Protein Shake

by Alexis Angel

  The guard walks me to a part of the prison I've never seen before. It's a hallway lined with hermetic, sealed off cells. So this is solitary, I think to myself.

  "I wasn't lying when I said we don't tolerate violence," the guard tells me, noticing my hesitation. "But maybe now you'll believe me."

  "If you think this place will teach me anything, you're fucking mistaken."

  "Don't make this harder than it needs to be Stone."

  "Or what?" I ask with a flash of defiance.

  "Or your life sentence will feel like an eternity. You'll beg the universe for death but it won't seem to come fast enough."

  I don't respond and he unlocks the door, ushering me in. I lean against the concrete wall, and slowly slide down into a sitting position. The door slams shut and it sounds just like a gun going off in my head. Bang. The same noise that haunts all of my waking moves. I clench my fists.

  Fuck this place. I've got to get out of here. I touch the cut on my cheek and I remember the homemade weapons that the other inmate was holding in the midst of our fight. It could have been a lot worse. That son of a bitch was trying to give me a buck fifty wound right down my face. The kind of wound that leaves a lasting mark, like a brand. Some guys can be treated like they're cattle, but not me. Fuck that.

  I guess the busted collarbone is the least of my worries. That prick better hope I never see his ass again. It's not that I want to spend my time fighting in this place, but I've been slapped with a life sentence. I mean, what the fuck do I have to lose besides my status in here? It's either eat or be eaten. You're either the lion or the fucking gazelle. You've got to watch your ass because no one is going to do that for you.

  I let out a sigh and tell myself I should try and sleep but my mind refuses to shut off. Since when did this prison get such a hot medical staff? I think back to the medical assistant who examined me in the infirmary. Her hair. Her tits. Her perfect curves. Was I now hallucinating from the painkillers she shot me with, or was she looking at my cock back there on that x-ray table? And didn't she stumble on her words a few times? I swear I saw her face match the color of her hair at least once during that exam. Maybe I've been starved of a woman's touch for too long—I'm the first to admit that—but maybe she's more than just a hot piece of ass. Maybe she's my meal ticket out of this shithole. The way I rattled her when I suggested she liked it in the ass. I laugh at that memory until I'm practically crying and the only thing that stops me is when the pain resurfaces and becomes too much to tolerate. Fuck those weak ass painkillers.

  I'm no stranger to women, and everything tells me this nurse is as naïve as they come. With a little effort, I bet I can persuade her to help me. In fact, I know I can. She'll be an unknowing accomplice. I think back to other women in my life—Maggie, Sarah, Lisa—they were all so naïve. Maggie was the first. Her face was as round and innocent as an apple pie. "I need you, baby," she'd beg every time I left the house at night, feigning a work emergency only to go fuck her friend. I'd come home the next morning hung over and smelling like sex—sometimes with a pair of her panties in my pocket. I'd tell her I had a long night. I'd tell her my boss was working me to the bone and you know what? She'd eat it up. I mean it; she'd swallow it all like I was serving her an expensive dessert. It was that easy.

  And then there was Sarah. She was Maggie's opposite in a lot of ways—more guarded, like a bank vault, but still naïve as all hell. My lies grew more elaborate, but she still clung on to me as if I was a fucking crucifix. Like I was going to save her from her demons. At the time I didn't mind because every time I rested my head between her warm breasts, or pinched her nipples in between my lips, or ran my tongue between the secret parts of her thighs, everything was right with the world. But the first time she ingested a week's worth of Xanax, I knew it was beginning of the end.

  Lisa was a different creature all together. If I weren't such a fucking coward I would've married her. I would've dropped down on one knee like they do in the movies—maybe I would've even taken her to a fancy restaurant and asked the waiter to bring her a slice of cake with a giant diamond ring buried deep in the buttercream—something that happens in Hallmark ads. If I weren't a coward I would've put my arm around her waist and pulled her close to me. I would've whispered in her ear that she was the star that had burned brightest in my darkest skies and that my life was fuller with her in it. I would've told her she was beautiful. That she was fucking worth it. But life isn't Hallmark. That shit is a fucking lie. That's not how the cookie crumbled. Instead she got pregnant and I ran as fast and as far away as I could. If I'm honest, I couldn't get away fast enough. I left her in our apartment kitchen, crying in front of a bucket of dirty mop water. How naïve could she be to fall in love with a guy like me anyways?

  I've never said I was a good person. It's too late for that. I've fucked up my life—hurt the people around me in more ways than one, and maybe I'm going to hell for that, but I'm innocent of the charge that landed me in this fucking place and I refuse to sit here and take it. I sit against the wall, closing my eyes in contemplation. My anger flares and I think about confronting Billy in a dark alley. I think about what I'd tell him before rearranging his face. And then I snap back to reality and the look at the four concrete walls surrounding me. There's got to be a way out of here.

  I close my eyes again and after a few moments it hits me. I have an idea. I need to see that red head again.

  Kerri

  I stare at the grey tiled floor and notice it's the color of stone. I look at the chair at my desk. It's also the color of stone. Chiseled, grey, and distant. Why is everything around me reminding me of Lucien Stone? I know what you're thinking, but the answer is no. I'm not one to develop schoolgirl crushes on men I don't even know. If it's one thing I've learned, it's that men come and go and there's no sense dwelling on something so short-lived. If I sound jaded, it's because I am. Do you blame me? And besides, this man is serving a life sentence. Talk about unattainable! So why can't I get my mind off of him? He's a dangerous criminal. I know this—I've seen his paperwork—but there's something about him that doesn't seem like a cold-blooded killer. It's as if I know him, or at least recognize that there's more to him than what his paperwork says.

  Maybe I'm hormonal. That has to be it. My body betrays me when my hormones fluctuate. Some women need to chart their ovulation cycles on a calendar. Not me. As soon as I start letting my guard down and thinking that Mr. Right might be the man sitting next to me, I have to put myself in check. I have to remind myself that there's no such thing as a Mr. Right. I think back to Jonathan. His smile. His strong, wide shoulders. I fell so easily into him. The way he'd walk down the street with me, putting me on the inside so that he'd be on the side of traffic. I thought he was the one. He'd even be the guy at the park who'd stop and wave to babies. He was the fairytale—that Knight riding into the frame of a movie on an all-white horse. I could picture us having a house together, the garden surrounded by a white picket fence, and maybe a few kids. And where did that get me? I'll tell you. It shattered my world. I learned the fairy tale doesn't exist.

  Maybe I just need a quick hook up. A one night stand. I haven't been with a man since Jonathan. It's my lunch break so I tap my phone on and load the Tinder app I recently downloaded. Don't laugh. I never thought I'd download Tinder, let alone consider hooking up with someone from this app, but it can be hard to meet people.

  I swipe through the profiles. I see a man in a full suit of armor, as if he were going to a renaissance fair. His bio reads, "I'm hoping your standards are lower than mine." Swipe left. Another man sits in front of what appears to be a math textbook. He seems to be winking at stereotypes and his caption reads, "I'm the Asian for any occasion. I enjoy math and Pokemon." Swipe left. Another man with short, cropped hair has a zoomed-in profile picture of his angry, pockmarked face. His bio reads: "I don't give a shit what you look like because I'm not that good looking." Swift left. I sigh and tap my phone off. So much for Tinder.

&nb
sp; I look at my watch. My lunch break is nearly over. I finish my sandwich and think about Lucien again. I have an exam scheduled with him in a few minutes to check on his fracture. I need to keep my cool. Hormones be damned. I have to keep this professional.

  Consistency and firmness. No small talk. A professional distance. I mutter all of these things to myself, but as soon as Lucien enters the infirmary, all of this fades and again, I'm finding myself struck by his presence. He's the kind of guy who commands a room. I can't help but feel his confidence. His gaze suggests a depth of character that goes beyond the walls of this prison.

  I ask the guard to remove his handcuffs and I take a look at him and ask, "How are your shoulder and arm feeling today?"

  "I've had better days."

  "But would you say you're feeling any better?"

  "I'd feel a whole lot better if I weren't stuck in these four walls."

  "Can you move your arms for me?"

  Lucien carefully lifts his arm, and slowly rotates it in a semi-circular motion. I notice that his range of motion is improving.

  "I'm still in a lot of pain."

  "Well, you aren't out of the woods yet," I remind him. "You'll have some discomfort for a few weeks."

  "It's not discomfort, it's pain. I know the difference."

  "Has your pain subsided at all?" I ask.

  "Off and on, but I could use an extra aspirin."

  For a moment I consider whether I should give him the extra aspirin. His fracture is healing, but he probably is still experiencing some pain to the area. There are a few pretty stringent rules regarding the amount of painkillers we can give to inmates. Most of the time it can fuel addiction, start an addiction, or be used as currency in a place like this. But I decide to give Lucien the benefit of the doubt.

  "I'll give you an extra aspirin this time, but we've got to start cutting back."

  "It's just an aspirin we're talking about."

  "We have rules here, and I need to follow them," I remind him, but then soften my body language and tone a bit. "But I know you need it. So here you go."

  He smiles and we hold each other's gaze for longer than usual. I try to imagine what he'd look like in a different set of clothes beyond the prison garb. Who would he be? Just another man walking down the street, or perhaps shopping for a box of cereal? Would I even turn my head to look at him?

  "Do you have an extra paperclip that I could have?" he asks.

  "Excuse me?" I reply. His question comes out of left field and breaks my thoughts. I'm no longer envisioning him strutting across a crowded city corner, or shopping for groceries.

  "I write," he continues. "I mean letters, journal entries, and things like that. It'd be nice to have a paperclip to keep my papers together, you know?"

  "I can't do that. I'm a medical assistant here to make sure you stay healthy. I'm not your secretary."

  "Come on. Just this once. What's the harm in a paperclip?"

  "You know as well as I do that anything in this place can be harmful."

  "So, what are you saying?"

  "The only thing I'm saying is no. Request denied, Stone. There won't be any paperclips today. I've been here for six months, and I plan to be here for a while longer. I'm not going to get fired on account of a single missing paperclip."

  Lucien laughs. "Fair enough," he says. "I'll take the aspirin and get out of your hair."

  I watch as the guard walks back into the room and replaces his handcuffs. Lucien flips his sandy brown hair out of his eyes and I can't help but wonder what it would feel like to be held between his strong arms.

  That night, I return home and throw my keys and purse onto the kitchen table. I instinctually open the refrigerator and stare at the nearly bare shelves. There is a carton of eggs, a half loaf of bread, and a bag of carrots for when I'm trying to encourage healthy snacking. I realize I'm not hungry for any of this and close the fridge in disgust. I look at the stainless steel door and see grey. Damn it. That color again. Now I'm thinking of his granite-grey eyes and his strong arms. I'm remembering the outline of his cock when I x-rayed his chest, and the way it seemed to grow harder by the second. When I think about it, I realize I've never touched a cock that big in my life. Jonathan wasn't built like that. I wonder what it would feel like to take him inside of me. I feel a flush of desire wash over my body and I decide to take a shower. Maybe that'll help.

  I undress and look at my body in the bathroom mirror.

  If Lucien were free now, there’s no doubt somehow I would have found a way to bring him in here. That he would be standing next to me with his muscled body.

  I place my hands over my breasts and imagine that they are his hands, his strong fingers, and imagine that he has me in his control and I feel my nipples harden. A tingle runs through my body and I feel myself getting damp. I need him. Whether he’s here or not.

  I walk over to the shower and step inside, turning the heat up. I stand under the stream of water while the steam fogs up the shower doors and I exhale deeply. The showerhead nozzle is removable, and I take it off its stand and into my hands bringing the hot spray of water to my nipples and I lean back against the shower wall. I run my free hand down my body and to my pussy, shoving two fingers inside.

  I close my eyes, removing myself completely from this world as I imagine that those fingers belong to Lucien. That as he does this he runs his tongue along my neck, kissing the ridges of them.

  I shudder in repressed pleasure as I picture Lucien squeezing my tits and my ass. His giant body looking over mine before he ravished it. His thick, juicy cock quivering in desire before it begins to plunge into me.

  Then I remove them and bring the hot stream of water of water to my clit. My entire body clenches under the growing, pulsing desire. I imagine that the hot pressure from the water is his mouth and the image is too much to carry. I throw my head back and let the orgasm overtake me, ridding it out until my legs stop shaking.

  Lucien

  Spider laughs so much he's crying. "Here you are—Mr. Fucking Stone—the grit in this graveyard we call a correctional institution, and some nurse wants to suck your nuts. What's the world coming to? Does she know what a sorry ass you are?"

  "Fuck off, Spider."

  "Shit, I'll give her a real pair of balls to play with."

  "You should really shut the fuck up before I change my mind about this aspirin right here," I tell him, showing him the white pill nestled in the palm of my hand as if it were a precious stone. In here, it might as well be.

  "Come on bro, lighten up. I'm just fucking with you. Did you get me the paperclip too?"

  "I got it, but that wasn't easy. She was on to me."

  "On top of you?" he asks, laughing his ass off.

  "Do you ever fucking listen? Not on top of me, you idiot. I mean that she isn't as stupid as you think. I had to grab that shit when she wasn't looking. You're lucky I didn't get caught. Don't think I wouldn't have ratted your ass out."

  "Shit, Stone, we're tighter than that."

  I watch as he throws the aspirin into his mouth and chews it. I twist my face in disgust. I don't know how he can chew it like that. Sensing my thoughts he says, "It makes it work faster. I don't have time to wait for it to work its magic. That's the addict in me."

  "Shit," I say. "In here, all you've got is time." I watch as he flops down on his bunk and hangs his long legs off to one side. As much as Spider can get on my nerves, I figure sharing this cell with him is better than being in solitary.

  "I've got to get out of here." I say this to myself, but Spider is listening.

  "Seeing as you've got yourself a life sentence, you're only hope of getting out of here is to grow yourself some super human powers and bust these walls down like the Hulk," Spider laughs again so much that the bunk shakes. "But for real… if you can get little Miss Fireball to give you an extra aspirin, maybe you can get something more."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Come on man, you're smooth. We all know that. If you ge
t her to like you enough, anything's possible. And what do you think? Do her curtains match her carpet?"

  "Do you ever shut the fuck up?"

  "I'm serious. If you fuck her, I've got to know. But I'll go ahead and place my bets—they match."

  As annoying and idiotic as he is most times, Spider has his moments of clarity. And right now is one of them. That's exactly my plan. If I play my cards right—if I fuck her and get her to fall in love with me—I can ask her for a medical leave to the St. Smith Correctional Facility—a low security prison in the desert where I've still got my mob connections. They'll help me escape, and I won't stop running until I've hit the Mexico border. I can almost picture myself driving through the desert at night past cacti the size of cowboys. I'll slip down south and give the middle finger to all of this madness. I just need her recommendation.

  I climb up onto the top bunk and lay my head atop of my flat pillow. My mind is zipping through all of these thoughts and I wonder if I've still got it. I remind myself that it's been a while since I've been with a woman. Didn't she steal a good long look at my cock when she was x-raying me though? I couldn't help it that day. One look at those tight tits of hers, and my cock had a mind of its own. She looked away as soon as she sensed I was noticing her. But maybe that doesn't mean anything at all? I can feel the early stages of sleep tugging at the corners of my thoughts until it overtakes me, and I fall asleep dreaming of my next meeting with her.

  I awoke the next day and immediately call out for the guard. "I need help! Shit, it feels like hellfire when I try to move my arm!"

  "OK, OK, Stone, let's go," the guard says, and we walk down to the infirmary. I can tell he's annoyed and only half believes me, but since he isn't sure, he's allowing me to get checked out. I try to exaggerate my limp and give extra grimaces of pain. I tell myself this better work.

  As soon as we walk into the infirmary, I see her. The way the light hits her hair she might as well be dusted in 24k gold because right now, she seems perfect. Too perfect. Shit. What have I gotten myself into? I wonder. Maybe I've overestimated things. I begin to think this might be harder than I thought.