Cellblock Heat のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 101 - チャプター 110

QuincyFor a while, all my emotions have been bubbling up inside me, churning like acid in my stomach. They’d been my near-constant companion for the past few days, ever since I got back to this cell and saw that Jordan had left—without a proper goodbye or something.Jeez, I hate that I get really sensitive about little things.He’s in the same prison as I am.Not outside—still in Blackbridge.Speaking about “outside,” I’ll be out before him, and that might just be the beginning of the sickening feeling if I don’t put myself in order now, while this weird feeling is still brewing.That aside, I’m shifting my attention to the Ms. Elephant-in-the-room.Dr. Serah sat across from me again—same chair, same calm expression, same notebook on her lap. The light from the barred window cast pale lines across her face, making her look like someone who’d seen so much BS from clients over the century but still refused to flinch.She gave me that knowing smile. “Let’s pick up where we left off, Qui

JrdanI had seen Quincy from a distance.He had succeeded in ignoring my entire existence for five whole days.Yeah, I counted. Every damn hour of it.It was exhausting, this silent game we played—him pretending like I didn’t exist, me pretending it didn’t tear me up inside. And that’s where he had me all kinds of fucked up. Because no matter how well he faked it, I saw through the cracks like I always did. The fake smiles. The hollow laughter. That pathetic little theater act that could barely convince a blind man.And right now, he's standing across the yard. Watching me.Even from this far, I could feel it—the heat of his stare. Like a touch I shouldn’t want but can’t forget.My chest tightened. My stomach flipped once, twice, and then some. But I forced my legs to move faster. No. Not today. Not after the way he looked right through me for five days straight like I was nothing but air.If today went as I’d planned, I’d get to the warehouse, keep my head down, unbox those goddamn c

JordanLet the whole fucking world go still. The yard duty can rot for all I care. Right now, there’s only one person in this goddamn prison who matters—and he’s leaning against the wall. He’s whining, and he’s on the edge, waiting for a release that only I can give.Quincy Laurent. My cellie. My problem. My bicurious obsession.Yeah, I said it.He’s the chaos that crawled under my skin, the kind that makes my every breath a little rougher. I’m happy he didn’t too long to find his way right back into my arms.I had plans of sneaking right back into my old cell to say more than “hi” to him. Glad he had made it a lot easier.Let so the guard who sent me in here become aware of my absence. Let him scream my fucking name. Until my preppy reaches his edge… I ain’t moving a damn inch.Top of FormBottom of FormMy own cock is straining in my pants, begging to be set free, to be in a sweet warm hole. Anything that could be done to release a hot load of cum. It would wait. Preppy first.M

Jordan“Fuck, I miss whiskey.”That’s the first thing that leaves my mouth as I take another slow sip from the glass piece of contraband. The burn crawls down my throat, settling into the pit of my stomach like fire laced with sweet haunting memories. I tilt my head back, stare at the ceiling of my new cell in Block B, and let the silence wrap itself around me.It’s quieter here than Block C. Still, I had been in B to realize how cool it was than this one. Even before the coming of Sweet Boy Preppy.The little bottle clinks softly as I lower it between my knees. The label’s half-scratched off, but the cap’s still intact. In Block B, it's kinda hard to get my stuff from the guard's surveillance. Especially Ramos. The bitch made sure to keep a close eye on me from a distance. And that's because I was luckily to be on Bill's good side. I told Bill of how ‘uncomfortable’ he made me feel in my new cell. But thank fuck, I’ve always had my ways. You do enough favors, fix enough leaks, and ev

Bill“There's a road called Bygones — and we’re on it.”Before me sits a trio that could easily make a therapist retire: Anaba, the reckless doctor with a penchant for chaos; Jordan, the impulsive firecracker who pretends calm is his middle name; and his cellmate, Laurent, the charming yet dangerously unhinged one. They’re all here for one reason — to receive my final judgment, so I can return home without a migraine or a call from the Board.I offered them each a glass of champagne — not as a celebration, but as a symbolic rinse. A small, fizzy truce to marinate their sins, soften the edges of guilt, and treat them like normal civilians for once. No prison walls. No profiles. Just people who’ve made regrettable choices under questionable moons.“Afternoon, Warden,” Jordan greeted in that unbothered tone of his — calm, casual, bordering on smug. He sat between the two silent offenders, his posture relaxed but his eyes calculating. Beside him, Anaba looked dazed, her shoulders tense as