in a better way."
"What?" I snapped, sharply turning to Vic, hardly believing what I had just heard. He had that same amused expression on his face - which I was learning to despise as I never quite knew what it meant - and was licking his lips, either thoughtfully or seductively (once again, I could not tell). Chuckling at my horrified and confused expression, Vic sent a wink in my direction, making my cheeks burn a bright crimson, before lifting himself off the bed.
"I need to go," he announced, before swaggering out of the door without even glancing back at me.
What just happened? If I did not know any better, I would have thought that Vic was flirting with me. But that was impossible. The most dangerous guy at Irongate Prison surely could not be gay, unless he wasn't open about it.
No, that was absurd, it was just my imagination. Vic was messing with me, probably trying to get a reaction out of me and, sure as hell, he got one. That would explain his amused expression and chuckle. He was so difficult to figure out though, but Vic Fuentes was not gay!
I wasn't exactly sure who I was trying to convince, but he seemed like a ladies man. He had everything: the personality, the attitude, the voice, the body, the face... What? It's normal for a guy to say that another guy is attractive, because Vic obviously was. It's just a fact, nothing more. He would be attractive to females and males who liked other males, but not me.
Because I don't like males...or Vic.
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A/N
Hey everyone! Sorry that this chapter is slightly shorter than the others, but I wanted some action between Kellin and Vic. Also, I am incredibly sorry for the late update. I was going to update yesterday or the day before, but I went to Warped Tour so I didn't really have time.
Also I would love it if you checked out this one fabulous bitch called Charlie_the_killjoy . She's writing an amazing Frerard story and it's like a billion times better than mine and I fucking hate her, so please give it a chance ^-^
Thanks for reading!