Thomas scrunched up his face. He knew what Scott did for a job and had never approved, but Scott was used to that. Escortsweren’t thought of in a good light, even people who used them blasted them.
“Unless your client is the invisible man, I think you might have lost him.”
“Ha. Funny.”
Thomas flared his nostrils, obviously not trying for humour.
“He greeted me in the car park, walked me through the gate, then excused himself to use the restroom.”
“No doubt he’s escaping out of the window after spending five minutes with you.”
Scott glanced at the mansion. “If he does that, he’ll just fall in the moat. I mean, seriously, this place is massive. This is a stately home, right? Surely no one lives here.”
“I believe the house is currently occupied by the owner.”
“The owner must be overcompensating for something.” Scott’s eyebrows jumped to his hairline. He kept twitching them, but Thomas didn’t seem to get his meaning, he kept glaring.
“I mean…he must have a small cock.”
Thomas shook his head and turned away.
“Shit.” Scott winced. “He’s not a friend of yours, is he?”
“He’s no friend of mine.”
Scott nodded, biting his lip. “Have you seen anyone else who was inside Brixton?”
“No… You?”
“No,” Scott admitted. “It’s kind of strange to be that close with a group of people, then just…never see them again.”
“I prefer it that way. I’m more of a solitary creature.”
“You didn’t mind me.”
Thomas slowly turned his head and, through squinted eyes, studied Scott. “You’re not him, not my cellmate. You’re…” He waved a flippant hand. “This.”
“It’s a job.”
“I don’t like fake people.”
“Your whole face is fake. Your eye, your tongue, your nose, every tattooed inch of your skin isn’t the real you.”
“Yes, it is,” Thomas hissed, curling his hand on his thigh into a fist.
Scott backed down, not wanting a black eye. Three years together in Brixton Prison, and never once had Thomas raised a fist to him, even when their teasing got personal.
Scott swallowed, glancing down at Thomas’s hand.
Thomas unclenched it and opened his mouth, looking vaguely like he might apologise, but he didn’t.
“When we were inside, those three years felt so incredibly long,” Scott said. “But as soon as I got out and looked back on them, it felt like a flash of time, like it didn’t even happen.”
“It’s because nothing much did happen,” Thomas replied. “Think about it, the same mundane routine day after day, same place, mostly the same people. The mind doesn’t want to remember that. It deletes the boring parts of your life, and let’s be honest, most of prison life was a bore.”
Scott shrugged. “I didn’t mind some parts.”
“Name one thing you miss.”
