Whatever. I’m digressing.
As if he has read my expression, which is probably pretty obvious, he flashes one of his rare smiles and says, "Don’t worry, I won’t let you go hungry. I might spank you, but starving you is abuse.” I find it funny, especially the way he's attempting to joke. I laugh, loud. He walks over to his locker and pulls out a can of Coke, warm, but I don’t mind, and a whole salami, plus some bread.
He hands them to me and watches my reaction. I notice heoften does that: watches me like a cat stalking its prey.
Naturally, my only response is to burst out laughing, again. “Why the fuck do you have salami in your locker?!”
He shrugs. "Take it or leave it," he says, as if to justify it.
"This is awesome, man," I say, still laughing. I feel like I should be mad at him, but he is too much fun for that. He looks genuinely surprised by my reaction. "I love salami, no pun intended. I thought I wouldn’t have Coke for like five years, till the day I get out. Thanks," I say. He doesn’t seem to register that I am actually thanking him.
He looks away, serious and embarrassed, and mutters: "You're welcome."
I find that even funnier, and very cute. What else can I do? My life is just one ugly mess after another, and laughing it off beats crying. Though sometimes crying is good too. I'm not all about that toxic positivity.
I tear into the salami package with my teeth, and he watches every move.
"Sorry, we can't have knives in the room, so you'll have to bite directly into it," he says.
"Just having something to eat is good enough," I say. Don’t get me wrong. Ilovefood. I just don’t eat, sometimes. Even if I really, really want to eat, I don’t. But only sometimes. When things are bad. Today, they’re good, despite everything. “It’s crazy you have food here.”
"It's just because I'm in a higher position, technically you guys can’t," he replies.
"Got it. You’re the big boss," I tease. He doesn’t laugh.
He actually thinks of himself as the big boss.
After wrestling with the packaging for a minute, I bite off achunk of salami and then take a bite of the bread, making an impromptu sandwich in my mouth. He looks at me with furrowed brows, as if he’s about to tell me that isn’t the right way to do it, and I laugh again before he can. He just shakes his head slightly.
"You’re weird," he says.
"Me? Seriously? Have you looked in the mirror?" I shoot back. He stays serious. Maybe he can’t tell when I am joking, or maybe he agrees that he is weird. Anyone would. "But why do you say that?" I ask, and take another bite of the salami and bread, then crack open the Coke and down half without taking a breath. I love the burn. He watches again with that cat-like demeanor, gorgeous, I have to say.
"Why are you so happy?" he finally asks after a moment's hesitation, and I choke on my Coke. "Seriously, I've never seen anyone laugh like this on their first day here, especially not after getting beaten up and ending up in detention on the same day. You know, this isn't jail, but it still sucks. You’re supposed to be at least a little desperate, and since you’re not, I can’t stop wondering what’s wrong with you. You’re like Jack, only much, much crazier, although Jack was insane with withdrawals when he first got here."
"I dunno, man, I'm just like this," I say.
He keeps looking at me again, for too long, trying to read me, and I find that pretty cool. I like not being obvious; I want him not to be able to figure me out. A mystery. With that silly thought, I chuckle to myself, taking another sip of Coke, and that seems to confuse him even more.
"It’s better than if you were crying," he decides, shrugging, and I continue eating, finishing my glorious meal. Couldn’t ask for more. If I were out, I’d probably just be eating Cup Noodles or something. Probably, actually, not eating at all, I'm fucking good at that.
"Aren’t you going to eat anything?" I ask. He shrugs.
"I have the privilege of going to the kitchen to get food if I need to, so don’t worry about me," he says, still watching me. I hand the salami back to him.
Just then, the door opens, and Miles walks in. He's even more intimidating than Ethan, like a model or a rockstar, with that troubled bad boy vibe people love. But Ethan is cooler.
When I think that, my brain does a somersault. Am I really into this guy who has spanked me, insulted me, threatened me, but also says he cares about me, feeds me, and promises to take care of me?
Yes, the answer is definitely yes. I have a thing for Daddies, even though we must be almost the same age. Daddy is a state of mind, a personality, and he definitely has the right one, whether he knows it or not. And he likes me. I know he does.
I like him too.
Or maybe I’m delusional. I’m delusional pretty often, so, yes, that could be it.
Miles doesn't talk to us, just goes straight to his bunk and perches there like a pigeon.
"Where are Harry and Jack?" I ask. I realize I keep asking all these questions, lost as fuck. Miles keeps silent, but Ethan answers.
