mk km (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} twiceuponatime) wrote,@ 2007-03-28 22:11:00 |
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Destiny's Children Chapter One
Genre: Prison drama romance
Warnings: angst, n/c, m/m, h/c, violence
Title: Destiny's Children
Summary: Two boys grew up together, poor and neglected. Fate steps in and rescues one of them, while the other follows a path of self destruction. Reunited, years later, one must fight to keep the other off death row. Law student and criminal, can they be friends again? Or can they be more?
Rating: NC-17 not for the innocent to read, adults in body and mind only please. Take heed of the warnings.
Warnings: Abuse, angst, n/c, m/m, prison, h/c, violence
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Chapter One
Unbelievable, that I was here. In the worst state penitentiary in the state of Arizona. And I wasn't going anywhere. Ever.
I had weakened over the last two months, not just from lack of exercise but from despondency, and that was why I found myself about to be skewered onto the end of Monster's cock. Did I mention it was huge? This man had, without a doubt, bargained away rights to have me where I was. I should have seen it coming. I should have been more careful. I would never learn. Maximum security prison was a hell of a price to pay for stupidity.
I had weakened over the last two months, not just from lack of exercise but from despondency, and that was why I found myself about to be skewered onto the end of Monster's cock. Did I mention it was huge? This man had, without a doubt, bargained away rights to have me where I was. I should have seen it coming. I should have been more careful. I would never learn. Maximum security prison was a hell of a price to pay for stupidity.
But when I was first locked in here, I was not exactly thinking straight. In fact, I couldn't believe the paths I'd choosen had landed me here, had almost seen to my execution. I was going to live thanks to my lawyer, and that in itself was both the lightening of one load, and the addition of another all at once, knocking the breath out of me. Death row was off my back. Life in prison now held a knife to my throat, and damn, it was sharp.
First morning roll call, the prisoner next to me had leaned closer and told me that 'Monster' seemed to have a thing for me. A thing, what the fuck? That's not news anyone wants to hear. I followed the man's eyes across the way, and was reasonably sure I knew which one was called by that flattering name. Not only because he was staring at me, but because, this guy was a monster. His head was shaved, and that was the only place he didn't seem to have any hair. He had a thick, short beard, his arms were hairy, and his shirt didn't stand the slightest chance of covering that entire stomach of his. The gap left there was dark with fur, too. Our eyes met, and he sort of smiled. No, he leered. Yeah. I just shook my head.
"Fuck him," I snarly-like whispered to the man next to me.
"Fuck him," I snarly-like whispered to the man next to me.
"Yea, kid, you got it right," the prisoner laughed.
And I had dully made up my mind. I would not be intimidated. Nope, not me. Fear is one of those emotions I hate with a passion, and right then, I pretty much hated everything. I shouldn't be here, I didn't deserve to be here. Did I?
For the next few days, I tried to get within speaking distance of the huge, furry man, until at supper on the third day, I was able to pass right by where he sat. I hissed at him to keep his fucking perverted eyes to himself, then kept going. Quickly. Without looking back, with the hair raised on the back of my neck as I anticipated - and braced for - an attack. But it didn't come. If only it had, he would have been written up and been documented as having violent intentions toward me. It would have been at least some form of protection.
When I was far enough away to chance glancing back, he was calmly eating, with a smile on his bulldog face. And just like that breed of canine, I knew then that he was all patience, he would hang on grittily despite the battering he might take, closing his jaws slowly until his victim throttled to death. Shivering, not hungry anymore, I threw my full tray of crappy food into the trash and sat down by myself.
And I had dully made up my mind. I would not be intimidated. Nope, not me. Fear is one of those emotions I hate with a passion, and right then, I pretty much hated everything. I shouldn't be here, I didn't deserve to be here. Did I?
For the next few days, I tried to get within speaking distance of the huge, furry man, until at supper on the third day, I was able to pass right by where he sat. I hissed at him to keep his fucking perverted eyes to himself, then kept going. Quickly. Without looking back, with the hair raised on the back of my neck as I anticipated - and braced for - an attack. But it didn't come. If only it had, he would have been written up and been documented as having violent intentions toward me. It would have been at least some form of protection.
When I was far enough away to chance glancing back, he was calmly eating, with a smile on his bulldog face. And just like that breed of canine, I knew then that he was all patience, he would hang on grittily despite the battering he might take, closing his jaws slowly until his victim throttled to death. Shivering, not hungry anymore, I threw my full tray of crappy food into the trash and sat down by myself.
I really had no friends or allies, not even after being here for two months. I was not particularly strong in comparison to most of these older, stronger men, and I knew it. I put an act on, instead, like I was crazy psycho. I said random shit that made other prisoners blink at me, and turn worried--I hoped--eyes on each other. I struck out at anyone who even looked at me wrong, and I never averted my eyes from anyone, never. I was even trying to learn how to foam at the mouth, but hadn't gotten past drool yet, still, I was sure it was something I would master. In other words, I never showed weakness, and I had the guards on their toes with my fire cracker and unpredictable temper. Feigning insanity had kept me safe, so far, but it also kept me friendless.
The nuts in this world must all be lonely.
The nuts in this world must all be lonely.
Did I bring up my cage mate, yet? The warden had said he was personally assigning me to a cell with someone who could teach me what I needed to know. A man, the warden proclaimed, who was also a cop killer, just like me who had been here awhile. Well, that awhile was forty something years. My 'roomie'- whose name was Carl -was in his sixties, small and gnarly looking, and I swear, his mind was fried. He just sat around reading and he drew and wrote and went through his stacks of odd sized, yellowed papers all day, muttering under his breath. He occasionally looked my way with his rheumy eyes, but he never spoke to me. Once, while he was looking through his papers, I heard his breathing get all funny, and I glanced down from my bunk to see him wanking off. Just sitting there, wheezing, with his cock in his hands, like he was alone in the cell. He didn't care, and in fact, it almost looked like a chore that he was forced to perform. Anyway, basically, I was alone. Which had suited me just fine.
I'd had no warning that it was coming, just a sudden cell change as I was heading back from the cafeteria.
Monster was not smart enough or rich enough, he could never have arranged anything with the guards on his own. But many could, many with money or drugs in the real world could get what they wanted, even in here. Some of the assholes in this prison would have been glad to have Monster in their pitiful gang, for protection, you see, for added muscle and clout. Others could have been persuaded to bribe the guards just for the promise of being left alone by the brute. However he did it, Monster had bought me, and now he owned me. It had taken him time, but in the end, he had won. He could now put any pervy part of himself on me that he wanted to. His eyes were the least of my worries.
My first reaction to this, to the new rooming arrangement was to go even crazier than usual. I was determined to get put in solitary if necessary. I turned to attack the guard who'd shoved me into Monster's cell. But, he was already clanging the door shut. Guards never move that fast. He knew, the bastard.
Grinning, definitely amused, he told me to have fun. I let out a scream, as blood curdling a one as I was capable of, and then Monster was against my back. His body pressed me to the bars and his hand tried to cover my mouth. I bit him. He barely flinched, and I thought later, that one cannot scream when one is biting, but at the time it just seemed the right thing to do. He cuffed the side of my head, and then both his hands came up and covered my mouth, preventing my teeth from doing anything but snapping together in vain. He told the guard not to worry, that he would see me get settled in, quietly. I begged the guard with my eyes, since I was rendered soundless, but then just closed my eyes. He wouldn't help me. And I asked for nothing from no one, ever. And I had a feeling it wouldn't matter, anyway.
Grinning, definitely amused, he told me to have fun. I let out a scream, as blood curdling a one as I was capable of, and then Monster was against my back. His body pressed me to the bars and his hand tried to cover my mouth. I bit him. He barely flinched, and I thought later, that one cannot scream when one is biting, but at the time it just seemed the right thing to do. He cuffed the side of my head, and then both his hands came up and covered my mouth, preventing my teeth from doing anything but snapping together in vain. He told the guard not to worry, that he would see me get settled in, quietly. I begged the guard with my eyes, since I was rendered soundless, but then just closed my eyes. He wouldn't help me. And I asked for nothing from no one, ever. And I had a feeling it wouldn't matter, anyway.
The guard just nodded to Monster, still amused, as those giant hands covered not just my mouth, but my nose as well, then. I struggled, but couldn't budge a fucking inch. I was defeated that easy, which did not do much for my self-esteem. In Monster's hands, I was suffocated right into passing out. Quickly and quietly he dispatched me. I woke on the bottom bunk, his bed obviously. He couldn't have gotten his bulky ass up to the top one, not a chance. Not to mention the cheesy mattress I was now lying on was compressed all out of shape.
Before I was even lucid, Monster calmly said, "There will be no more biting. Next time, I knock all your teeth out. And don't make a sound, either, you're my property now and not much you can do about it. That can either be hard on you, or it can be even harder. Your choice, boy."
Fuck. I was sure he was not making an idle threat. I had only one chance, and that was to see the warden, and make a phone call, if he'd let me. But I couldn't get an appointment until tomorrow at the earliest.
I looked at Monster. I narrowed my eyes. "Fine. Whatever you do to me, I will have done to you ten times over, you fucktard. You just don't realize yet what a mistake you made."
But the bluff sounded lame, even as I said it.
I got up off his bunk, and crawled up to my own, turning my back on him like he was nothing. It was my only play, lame or not. I even had this sliver of hope that the night would pass uneventfully. For awhile, I thought it had worked. A couple hours later, I cursed my bladder, for it made getting up and having to face Monster again necessary. But, better now than after the lights were out, which was not many minutes away.
I could feel my whole body trembling. I tried not to look at him, as I climbed down and walked as straight and steady as I could to the corner where the silver john stood. I took several deep calming breaths before turning back around. Monster had me blocked in the corner. I stared at him. He stared back.
I said, finally, "Move," and damn it, my voice cracked into a whine on that one word. He shook his head, folding his arms across his barrel chest, resting them on the round table of his belly. A dare. If I'd only had a bulldozer with me, I'd have made him very sorry.
I got up off his bunk, and crawled up to my own, turning my back on him like he was nothing. It was my only play, lame or not. I even had this sliver of hope that the night would pass uneventfully. For awhile, I thought it had worked. A couple hours later, I cursed my bladder, for it made getting up and having to face Monster again necessary. But, better now than after the lights were out, which was not many minutes away.
I could feel my whole body trembling. I tried not to look at him, as I climbed down and walked as straight and steady as I could to the corner where the silver john stood. I took several deep calming breaths before turning back around. Monster had me blocked in the corner. I stared at him. He stared back.
I said, finally, "Move," and damn it, my voice cracked into a whine on that one word. He shook his head, folding his arms across his barrel chest, resting them on the round table of his belly. A dare. If I'd only had a bulldozer with me, I'd have made him very sorry.
He just stood there, waiting for lights out and for the guards to change, while I stood as far from him as I could get, and only then, in the darkness, did I snarl my warning to him--that I would die fighting to prevent what I couldn't possibly prevent. Honestly, I wanted to cry and beg the bastard, that's the truth of how I felt. I was just too drained to be in here, to know what my life amounted to, my defenses were all but gone. I may have faked my rage with some degree of skill, but Monster had only grunted, not worried.
And I knew that my fight would be brief. A fucking joke. The guy was six foot four and weighed in around three hundred-something. I was five foot eight, and probably down to one-forty. I had lost weight since my arrest, and I had been slender to begin with. I'll tell you, that's a hell of a disparity, especially when you're the one standing up to it without any heavy machinery or weapons, and baring puppy fangs as you make threats that are empty.
He looked at me, smirking, like I was his bitch, and he could humor my cute little tantrums. I felt like his bitch, snarl or not. Now, five minutes into darkness, finally, my luck had run out. Luck. Right. My luck was always charging in the negative, right from the fucking day I was born.
I didn't really fear the pain coming. Well, not that much. I'd lived through a whole lot of it in eighteen years. It was the way the other prisoners would look at me in the morning that I thought would really hurt. There would be no respect left. And unless the Monster forbid it, I would from this night on be raped in every corner, every shower, every turn of the guards' backs. Hell, probably by the guards, too. I was about to do hard time in this place. A place I didn't deserve to be in, but that thought had the ability to tear me so totally apart, that I pushed it aside whenever it managed to intrude on my mind.
Monster came forward, and I had no where to go. He took my arm and pulled me to his bed. Not particularly roughly, and that was insulting right there. He tugged like I was his lover, as naturally as breathing we were meant for each other and he had every right to do this. I didn't fight as I'd threatened to, I just went almost numbly, in shame and trying to think my way out. He pushed me down on the mattress, face down, already fumbling with my pants. He yanked them off, boxers and all and I let him, and then he took off his own while I lay there with my eyes closed, not moving a muscle, barely breathing.
Well, it worked for opossums, but...
The bed squeaked and groaned as he climbed up and I shuddered, thinking I would probably do about the same thing very soon. He lay along my back, I could smell his lust, and the stench of his sweat.
Monster was already slobbering along the base of my neck, kissing me I guess as his body positioned itself. I could feel the roughness of his beard, and I think that's when I was the most scared. It was all too real, yet surreal, and how could this be my life? Then, his thick thighs pushed under mine, lifting my lower body off the mattress. My arms were pinned underneath his, from elbow to wrist, keeping my chest and head down.
In a last feeble attempt to prevent what was only seconds from happening, I threatened him one more time, in a whisper so my voice didn't give again, with my promise of revenge. He laughed at me. Maybe it wasn't wise at this point to anger him. But I was desperate. I had never done this before, you see.
Feeling his erection pressing impossibly against my ass, and sliding off again, I thought it wouldn't fit. I was almost relieved, but then he backed off enough I guess to hold it in his hand to keep the aim on, and he pushed. It felt strange enough, as my body gave to the pressure, but it didn't hurt at first, and then he pushed again and the pain came. I screamed and thrashed, and he turned my head into the mattress and held me that way so I couldn't make noise while he grunted and pushed and shoved, cramming himself inside me and taking away my breath.
I was trying to gasp, my whole world had become pain and I think I screeched continuously into the mattress while he kept shoving his cock into me, I'm not sure. It was worse than I'd imagined. I guess I'd talked myself down some, for many did this enjoyably, right? How bad could it be?
Unbelievable. Indescribable. Me a virgin, and he with a cock the size of my arm and no particular reason to care how I felt. I knew nothing about preparation for the event, and if he did then he's a goddamn sadist. He just forced his way past protesting flesh until he was buried, and then he sighed, withdrew slowly, held my face hard into the mattress to stifle noise as he slammed back, all the horrible way back, with one brutal stroke.
My whole body spasmed, and try as I might to relax, that just wasn't possible. Not with the force he used, and me held so helplessly in place.
I think, for a short time I actually fainted. I know I dimmed out, mercifully. When I was aware enough to remember again, he was grunting over me and his arms no longer pinned mine, instead, his ham fists had hold of the top of the mattress for leverage, his arms in front of my shoulders, keeping me tight up against him. His hot, heavy breathing was right in my ear. I squirmed anyway, I couldn't help it, the agony was not bearable. Monster ended even that, by lying down on me, his chest was now on top of my head. I disappeared beneath his bulk. A guard told me later, that all that could be seen was the bottom half of my legs, kicking feebly, and a part of one arm and a clawing hand. That's exactly what it felt like, being buried alive.
The worst part of it, I think, is the horrible anger at having your body so out of your control, so completely owned so intimately. I jerked in time to his strokes, hating every single one of them, while my hands curled up, then splayed out each time his full weight pushed on me. My back felt like it was breaking, my head pounded in time with my racing heart and my cheeks were being scraped raw on the cheap, rough mattress, and his grizzly chest.
Even my breathing had to be timed with his movement, each thrust of his cock drove all the air out and my chest began to hurt as well after a few minutes. The heat from his body was sweltering, encased in it as I was. This was torture, pure and simple. And I could do nothing but wait it out.
To make it worse, he talked to me like a lover, breathlessly calling me his baby and crooning on about how great it was, how beautiful I was, how horny I made him. On and on and on it went, his pace remained constant, he rode me without mercy or pause, and the searing pain decreased to some thing just short of tolerable.
I wondered after what had to be half an hour, how long would this last? Usually, rapes are done quickly in this place. But what need did Monster have to hurry? I was his roommate now. I was his for the whole night, not to mention every night, and that thought brought new panic. Great effort calmed my nerves enough so that I didn't fear for my sanity if this lasted much longer. I thought about my childhood, and all that had brought me to this ending.
Yes, ending. For I was here for the rest of my days, without possibility of parole. Only my friend, Jeremy, and his father--my lawyer--had kept me off death row for a crime I didn't commit. Jeremy. I felt tears as I thought of him, and they stung, not to mention crying made breathing harder. I stanched them.
Jeremy. I loved him. We had grown up together. I loved him. I had never loved anyone before, else or since. He was the only person alive who had never hurt or betrayed me. I loved him so fucking much.
I had never been able to tell him that. I feared it would change what we had, and not in a good way, and I feared it badly. And the tears came anyway, I thought I would drown in them, if I wasn't torn to shreds inside, or crushed to death, first.
I'm not a sentimental guy, and I don't cry much, nor do I stand on ceremony or tradition. But I did mourn this night for what I lost... that I was a whore now, unclean and unfit for someone like Jeremy. Just maybe, I needed something more about myself to hate. This made me never telling him how I felt, well... right. Or more right, anyway. You know, for his sake.
Reality became a dagger that stabbed me back to where I was right about then. Monster began to fuck like a demon, thrusting into me hard and fast, panting heavily while I struggled to breathe. The bed protested loudly, squeaking and thudding into the wall. I was sure the entire cell block could hear what was going on, and despair battled with fury over the thought of them all laughing at me. Making jokes. I could just hear them now. Bastards.
"Holyyyyyyy... fuuuuuuuuuck," Monster roared over my head. He bore down and strained and although I couldn't feel it, obviously he had climaxed, finally. He collapsed, becoming dead, suffocating weight. He caught his breath, lucky him, and then moved down some so he could reach my neck again with thick, wet lips. I could breath again, barely.
"Oh, baby, that felt so good... oh, man," my tormentor whispered. He kissed the side of my mouth, I was too busy gasping, I didn't even bother to try to turn my head away.
"Get off me. Please," I implored him. I didn't care if I sounded weak. I didn't care about much of anything.
The bed was small, the best he could do was to move to his side some. He pulled me over, too. I was grateful and took my first deep breath in what had seemed like hours. I was exhausted.
"Dylan," he said in a low voice. "I can protect you, if you want me to, baby."
All I wanted him to do was die. But I knew what he meant, what was expected of me in return. Many of the smaller, younger men had made similar arrangements. I totally despised the ones who did, at least I used to. Feeling masochistic in the name of lost love, hating everything anyway, I nodded, not opening my eyes. The bed seemed to be spinning beneath me.
Monster kissed me again, full on the mouth this time, his tongue dancing over my lips and darting between them. Obediently, I opened my mouth enough for him to invade as he pleased. I thought, almost abstractly that I should be bothered by this as my teeth were licked and my lips bit and sucked on. Instead, I just slurred around him, "Tired... real tired. Just wanna get some sleep."
"Stay here with me," he whispered, nuzzling my hair.
"Sure, sure, 'kay," I answered softly, and I felt myself crying again. I didn't wonder why, and I didn't try to stop. I let all the control I usually kept so tight a grip on loose, and I wept silently in the dark, against the Monster and in his arms, all the way to sleep.
And I knew that my fight would be brief. A fucking joke. The guy was six foot four and weighed in around three hundred-something. I was five foot eight, and probably down to one-forty. I had lost weight since my arrest, and I had been slender to begin with. I'll tell you, that's a hell of a disparity, especially when you're the one standing up to it without any heavy machinery or weapons, and baring puppy fangs as you make threats that are empty.
He looked at me, smirking, like I was his bitch, and he could humor my cute little tantrums. I felt like his bitch, snarl or not. Now, five minutes into darkness, finally, my luck had run out. Luck. Right. My luck was always charging in the negative, right from the fucking day I was born.
I didn't really fear the pain coming. Well, not that much. I'd lived through a whole lot of it in eighteen years. It was the way the other prisoners would look at me in the morning that I thought would really hurt. There would be no respect left. And unless the Monster forbid it, I would from this night on be raped in every corner, every shower, every turn of the guards' backs. Hell, probably by the guards, too. I was about to do hard time in this place. A place I didn't deserve to be in, but that thought had the ability to tear me so totally apart, that I pushed it aside whenever it managed to intrude on my mind.
Monster came forward, and I had no where to go. He took my arm and pulled me to his bed. Not particularly roughly, and that was insulting right there. He tugged like I was his lover, as naturally as breathing we were meant for each other and he had every right to do this. I didn't fight as I'd threatened to, I just went almost numbly, in shame and trying to think my way out. He pushed me down on the mattress, face down, already fumbling with my pants. He yanked them off, boxers and all and I let him, and then he took off his own while I lay there with my eyes closed, not moving a muscle, barely breathing.
Well, it worked for opossums, but...
The bed squeaked and groaned as he climbed up and I shuddered, thinking I would probably do about the same thing very soon. He lay along my back, I could smell his lust, and the stench of his sweat.
Monster was already slobbering along the base of my neck, kissing me I guess as his body positioned itself. I could feel the roughness of his beard, and I think that's when I was the most scared. It was all too real, yet surreal, and how could this be my life? Then, his thick thighs pushed under mine, lifting my lower body off the mattress. My arms were pinned underneath his, from elbow to wrist, keeping my chest and head down.
In a last feeble attempt to prevent what was only seconds from happening, I threatened him one more time, in a whisper so my voice didn't give again, with my promise of revenge. He laughed at me. Maybe it wasn't wise at this point to anger him. But I was desperate. I had never done this before, you see.
Feeling his erection pressing impossibly against my ass, and sliding off again, I thought it wouldn't fit. I was almost relieved, but then he backed off enough I guess to hold it in his hand to keep the aim on, and he pushed. It felt strange enough, as my body gave to the pressure, but it didn't hurt at first, and then he pushed again and the pain came. I screamed and thrashed, and he turned my head into the mattress and held me that way so I couldn't make noise while he grunted and pushed and shoved, cramming himself inside me and taking away my breath.
I was trying to gasp, my whole world had become pain and I think I screeched continuously into the mattress while he kept shoving his cock into me, I'm not sure. It was worse than I'd imagined. I guess I'd talked myself down some, for many did this enjoyably, right? How bad could it be?
Unbelievable. Indescribable. Me a virgin, and he with a cock the size of my arm and no particular reason to care how I felt. I knew nothing about preparation for the event, and if he did then he's a goddamn sadist. He just forced his way past protesting flesh until he was buried, and then he sighed, withdrew slowly, held my face hard into the mattress to stifle noise as he slammed back, all the horrible way back, with one brutal stroke.
My whole body spasmed, and try as I might to relax, that just wasn't possible. Not with the force he used, and me held so helplessly in place.
I think, for a short time I actually fainted. I know I dimmed out, mercifully. When I was aware enough to remember again, he was grunting over me and his arms no longer pinned mine, instead, his ham fists had hold of the top of the mattress for leverage, his arms in front of my shoulders, keeping me tight up against him. His hot, heavy breathing was right in my ear. I squirmed anyway, I couldn't help it, the agony was not bearable. Monster ended even that, by lying down on me, his chest was now on top of my head. I disappeared beneath his bulk. A guard told me later, that all that could be seen was the bottom half of my legs, kicking feebly, and a part of one arm and a clawing hand. That's exactly what it felt like, being buried alive.
The worst part of it, I think, is the horrible anger at having your body so out of your control, so completely owned so intimately. I jerked in time to his strokes, hating every single one of them, while my hands curled up, then splayed out each time his full weight pushed on me. My back felt like it was breaking, my head pounded in time with my racing heart and my cheeks were being scraped raw on the cheap, rough mattress, and his grizzly chest.
Even my breathing had to be timed with his movement, each thrust of his cock drove all the air out and my chest began to hurt as well after a few minutes. The heat from his body was sweltering, encased in it as I was. This was torture, pure and simple. And I could do nothing but wait it out.
To make it worse, he talked to me like a lover, breathlessly calling me his baby and crooning on about how great it was, how beautiful I was, how horny I made him. On and on and on it went, his pace remained constant, he rode me without mercy or pause, and the searing pain decreased to some thing just short of tolerable.
I wondered after what had to be half an hour, how long would this last? Usually, rapes are done quickly in this place. But what need did Monster have to hurry? I was his roommate now. I was his for the whole night, not to mention every night, and that thought brought new panic. Great effort calmed my nerves enough so that I didn't fear for my sanity if this lasted much longer. I thought about my childhood, and all that had brought me to this ending.
Yes, ending. For I was here for the rest of my days, without possibility of parole. Only my friend, Jeremy, and his father--my lawyer--had kept me off death row for a crime I didn't commit. Jeremy. I felt tears as I thought of him, and they stung, not to mention crying made breathing harder. I stanched them.
Jeremy. I loved him. We had grown up together. I loved him. I had never loved anyone before, else or since. He was the only person alive who had never hurt or betrayed me. I loved him so fucking much.
I had never been able to tell him that. I feared it would change what we had, and not in a good way, and I feared it badly. And the tears came anyway, I thought I would drown in them, if I wasn't torn to shreds inside, or crushed to death, first.
I'm not a sentimental guy, and I don't cry much, nor do I stand on ceremony or tradition. But I did mourn this night for what I lost... that I was a whore now, unclean and unfit for someone like Jeremy. Just maybe, I needed something more about myself to hate. This made me never telling him how I felt, well... right. Or more right, anyway. You know, for his sake.
Reality became a dagger that stabbed me back to where I was right about then. Monster began to fuck like a demon, thrusting into me hard and fast, panting heavily while I struggled to breathe. The bed protested loudly, squeaking and thudding into the wall. I was sure the entire cell block could hear what was going on, and despair battled with fury over the thought of them all laughing at me. Making jokes. I could just hear them now. Bastards.
"Holyyyyyyy... fuuuuuuuuuck," Monster roared over my head. He bore down and strained and although I couldn't feel it, obviously he had climaxed, finally. He collapsed, becoming dead, suffocating weight. He caught his breath, lucky him, and then moved down some so he could reach my neck again with thick, wet lips. I could breath again, barely.
"Oh, baby, that felt so good... oh, man," my tormentor whispered. He kissed the side of my mouth, I was too busy gasping, I didn't even bother to try to turn my head away.
"Get off me. Please," I implored him. I didn't care if I sounded weak. I didn't care about much of anything.
The bed was small, the best he could do was to move to his side some. He pulled me over, too. I was grateful and took my first deep breath in what had seemed like hours. I was exhausted.
"Dylan," he said in a low voice. "I can protect you, if you want me to, baby."
All I wanted him to do was die. But I knew what he meant, what was expected of me in return. Many of the smaller, younger men had made similar arrangements. I totally despised the ones who did, at least I used to. Feeling masochistic in the name of lost love, hating everything anyway, I nodded, not opening my eyes. The bed seemed to be spinning beneath me.
Monster kissed me again, full on the mouth this time, his tongue dancing over my lips and darting between them. Obediently, I opened my mouth enough for him to invade as he pleased. I thought, almost abstractly that I should be bothered by this as my teeth were licked and my lips bit and sucked on. Instead, I just slurred around him, "Tired... real tired. Just wanna get some sleep."
"Stay here with me," he whispered, nuzzling my hair.
"Sure, sure, 'kay," I answered softly, and I felt myself crying again. I didn't wonder why, and I didn't try to stop. I let all the control I usually kept so tight a grip on loose, and I wept silently in the dark, against the Monster and in his arms, all the way to sleep.
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Morning heralded by sunshine, and birds called outside my window. I liked this time of year, when at least nights had started to cool off. Waking up to fresh air, not the hum of the air conditioner, was more pleasant. It was almost Labor Day. Almost time to start school. A week and half left of summer and then I was officially a pre-law student. I couldn't believe it, but it was true. I was enrolled at UA, had my stepfather's two year old Mercedes as my own now, and a generous allowance. Not bad for a kid who once lived within a bunch of small trailers, without running water or electricity.
Like I did every morning, I gazed around my room. I had vowed to myself that I would never take any of this for granted. I would never forget the past. It did not look like the bedroom of a nineteen-year-old, it was way too clean and way too expensively furnished. But, I had always been neat in habit by nature. Dylan used to call me 'the unnatural'.
Dylan. That reminded me that out in the desert, squatting on government land, are still tiny trailers and families without enough food, and none of the basics of comfort. Without much hope. Sons and daughters of illegals or druggies or prostitutes, some not even enrolled in school. Learning all the wrong lessons at home.
I sat up on the side of the bed and put my head in my hands. This was not what I wanted to start the day thinking about. I had years of college ahead of me before I could do anything to help anyone. And of course, thoughts of Dylan were painful. Beautiful, reckless Dylan who hated the world that had rejected him. Dark and wild, with a quick mind that had been wasted on petty crime and drugs. He had never had a chance, and now he was gone. Not dead, but his life was a prison now and his choices were over. And I grieved, secretly.
Because I remember it all. I remember when we were six years old and we played together in the dust and weeds among the cacti. I was the quiet one, cowed by an abusive father, despite his being gone then, I was still afraid of everything and everyone. Dylan, more than half a year younger than I was, nevertheless protected me back then. I hid behind his bravado, and none of the other kids picked on me, not without incurring little Dylan's wrath. My poor mother protected me also, as best she could, and she often went without so I could eat.
Dylan's mother - I hated her. She couldn't say two words without one of them being 'fuck', and she was crude in manner, often embarrassing him. Unlike my mother, she cared nothing for her son and told him often. He was always being swatted around by her and half the time he didn't even go home. I know sometimes he slept under our trailer. I know he was hungry constantly. And I knew she didn't care. My mother was sympathetic, her eyes were so big and sad when she saw him, but he was one of many and she could barely provide for the two of us. When she could, she fed him, but it wasn't often and he never once asked. She was the only person I ever saw Dylan be polite to. I guess in a way, he envied me even back then. I was dirt poor, just like him and I had spent years neglected, just like him. I was one of 'those' kids, just like him. But my mother made sure I got to school, made sure I was relatively clean and made sure I ate at least twice a day. She set down rules, and made sure I was in after dark. Dylan, well, he was on his own.
It had taken my mother years to pull herself out of the hole she'd dug herself into being with my father. But she did it, and I know she did it for me. She left drugs and alcohol behind, and got a real job. The men stopped coming. And then one day, a man came in an undented, shiny car and took both of us out to the mall and then to dinner. His name was Samuel Chase, and he was a lawyer. He was kind, and he smiled a lot, unlike any of the other men I'd known. He asked my permission that night, to wed my mother. I gave it to him. They married two months later.
I was fifteen years old, and my life changed so drastically that I was lost for awhile. The big house, the prep clothes and the new school were all overwhelming. But it's the little things that got to me. Like not having to walk an hour and a half back and forth to school. Clean clothes, that actually fit. Water that poured endlessly warm from taps. Oh, the luxury of that alone, of long showers, you couldn't imagine what it was like at first if you've never lived without it. Clean linen and dishes that matched, filled with food, much of which I didn't even recognize. I made friends. I played video games. I had one eyebrow pierced and my hair was cut in a salon. I hardly thought about my best friend, selfish as that may sound, I was just kept too busy in this whole new life.
And then one day, he showed up at the door. I came downstairs and there he was, looking just like he always did. Dusty and unkempt, his dark hair tousled and long, hanging over his brown, expressive eyes. Except for one thing, I had never seen Dylan look nervous that way before. Out of place, there in the foyer of my designer house, swallowing hard as he gazed around, blinking. I had never really felt bad for Dylan before. Not like that, anyway. He always seemed on top of everything, and he was never broody. In fact, he had always cheered me with his attitude. Always using his wild imagination to think up things to do, and with that grin on his face that showed his dimples and squinted his eyes. He told me that day he was running away, to California. He just wanted to say good-bye, he said. I was at a loss for words, torn between two worlds.
I didn't realize, as he turned quickly and left me standing there, mute, with my thoughts in turmoil, to flee out the door, that all of it was a lie.
Dylan never went anywhere. It was just his spur of the moment decision, to take himself out of my life. He had come to see me, to find out why I hadn't come to see him. I didn't find any of this out until recently. Until he called me these years later, frightened. In jail, and pending trial for murder. Desperate. I begged my stepfather to help him, and he did. He managed to keep my childhood friend from lethal injection, but that was all he could do. I was there for most of the trial, as much as I could be. Dylan's total contempt for the law and everyone around him insured he would not be given his freedom. His eyes were dark and cold, untrusting and disrespectful and I did understand how the jury would decide he was guilty, with barely two hours of deliberation. Dylan was his own worst enemy. And he had a juvy record already for breaking and entering, possession of drugs and evading arrest. But I knew what none of them did. I knew what he was thinking, what was behind his glare. I knew his motto was to reject before he was rejected, it was just how he had learned to protect himself. And I know, as sure as I know my name, that he's innocent.
My best friend the whole of my growing up, my protector and the one who kept me from loneliness and gave me hope... was gone. Just as I finally realized that when I looked at him, defiant and witty and so beautiful, I felt something that I never had, not with anyone else, ever. I think... it was love.
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