Dante Castelli.
I woke up with my body aching, weighed down like I’d been hit by a truck.
I couldn’t remember exactly when I blacked out–whether I fell asleep by choice or was simply swallowed by the drugs.
The cold floor beneath me offered no comfort, only confirming the chaotic wreckage of the previous night.
It took me a few seconds to sit up.
Every muscle protested with stiffness, like even the smallest movement demanded more than I could give.
I pressed my palm against the concrete, pushing myself up slowly, hearing my joints crack one after the other.
My head throbbed.
Dizziness hit like a punch, twisting the world around me.
I stretched carefully–my spine, shoulders, and neck–trying to ease the pressure.
The hangover, born from a toxic mix of alcohol, rage, and narcotics, still dragged along behind me like a
shadow.
I turned my head toward the corner of the room.
Predator’s body lay there, motionless.
A dark, dried pool of blood circled his head like a halo.
The memories from the night before returned in fragments.
Screams.
The bottle is breaking.
The dry crack of his skull caving under my boot.
And I felt nothing.
No guilt.
No remorse.
Not even relief.
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Just lingering rage.
I walked out of the room with steady steps, ignoring the scattered bodies of inmates sprawled across the hidden wing’s hallways.
I crossed the cell block until I reached the laundry area, where uniforms and towels dried in makeshift lines.
I reached out and grabbed what I needed–a black set and a thick towel.
I still felt dirty inside.
I kept walking, even though my body was screaming for rest.
My mind boiled, and my heart beat with an uncomfortable, erratic rhythm.
I avoided my private bathroom.
I didn’t want to see him.
Not now.
I went into the communal bathroom.
The sound of running water and footsteps echoed inside, but everything froze the moment I stepped in.
Everyone stopped.
Some were rinsing their faces, others changing clothes, but no one dared continue.
The air went silent, and every pair of eyes weighed down on me.
I walked over to a bench, placed the clean uniform and towel on it, and started undressing.
The damp fabric reeked of alcohol, cigarettes, and powder.
Every piece I removed felt like peeling off more than just dirt–it stripped away the leftover remnants of the night.
I stood naked in front of them, but no one had the courage to look for more than two seconds.
“New soap. Sealed toothbrush.”
My voice filled the room like a command.
Hands shot up from every corner, offering what I’d asked for.
I took the items without thanking anyone.
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1 stepped into the shower and turned on the water.
The icy stream hit my skin like fine needles, forcing me to take a deep breath.
The shock woke me up–at least on the surface.
I scrubbed my body hard.
I wanted to strip everything away.
The anger.
The pain.
The bitter taste of disappointment.
I wanted to erase his face from my mind.
But he stayed.
Relentless.
I washed every inch of my skin like the soap could cleanse what had taken root inside me.
I rinsed my face and my hair.
Brushed my teeth without thinking, purely on autopilot.
Each passing minute under the water eased the physical exhaustion, but the weight in my chest remained.
I turned off the faucet and dried myself off, dragging the towel over my skin with force.
I let my wet hair fall loose over my shoulders.
I didn’t care to tie it up.
Wearing the new uniform, I left the bathroom as if nothing had happened.
The stares followed me, but no one dared say a word.
I walked through the hallways toward the cafeteria.
Hunger gnawed at me silently.
The moment I stepped inside, the ambient noise dimmed.
Conversations halted.
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The clatter of utensils fell away.
My presence alone drowned the room in an uncomfortable silence.
1 didn’t care.
I ignored it all.
I went straight to my table and sat down.
Moments later, Tony appeared with a tray.
“The usual, boss.”
I grabbed the utensils and started eating.
I chewed slowly, never lifting my eyes.
But I felt that gaze.
He was watching me.
I knew it.
Elijah.
Trying to find a gap.
An opening to speak.
But I wasn’t ready to listen.
Not yet.
I kept eating.
Unhurried.
Like he wasn’t even there.
Like he’d already disappeared from my life.
Even if that was a lie.
I finished my meal in silence.
There was no flavor.
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Every bite went down like lead, just enough to keep a body running that had forgotten how to function.
1 pushed the tray aside, ran my fingers over my lips, wiped my hands on my uniform, and stood without looking at anyone.
The entire cafeteria remained quiet, thick, like the air had turned heavier.
1 didn’t look back.
The only thing I wanted was to lie on a real bed–without cold concrete beneath my back, without the stench of blood in the air, without voices hammering in my head.
“Dante!”
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