Word travels fast of his 'conversation'. The woman left without leaving her name, and only after thirty minutes had passed. This makes him believe that she is somehow a stand in for Kaizuka. He hopes she is, and that Kaizuka never comes back. He will realize later that he was thinking about the situation all wrong, but there will be time for that later.
Almost overnight, there are more women on staff. They seem to have discovered his one true weakness, two X chromosomes. It isn't that he can't be mean to women - Lemrina deserved so much better - it's just that he has a very hard time being outright rude to them. It's been ingrained in him from an early age to be respectful, and even after that, it was beaten into him. It's a hard thing to break.
He doesn't like this change. The new staff makes it incredibly difficult to maintain his rude, solitary, wasting lifestyle. When one of the female guards casually asks him something trivial, he answers without deciding he will. She looks like she's won a bet of some sort, and he almost wants to hurt her. When one of them tells him to eat, he almost does. It's from a woman, and it's an order. He wants to do exactly as she's telling him to. In the end, after breaking out in a cold sweat and chewing on his lip until it bleeds, he throws the tray of food against the far wall of the cell. They're wearing him down, and its working. He finds that he loses his temper more often than he did before.
There is now a TV facing his cell. He cannot change the station, and it is set to a station that never shows the news, never talks about Mars, and never mentions Princess Asseylum. It just keeps pumping out the same humorous shows, again and again and again: this one is a high school drama, this one is about space, this one is about history, this one is about a girl who can speak to dolphins, this one is about a family that doesn't like each other. Within three days, he can't stand it. In a fit of rage, he retrieves the 'Rayleigh' book and hurls it against the television. It smashes right through the screen with a satisfying, shattering sound, 'Scattering' it. It is an immensely satisfying moment. The television is removed, and not replaced. He is so relieved that he smiles that day. There is blissful silence once more. He almost wishes they'd left it there, so that he could still look at it, all broken and hollow.
The books do get better. Instead of heavy science books -which he does actually like, but what good is that sort of knowledge now, no one but his father took an interest in his education, it seems pointless now- there is dribble; adventure stories, romance novels, mystery. They don't seem like intelligent books, but he wants to read them none the less. He doesn't read them of course, but he does want to. At night, when everything is silent, he pads over to where they sit, day in and day out. He picks one up, and runs his fingers over the cover, feeling the embossed titles etched in the bindings.
Sometimes, he even opens up the pages, and runs his hands across the words. It's too late, too dark, so there is no way he can read what is written, but he likes to imagine that he can feel the ink on the page. Some nights, he even imagines he's the writer, what his life would have been like if he had been able to sit down and write things; if he allowed himself to do it now. Sometimes, he spends all night curled up with one of those books, feeling it inside and out, trying to memorize it with only his hands. When he can start to see again, he pads silently back to where the books sit, and places the book back where it belongs. He then curls up in bed, and going to sleep.
He thinks about letters a lot, and words. If he was to write something, anything, how could he ever possibly do it right? The answer is he can't, so he won't. It's that simple.