28. ♞ NO REST FOR THE WICKED

       PHOEBE LOOKED DOWN AT the man who was seemingly sleeping on the ground beside her. Haywire looked to be sound asleep, the cell block dimly lit as the inmates peacefully slept. Haywire's mattress was strangely placed halfway under the bunk, sleeping with half of his body under said bunk. Phoebe carefully lifted the corner of her mattress and shoved her hand underneath it, pulling out her book that held the bolt inside.

       She looked down at Haywire again, who was face down on his mattress, and then quietly flipped the book open and slipped the cold bolt out, resting the book beside her pillow. She sighed, holding the bolt close to her chest in both of her hands.

       "I got it." She whispered to Michael, who was lying on the bunk above her. Michael hummed quietly in acknowledgment, sitting up slowly and quietly getting down from his bunk. Phoebe sat up in her bunk, handing Michael the bolt as he quietly and carefully walked around Haywire and towards the toilet. He crouched down beside it, carefully starting to turn the bolt, when suddenly Haywire snapped his head up and stared at Michael.

       Phoebe, being startled by the man's sudden and unexpected movement, slapped her hands over her mouth and nearly jumped out of her skin, backing up against the wall as her heart raced, sighing after realizing he was just staring, and dropping her hands into her lap. Fucking creep. Michael had stopped, sensing someone's eyes on him, he turned to face Haywire with a glare.

       "What's your problem?" Michael asked quietly. Phoebe looked between the two nervously. Haywire furrowed his brows slightly.

       "I got a neuroanatomic lesion, affecting my reticular activating system." Haywire said nonchalantly. Phoebe cocked a brow, thinking about what he had said. Her heart raced. Shit! Great! Just fucking fantastic! Michael furrowed his brows.

       "What does that mean?" Michael asked. Phoebe scooted closer to them ever so slightly, but not too close. These news made her now feel more uncomfortable near Haywire.

       "Long story short, it basically means his sleep cycle is affected." Phoebe said with a sigh. Haywire looked up at her and nodded slowly.

       "It means I don't sleep." He said. "At all." He added, in a tone that sounded taunting to Phoebe. Michael frustratedly huffed, putting his forehead against his arm on the edge of the small table next to him, looking over at Phoebe and shaking his head.

—

       "JUST WHAT WE NEEDED. A CELLMATE WHO DOESN'T SLEEP." Michael complained quietly as they sat in the cafeteria the next morning, eating their breakfast. Phoebe sighed and shook her head.

       "Great." Phoebe sighed. "What are you thinking we do?" She asked. She had an idea, but she wanted to know what Michael had in mind first. He was the brains of this. He knew better. Right?

       "I don't know." Michael sighed. "I know you won't agree, but we'll have to bring him on board, like I said yesterday." He reminded. Phoebe shook her head and groaned.

       "No. Absolutely not, Michael. No." She snapped. "We cannot bring him into this! We have to get rid of him!" She said. Michael cocked a brow.

       "Get rid of him?" He asked, unsure of what she meant. She nodded.

       "I don't mean like, kill him, I just mean get him out of our cell, somehow." She explained. Michael nodded slowly.

       "And how do you suggest we do that?" He asked. Phoebe shrugged.

       "I don't know! Bully him out, make him feel uncomfortable, make him leave on his own." She suggested. Michael nodded along again.

       "And if he doesn't?" He questioned again with a raised brow. Phoebe sighed.

       "Then we force him out. Threaten him. Or, make them take him back to the psych ward." She suggested and then nodded to herself. "Yeah... make them think he's insane. Make them think he's a danger to us or himself in the cell block. They'll have to take him away." She added. Michael's eyes widened slightly and he nodded.

       "That's not a bad idea." He praised, nodding. "Good idea, Bee." He said, his mind quickly making him think of Cameron when he called her Bee, shaking his head slightly to get read of the thoughts. She smiled at him.

       "Thanks." She said softly. This made her feel useful. Like she mattered to the plan. She smiled widely. "Meanwhile, we can work while Haywire is out on his appointments with the doctor and stuff like that." She added. Michael nodded along.

       "You're right." He said. "But, I still want to try to see if he'd be useful." He said. Phoebe tilted her head and frowned. "I know, I know. You and Linc don't like the idea. But it's worth a shot. We'll have a different approach then with Sucre. Promise." He said. Phoebe sighed and shook her head.

       "Okay. I'm not on board with that idea, but I trust you." She said with a nod. Michael smiled and reached over the table, grabbing her hand, and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

—

       LATER THAT NIGHT, in their cell, Phoebe was standing by her bunk, making her bed and Michael's as a small distraction in case anyone walked by while Michael had the toilet unscrewed and pulled away from the wall, exposing the metal pipes that provided it with water, scratching and carving away at the brick in the wall with the bolt.

       "Open up, forty!" An officer shouted from down the cell block, their cell door starting to open. Phoebe snapped her head to look over at Michael, who rushed to put the toilet back in place and hand Phoebe the bolt, which she quickly hid in the book and beneath her bunk as usual. Michael turned on the faucet of the sink and began to wash his face, trying to avoid looking suspicious. Haywire walked into the cell and jumped up into the top bunk that was previously Michael's. The duo had decided to tell Haywire to take that bunk, mostly for safety so he wasn't so close to Phoebe at night and to make things a bit easier for them.

       "Haywire," Michael suddenly called out, his back still turned to them. Phoebe turned to face him, her stomach dropping as she checked out his back again, as he was only wearing a white tank top. God knew how much this woman enjoyed looking at his back, even if it was in a tank top. The tattoos added an extra touch to it. "You ever thought of breaking out?" Michael asked. Now, Phoebe's stomach dropped, but for another reason, her eyes shifting off his back and to stare wide-eyed at the back of his head. Haywire scoffed.

       "What the hell would I do out there?" He asked, looking down at a notebook he had in his lap as his legs hung off the side of the bunk and next to Phoebe's face. She clenched her jaw as Michael titled his head slightly.

       "Not be here." Michael said. Haywire shrugged.

       "Halfway houses. Psych visits. Meds. Checking in with a PO. Urine tests. Keeping a job. No." Haywire said with a small sarcastic laugh as Michael turned around and slightly shook his head at Phoebe, who was giving him a glare, and walked past her and to the cell door, passing his arms through the bars and resting his forehead on them. "Why you ask?" Haywire added.

       "This guy was talking about it in the yard yesterday. I didn't know what to say." Michael invented. Haywire raised his brows, still looking down at his book.

       "Tell officer Bellick." Haywire suggested in a loud whisper before humming. "He'll make life easy for you if you uh..." Haywire looked up at Michael and then paused. Phoebe looked up at Haywire, trying to figure out why he'd paused suddenly, when she noticed something had caught his attention. She followed his line of sight, realizing he was staring at Michael's tattoos.

       "If what?" Phoebe asked, trying to get his attention elsewhere. Haywire turned to face her with a small glare, making her gulp and step back a bit before he turned back to face Michael again.

       "Your tattoos." Haywire said. Michael quickly pushed away from the cell door, turning to face Haywire.

       "What about them?" Michael questioned.

       "What are they of?" Haywire asked. Phoebe gulped and turned to face Michael. Shit. He was catching on to what was happening. She knew this was a bad idea.

       "They're just a mess." Phoebe tried, chuckling nervously, "Can't even tell what tattoo is what anymore with how many he's gotten over the years." She said. Michael furrowed his brows at her, before he approached her bed and took his sweater from where he'd placed it on her pillow. Haywire shook his head.

       "No no no, what are they? Like some kind of a—"

       "They're just tattoos." Michael responded calmly. Haywire stared at them, suddenly looking down and staring at Phoebe's partially exposed sleeve of tattoos. Phoebe noticed, and put her arms behind her back slowly as an officer and a doctor approached their cell and the officer tapped on the door with his baton.

       "Candy time, Haywire." The officer said. As Haywire jumped off his bunk, Phoebe took the opportunity to roll down the sleeves of her button up. Haywire turned to face them as Michael was slipping into his sweater.

       "They think I have schizoaffective disorder with bipolar tendencies." Haywire explained to them. Phoebe sighed. This was getting worse by the second. The officer standing on the other side of the cell scoffed and tilted his head.

       "They think you got it?" The officer asked in a slightly mocking tone as Haywire turned to face him and the doctor.

       "Whatever." Haywire groaned as he put his hand out to the doctor, who handed him his pills in a small paper cup and another with water. Haywire easily downed both cups before handing them back to the doctor and exhaling in his face, as if satisfied with what he'd consumed. "I take the pills to keep the quacks off my back." He said to the duo as he turned to face them. He then turned back around to face the doctor, opening his mouth and sticking his tongue out as the doctor flashed a small flashlight in his mouth, checking to see if the crazed man had actually swallowed the "candy" that kept him calm. Haywire moved his tongue up, down, and side to side annoyingly.

The doctor then hummed, letting the man know he'd finished, and then he and the officer walked away. As they left, Haywire gave them a side glance in annoyance.

"Bye, now." Haywire said in a high-pitched tone, turning to face Michael and Phoebe as he started walking and pushed past Michael. "Get out of the way." He said, as Michael quickly reached over and pushed Phoebe behind him, and Haywire rushed to the toilet and then proceeded to shove his fingers in his mouth, retching.

"Oh, god." Phoebe groaned, scrunching her nose in disgust as she turned away, a sickening feeling sitting in the pit of her stomach, a log forming in her throat. Michael stared at the back of Haywire's head curiously, his face scrunched up in disgust and uncomfortableness.

"You know, maybe they give you those things for a reason." Michael said to him as he relaxed his face. Haywire flushed the toilet, turning to face them, his face slightly clammy from vomiting, his lips wet, and he nodded.

"Yeah. To keep me dull." He said as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Phoebe couldn't stand looking at him. "To keep me in their invisible freaking handcuffs." He wiped his mouth again with the back of his hand. "Seriously though, those tattoos, they're beautiful." He said to Michael, turning to face Phoebe. "I'd love to see yours." He said to her. Phoebe cocked a brow.

"What?" She slightly snapped, furrowing her brows in confusion, distress, and uncomfortableness. Haywire grinned.

"Your sleeve. Your tattoos. I haven't been able to see them entirely." Haywire said. "Only bits and pieces. Same goes for the tattoos on your torso." He said. Phoebe furrowed her brows and put a hand over her stomach. How had he seen her tattoos? She never took her clothes off in front of him. So how did he know about them? "But you," He then said to Michael, "Mind if I, you know, look at the whole thing?"

"I do, actually." Michael deadpanned, reaching over to Phoebe's bed again for his button up, again pushing her behind him protectively. Haywire shook his head.

"Why?" He asked. Michael stared at him.

"Does there need to be a reason?" He asked. Haywire scoffed and shook his head. "Oh, and by the way," Michael said as he took a few steps closer to Haywire, leaving Phoebe behind him. "Don't even think about trying to look at any of Phoebe's tattoos either. Don't even get close to her."

[ DEDICATED TO -idk-tbh- , aguacate_en_tanga & s_benaz2024 ]