Jack sighs, the silence of his stone cell beginning to get to him once again. He'd been staring at the same wall, the same floor, the same dark room for what felt like forever, almost making him feel like he was going mad.
Of course he didn't know how many days had past, the only way he could judge days had past was by the meals, three a day, of course the food wasn't good, however he still ate it, not wanting to starve regardless of the shit-hole he had to stay in.
Normally he wouldn't be bothered, he remembered preparing himself to be in a place like this, before he met Mark. The thought of Jail didn't bother him before, however now, he had someone on the outside, someone to look forward to... Mark.
Thinking of Mark again pains the Irish man. Mark the man he dragged into this mess he called life, the man who was willing to help him no matter what, the man who defended cry.... The man who called him a criminal.
"Son of a bitch."
Jack snarls as these thoughts plague him. The green haired man can't control himself as his fist meets the concrete wall next to the cot he sat on. The cement makes a slight cracking sound, or was that his knuckles? He couldn't tell.
His hand stings with pain, red staining his knuckles, perhaps even broken. The Irish man's blue eyes tear up as he brings his legs up, burying his face in his knees as tears begin to fall. However it wasn't because of his beaten knuckles, but instead because of the red haired man who overwhelmed his thoughts.
Mark hadn't visited Jack again since their fight, and it had to have been at least a week by now. Did Jack really anger the man that much?
"Why do you care...? He doesn't' think of you as any more than a damned criminal..."
Jack sniffles quietly into his knees, his tears falling more and more, choking him up. The red haired man's face flashing through his thoughts, his laugh, his heartwarming smile, his soft calming voice. The way he once looked at Jack with genuine love.
"I'm so stupid..."
Jack murmurs under his breath. Why did he think it would work? Mark was a good guy, Jack was a filthy criminal. It was never meant to be, it would have never worked, no matter how much the Irish man wanted it to, it wouldn't work.
At least an hour had to have passed since Jack's scene, which he knew whatever guard was watching him had seen. The Irish man had calmed himself, sitting on the cot and leaning against the wall, his tears had stopped, he couldn't cry anymore, he wouldn't.
Instead he focused all his thoughts on the dark room that surrounded him. It was all stone with only a small uncomfortable cot, and a small toilet. No windows and the only light being from a small gap in the metal door, though that didn't do much.
Normally Jack would have been with another inmate, which perhaps could've helped distract him, but he was put into a single cell. Most likely after the few scenes he had caused, attacking the guard on his first day, just recently attacking another inmate who had pissed him off. It wasn't fully his fault, anger had still gotten to him. Anger at Cry, anger at the cop PJ, and recently some anger at Mark, the man he once loved. The one he still loved.
Of course the loneliness had only made it worse, leaving him to nothing but his own thoughts. He tried to distract himself, though there was only so much he could do. He'd counted each stone tile on the floor many times, counted the minutes until he got so bored he thought he'd die, tried to distinguish the footsteps that occasionally came by his room. However nothing worked, his thoughts always returned to the red haired man.
Jack shakes his head as the thoughts once again return to Mark, he clenches his eyes shut and clenches his fists wincing as his injured one burns with pain once again. He'd almost forgotten about it. He clenches his fist once more, making himself wince again, a small smile rounding his face. Perhaps he'd found a good distraction. Pain...
~~~~~~Outside the Prison~~~~~~
"Just let me see him."
The red haired man growls at the guard, who shakes his head once again. Finally Mark sighs and turns away with a snarl. The guards haven't let him visit Jack.
He wasn't sure why, but they simply said he wasn't seeing anybody. Mark wasn't sure if the man was okay or not, was he hurt? Was he in trouble? Or....
"Does he just not want to see me...?"
Mark finishes his thought out loud, the assumption feeling like a punch to the gut. He'd screwed up, big time.
~~~~~~~In the Prison~~~~~~~~~~
Days past, Jack didn't know how long it had been, though based on the calculations he could make, which weren't many, it seemed it had been no less than five weeks. He still hadn't been visited by Mark, and still sat in his single cell.
The Irish man had worn down greatly, refusing to eat most of his meals now so his ribs were visible, his body, mostly his arms were covered in many bruises, cuts, dried blood. Injuries that he didn't seem to care about. Simply wounds he had self-inflicted whenever his thoughts strayed to the red haired man.
Of course none of the guards cared whether he ate, whether he hurt himself. Hell, he could die in that cell and none of the security would blink an eye. The only reason Jack hadn't gone fully mad from the lonely hours he spent in that dark cell, was because of his anger. He had to focus on something, so he focused on the man who had betrayed him, the man who he had once trusted, considered a friend. Cry.
Cry had always been there for Jack, helping him no matter the cost, to think he could do something like he did, frankly it baffled the Irish man.
"Bastard..."
He murmurs under his breath, his soft, weak voice dripping with hatred. Cry was a close friend of Jack's, they did everything together, so why did he suddenly turn against him. It was because of love. Love made people do crazy things.
Heck, Jack should've run as soon as he shot Cry, should've gotten himself out of the country, but he didn't. No he had to stay and help Mark, he had to help save his life. Only to get himself caught.
Jack looks down at his hand which had begun scratching his arm, leaving deep red marks that nearly bled. He sighs and forces himself to stop, his thoughts had wandered to Mark again, and out of habit, his body responded how he had been for the past few weeks. At first the pain was a great distraction, however now, he barely felt it. It barely affected him, all it managed to do was make him look worse than he did before.
Jack shakes his head and lays on his cot once again, laying on his stomach and burying his face in the flat pillow he was offered, releasing a sigh into it, and fighting the urge to cry. He remembered living a happy life with Mark, and for a while he felt normal, he felt like he belonged somewhere, but now... He was alone, left to rot in this damned cell.
The Irish man is pulled out of his thoughts as the cell door opens with a loud creak, the sound making Jack involuntarily cringe as it always did. He doesn't look up as he simply waits for whatever guard it was to set the tray of food down and leave the man in darkness once again.
But the door doesn't close, it stays ajar. Finally Jack releases a groan into the pillow, being sure his annoyance was clear. Though the loneliness did bother him, frankly he'd rather be alone than with some guard.
"What the hell do you want...."
Jack finally mutters into the pillow, his voice muffled and barely audible, though his irritation was clear.
"Sean..."
A deep voice says, the familiarity of the voice making Jack tense up, his eyes widening slightly against the pillow as he slowly sits up. A part of him telling him not to turn around, but he ignores that section of his mind, instead hesitantly turning his body, so he faced the open door, his blue eyes widening even more in disbelief.
"Mark?"