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Roman grumbled under his breath as he walked down the line towards where the cafeteria workers were doling out the nearly tasteless meals they gave him here.
He just wanted something that at least tasted good. But alas, such was the life of a prison inmate.
Of course, his thoughtless grumbling was bound to get the attention of someone at some point, which was why it was no surprise when a strong grip grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled him backwards a little.
“You want to taste something, huh? Why don’t you let me give you the taste of blood in your mouth you whiny bitch?”
Roman stifled a cringe as a fleck of spit flew from the man’s mouth into his ear as his voice brought on a dangerous tone. He did, however, gulp heavily as the other inmate's stale breath passed over his ear.
“Block hall B, or you’ll get a worse beat down than the one I’m going to give to you. Have fun with the taste, you’ll need it.”
And just like that, the grip on his arm let go, leaving his hands just the slightest bit shaky. Part of him wanted to desperately run to the guards to plead with them because they would protect him from them. Another part wanted to face them head on, the part that feared less for himself and more for what they would do to others if they were left unchallenged.
But… for now, he was left to shake himself off and creep forwards to receive his daily ‘meal’ if the taste of dullness was conducive to a meal.
In practice, he wasn’t supposed to make eye contact with the cafeteria workers, but as his helping of food was muttered onto his plate, for the first time he glanced up at who was serving him.
It was a passing glance, but somehow in the brief moments both of their brown eyes locked, there was an understanding passing between them. The worker glanced over to the man behind Roman with distineterst on his face, but his eyes told a different story.
But Roman had no time to unpack all of that as he was eded forwards by a fist to his back and a low growl in his ear to move on.
Roman complied, going to sit down at his usual spot where the inmates tolerated his presence as everyone else tolerated theirs. But the slop was ever harder to choke down today when Roman knew what was coming for him soon.
Even still, in little to no time at all, the resound ring of the prison bell sounded signaling lunch was over.
It was as if Roman was back in highschool, his life dictated by a bell. But instead of just 8am to 2pm or whatever hours he was in school Monday through Friday, they led his whole life now.
Roman hesitated a moment, getting up slightly after everyone else and walked calmly the opposite way from his own block and down to Block B. His gut kept telling him to turn back that he didn’t have to listen to him, but then his head told him that he would be hurt no matter what he chose, and he would rather choose his poison rather than not knowing he was drinking poison at all.
However, just as he was about to get into Block B, a grip on his shoulder stopped him in his tracks. Roman was momentarily confused by the change of plan, but he let the hand draw him backwards towards a cell.
A passing thought that this hand felt different on his shoulder went through his mind before he was suddenly stuffed under the cot in the room, hiding him from sight.
Roman blinked at the sudden change, confused on exactly how they had stuffed him under the cot so fast, but as a heavy set of footsteps sounded outside the cell, Roman’s confusion morphed into fear.
Roman glanced around to see five other pairs of feet in the cell, a whispered conversation above him that he couldn’t make out.
All Roman knew that somehow… he was safe.
Whoever these people were were protecting him.
And that was the first time he smiled in that dang prison ever since he had been put there.