That night, Rick didn't sleep for a minute. The words of his cellmate kept racing through his head. Had the man just wanted to scare him? He knew there were criminals living here, but they wanted to turn their lives around, right? Their punishment would be worsened if they continued their criminal activities in here, if they even raped other people, right? Or did nobody care? Was he stripped off every human right? 

Rolling on his other side, he stared at the stone wall. He felt cold. He felt lonely. His bottom lip started to quiver again. He didn't understand how Wyatt could do this to him. He had always been obedient. He had done everything in his power to pleasure his master and Wyatt had always taken care of him. Why did he tell the police that the illegal guns under the floor belonged to him? Wyatt didn't really believe that, right? Rick wouldn't even dare to touch a gun. Did Wyatt know the weapons had been there? He had even wondered if Wyatt had been the one storing the guns, blaming Rick for it. But that couldn't be true, right? He had always been a good boy, why would Wyatt want to send him to prison? His stomach hurt. He had always believed the twenty year older man was protecting him, but now it felt like the man had thrown him for the wolves. Very hungry wolves. A tear slipped down his cheek. He pressed his fist against his quivering lips, trying to smother his sobs. He didn't want his cellmate to hear it, let alone anyone else. He hadn't forgotten about the warning; that his tears would only attract mean people.

. . .

Rick felt exhausted and nervous when he put on his clothes the next morning and shuffled towards the dining hall. Quietly, he sat down next to his cellmate. The man didn't speak a single word to him, but he neither send him away. Rick stirred the porridge, taking little bites while he tried to ignore the scorching looks that were burning on his skin. Skittishly, he looked up now and then. There was a huge black man who licked his lips, and another man sent him a wink. 

"Don't make eye contact," he heard close to his ear. 

His cellmate emptied his glass of milk, got up and left the dinner room. Rick left half of his porridge behind and quickly followed him; he didn't dare to stay behind on his own. 

A little insecure he sauntered behind the man. He had told Rick he didn't want to protect him, but if other inmates thought that he was protecting him, they might leave him alone. Through different hallways he followed the other convict until they stepped outside. There was a quad with baskets.

Eagerly, Rick inhaled the fresh air; it felt like he had been locked up for months. His cellmate sat down on a bench and stared forward. Rick hesitated. Would he allow Rick to sit down next to him? Maybe he hadn't a lot of friends either. He appeared to be a loner. 

Very slowly Rick sat down on the other end of the wooden bench. The other was still ignoring him, but he didn't let it discourage him. He had a feeling this man was still his best chance to survive around here. They clearly left him alone. Or did they leave him alone because of the crime he had committed? He might be a serial killer!

There was a pit in his stomach. "Why — why are you in prison?"

The man didn't even look aside. 

Rick wobbled with his feet. Hadn't he heard him? He cleared his throat. 

Before he could repeat his question, the man got up and walked back inside. Rick hesitated for a moment, then he quickly followed him. He was barely inside when the convict grabbed him by the collar and pushed him against the wall. 

"Stop following me like a lost puppy," he grumbled. 

"I uh — I only wanted to ask you where I can find the offices. I — I have an appointment."

"At the end of the hallway at your right. Every inmate coulda told you that."

"I'm scared of everyone else."

"You should be more afraid of me."

 He spun around and walked away with large steps. 

Rick disagreed with his words. At least he hadn't wanted to rape him and despite his whimsical behavior, Rick liked him. Plus, he had helped him a little. Rick's hands slipped into the pockets of his overall as he sauntered across the hallway, keeping his eyes on the floor. 

Something he shouldn't have done, for he walked into something hard. A man. The one who had been winking at him. He was tall and broad and bald, and the look in his eyes sent a shiver down his spine. 

"Did your mama never taught you to introduce yourself when you're new?" the man asked with a slight Russian accent. 

"Umm — my name is Rick," he said quietly. His eyes shot through the hallway. There were a lot of people, this giant wouldn't hurt him now, right? "What's — what's your name?"

His hungry look wandered across Rick's body. His stomach cramped up. 

"Olav."

"Oh... okay Olav," he answered timidly. "It uh — it's been a pleasure to meet you," he said politely. "But — but I have an appointment with the supervisor."

Quickly, he slipped past the man, who chuckled. 

"We'll see each other later, little one." With his big hand, he slapped Rick's bottom. 

Rick felt his stomach twist. Quickly he walked further, his behind was stinging. He prayed to never see the man again, but he knew that wasn't going to happen. He had nowhere to go. With a stabbing feeling in his stomach, he thought about tonight, when he was supposed to take a shower. 

Swallowing his nervousness, he headed in the direction where the offices had to be. A guard was waiting for him, taking him to the supervisor. He was a portly man with a red face, who was surrounded by a sweaty smell. 

Rick was so nervous he only heard half of what the man was telling him. He got an explanation about the various facilities, the things he was able to buy and the daily routine. 

"You will be assigned to the laundry," the man said. "Working hours are from 8 to 3; you have a day off on Sunday." He handed Rick a pile of papers. "You earn 75 cents an hour. Read the instructions, after lunch, you will join your working party."

Rick returned to his cell with the information in his hand. He never knew people were actually working in prison. He was glad about it; at least he would be busy now. The supervisor had also given him a timetable telling him when to eat, when to sport and at what times he was supposed to be in his cell. He liked the routine, and with a little more courage he awaited the next hours. 

. . . 

Working in the laundry was monotonous, but not very complicated. At home he had always ironed Wyatt's shirts, so that was easy for him. It wasn't prison overalls alone that needed to be washed; there were huge sacks, coming from hospitals and other companies. Rick realized he was carrying out the lightest work; his companions were mainly old men or boys with the same narrow built. There was one very pretty boy who was also in his early twenties, but he avoided eye contact with anyone and Rick wondered if he had failed in finding a protector. Rick would have liked to talk to him if they hadn't been 50 feet apart, so he concentrated on his task and talked to no one. 

Dinner time. During lunch, Rick had shared a table with old men who had simply ignored his presence. This time, his eyes also fluttered across the room to find a safe place. His cellmate was sitting at the same table as during breakfast, but just like during lunch he was surrounded by others now. The easiness with which he talked to them, showed Rick that after all there was a group with who he hung out. Which made sense — nobody survived this place all alone. He wondered which group he could join and what they would want in return. 

Rick's appetite disappeared when the Russian sat down next to him, pushing his knee against Rick's leg. He felt sick. Quietly, he took small bites of his food. He froze when he felt a hand on his thigh. Panicking, his eyes shot to his cellmate, but he was at another table and paid no attention to him. He could only save himself. 

Quickly, he stuffed his mouth with the remaining food, shoved back his chair and muttered something about getting a dessert. 

Olav smirked. "I think I pick you as my dessert tonight."

. . .

Rick pressed a towel against his chest while he lined up for the showers. Although he was still wearing his boxer briefs, he felt naked. Although he was gay, the thought to share a shower with lots of other men wasn't arousing. He longed for his own private shower.

Slowly they moved forward. His cellmate was a little behind him. The Russian was nowhere to be seen — until Rick reached the doors towards the showers. Olav was leaning against the doorpost, a wide smirk on his face. 

"There you are," he grinned. "I was waiting for you. We'll be the last to go in." His eyes wandered across Rick's slim body. 

Rick started to panic. "I — I wanna go now," he stammered. 

"Nah-ah, you're the newbie. You're going to be the last one."

Rick bent his head and stayed silent. He just wanted this to be over. Quietly, he shuffled further. When he noticed two guards next to the door, he felt a little relieved. They would make sure nothing would happen to him, right? 

Rick left his towel and clean boxers at a bench close to the opposite wall. His glance aimed at the floor, he walked to an empty shower. The less attention he was attracting, the better. Some remarks were made, but Rick didn't listen to them and was singing a song in his head to distract himself. 

The water was cold. Rick rinsed himself off as quickly as he could. From the corner of his eye he saw that Olav was studying his body. As panic started to rise inside him, Rick started to look around. There were still a few men showering, among which his own cellmate. He had turned his back towards them. Rick's breathing faltered as he saw his well-formed back and firm buttocks. He blushed. 

"You see something you like, hmm?"

Skittishly, Rick looked at the tattooed, flabby upper body of the man next to him. It felt as if someone was squeezing his throat when he saw the huge erection of the man. Olav stepped closer. 

"Why don't you get on your knees?"

Rick's eyes shot to the guards. The only reaction he got in return, was a wink. 

"I — I don't want..."

"Sssh. It's not about what you want. Just warm me up a bit, then I'll show you some prison love."

Anxiously, Rick shook his head. 

The man started to become impatient. With a grunt, he stepped forward, laying his hands on Rick's shoulders and pushing him roughly on his knees. 

"Hurry up. The other guys want a turn too."

"W-what?"

With a sigh, the man dragged him back on his feet, turned him around and pushed him with his chest against the wall. "Then I'll pound you right away."

Rick tried to struggle away. He could already feel the hard heat against his crack. Tears sprung in his eyes. Despite the warnings of his cellmate he started to sob. 

"He's mine," a sudden voice sounded. "My cellmate. My property."

Sniffing, Rick looked over his shoulder. The Hispanic guy was standing close to them — his handsome cellmate, who was only wearing black boxers now. 

The Russian narrowed his eyes. "Really? The saint wants to be the one violating this young flesh?"

"We're not all that ugly that we need to rape someone to get off. Get over here, Rick."

He didn't have to say that twice. Rick pulled himself away from Olav and quickly hid behind his cellmate. He noticed the other inmates were watching the conversation with interest. 

"Your arms," a blonde boy whispered, who was dressing. He was so small he looked fourteen, although his fierce grey eyes and the tattoos on his arms told him a different story. "Wrap your arms around him."

Rick did as the boy told him, he enveloped his arms around his cellmate and pressed his cheek against the man's back. He felt the other tense. He feared a snark; maybe the blonde boy had just wanted to make fun of him. 

"The boy is mine," his protector said again. "That clear?"

"Fine," the Russian grumbled, glaring at them. Then his lips curled into a smirk. "For now. A few more months and you will no longer be around to protect the little lambs."

The man ignored those words, turned around and pushed Rick backward. "Get dressed. We're going back."

Silently, Rick did as he was told. The relief was immense. Despite his earlier words, his cellmate had asserted himself as his protector and Rick wanted nothing more than hug him to show his gratefulness. 

Once they were back in their cell, Rick sat a bit awkwardly at the edge of his bed. Because of the hold-up in the shower, the lights were already out. Rick wasn't sure what was expected of him now. 

"What um — what do you want me to do? Now um — now that I'm yours?" Rick asked quietly. 

There was a growl. "I want you to shut your fucking mouth. Go to sleep."

Rick flinched at the sound of the man's grim voice. Quickly, he slid under the blankets. 

"Good night," he whispered. "And — and thank you for standing up for me."

He got no response.