"Cross!" One of the guards barks my name, banging on the bars of my cell with his baton thing. I look up from where I'm stretched out on my bunk at his pudgy face. "You've got a visitor," he informs me, gesturing for me to get up. Surprised, and abruptly filled with hope, I get up too quickly and wince at the jolt of pain in my chest. It's not visit day but I'm beyond caring whether he comes on the right day or not, to be honest.
So you can imagine my disappointment and surprise when I sit down opposite someone I've never met before. His bright blue eyes are steely with anger and he was pretty obviously tense - the muscles bunching under his shirt were making that much clear.
"Who are you?" I ask bluntly, deciding to ignore his anger.
"Your boyfriend is a whore," he says just as bluntly, disregarding my question altogether.
"I... What?" I stammer, shocked.
"Your boyfriend," he repeats slowly like I'm mentally challenged, "is a whore."
I blink, trying to process the sentence. I thought he'd quit whoring around, but I guess... I guess waiting for me is still too much to handle, despite the trouble he always seems to find himself in because of it. "How do you know Kyle?"
"Because he's been fucking my boyfriend!" The stranger nearly yells, slamming a hand down on the table between us, making me jump. I lean back in the chair, tilting away from him as best I can. He looks into my wide, startled eyes and sighs, pushing his hand back through his dark hair. "Sorry," he mutters, "sorry. I came here to tell you rationally and gently because I thought you should know. I didn't mean to tell you like that."
"I don't think it would've mattered how you told me, really," I murmur, my eyes fixed blankly on the table.
"I'm sorry," he says again and I shrug, "I should go." I don't say anything and he gets up. "I hope you'll be okay, you don't seem like a bad guy." I mumble a quiet thanks and wait for the guard to escort me back to the cells.
"Pick up the phone, Kyle," I growl at the phone, waiting impatiently for him to answer, "pick it up, pick it up, pick it up, you whore." The instant I hear the line connect, I start shouting. "Kyle, you fucking slut!"
"Don't you fucking 'huh?' at me, bitch. I heard about you fucking cheating on me. Again!"
"Babe, I'm sorry. I can explain everything," he says.
"Oh, you can explain why you can't keep your dick in your pants? Really?"
"It's fucking lonely out here, y'know?"
"Yeah, I do know, but that doesn't give you a reason to stick your cock in whoever happens to be willing. If you've had enough of me, just tell me, Kyle, instead of stringing me along."
"I still love you, Damien." Yeah, it really feels like it.
"And it's not just me you need to consider," I keep going, ignoring him, "what about the other guy? Your fuckbuddy's boyfriend? Yeah, he's not exactly happy with you either."
"Really? I'd never have guessed." For a moment, I kind of hope that means the guy that visited me beat the crap out of him. It'd save me having to hit him next time he bothered to show his face.
"I hope he was worth it, Kyle," I say in a low voice, suddenly biting back angry tears.
"Damien," he sniffles a little, but I'm too angry at him to care much.
"Just... Just fuck off, Kyle. Don't bother visiting me next week. Not that it'd make much difference."
"Damien, please," he let's out another sniffle.
"Fuck off," I yell, slamming the phone back down in its cradle.