mk km (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} twiceuponatime) wrote,@ 2007-03-27 17:26:00 |
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Destiny's Children * Chapter Two
Word Count:8272
Chapter Two
I wish I could have just kept sleeping forever and ever.
Instead, I woke up in prison to the sound of heavy breathing and hands pawing at me. Sore as all get out and next to a man called Monster, the one now doing the manhandling. How much worse can life get?
My new cell mate was rolling me over and dragging me closer, placing me where ever he wanted to. I was like a fucking rag doll in his hands. I was murmuring in protest, but I woke completely when he heaved a leg up over me, and I realized his intentions. Panicked, I pulled back, and scrambled to get my hands and knees under me.
"Wait," I squeaked. "I gotta piss really bad."
"You'll have to hold it," Monster said with lust thick in his voice, pushing me firmly back down. "I got a hardon needs some loving, first, boy."
Some loving? God, he was such a total fucking hick, and yet... he had me. I thought about screaming. Then decided, fuck it, it would only draw attention to the fact that I was the prison whore to the biggest, dumbest inmate here. No one would help me. It was more likely that the poor excuses for guards would stop to watch the show, for it had to be a laughable sight, the two of us. I was a tricycle about get run over by a semi. I braced my three little wheels and prepared for the impact.
It took him two more heaves, and then he was on my back, literally, rubbing his cock painfully up and down against my lower spine. It was hard all right, it felt like a rock- as in it hurt - and then he just let his weight fall and flatten me to the bed. Uhhh, fuck. He liked doing that, the bastard. On the outside, I'd have bested this lumbering beast easy. In here - I was his pet, his toy and he threw his weight around to make that very clear.
I probably could've begged him to take it slow, you know, granted him his power and chances are he would have, to some extent. I should have, but groveling wasn't in my nature, not yet. I was shaking like a fucking leaf though, as he worked his body down, prodding, and as he got closer to his ultimate goal, I wished I would just pass out from lack of air. No such luck, I felt it when he entered... it was white hot agony, and if I could've breathed, the scream I let out would not have been silent. I bit the mattress, hard, and struggled, but he seized my wrists and held them down. It hurt just as bad as it had the night before. I was injured, but he didn't care, he just fucked me for awhile anyway. Then he got up on his knees, turned me over and flopped back down like I was just a mattress for him to rest on. Big, wet lips covered my mouth, and his tongue plunged inside, while his hands lifted my legs and he shoved his cock back inside. My head tossed back and forth, my hands pushed on him, but there was no escaping his grip or his cock. For awhile I was leisurely fucked and savagely kissed and soundly crushed and I thought I might die of it. I hoped I would. No shit, I wanted to.
Monster crooned on and on to me, like we were lovers, "So good, baby, so good," and, "can you feel it, baby, how horny you make me? You're just so be-oo-uttiful."
I hated him for that. I would rather he hit me, it would have been kinder and less humiliating, but maybe, that was the point being driven home. I stayed silent.
As he grew close to orgasm, pounding away furiously on me, he once again got loud. He was groaning and grunting and calling my name as the bed once more rocked into the wall with every brutal stroke of his, echoing loudly for all to hear. That was when I started crying again, not from pain, but with fury and frustration. He got his rocks off with my body, and it was disgusting and degrading and he just had to make sure the whole cellblock heard. He drooled on me, for fucks sake. I couldn't breathe for awhile, as he climaxed, that's how hard he pressed down, and it just wasn't necessary. He had proven already that he could what he wanted, this was just rubbing my nose in it and my patience ran out. When he finally lifted his head, I got an arm free and I struck him full in the face. It wasn't much of a blow, not in the position I was in, but I saw a thin line of blood run from one of his nostrils, and I was satisfied. Okay, God, I can die now.
He actually looked wounded, his stupid eyes stared down with surprise while I gasped for air. I couldn't speak yet, but I mouthed 'fucking pig' and I think he understood. I wanted him to. Think I'm crazy? Maybe, but at least if he fucked me mad, I could deal with it easier. It was that, or bow down to him. Those were my only choices.
I was in so much pain already, I didn't think I'd be able to walk. So I guess I was grateful that Monster didn't start punching me. Instead, one of his hands closed on my throat, but not hard enough to choke me, just for effect. However, his words did what his grip didn't.
"It's okay, baby," he said, almost apologetically. "I understand. I'm not pretty like you. But you could enjoy it, if you let yourself and you quit with the attitude. Lots of guys in here probably think you're worth a fuck, Dylan. I guess you'll find out, since I'm giving anyone who wants you permission to take you. Tonight, I think I'll try out your mouth. Now, go piss and clean up, and get some rest. You're gonna need it."
He let me go. I crawled off the bed, and believe me, it wasn't easy getting my legs to hold me up. I saw the blood on the mattress, as I tried to straighten. I held to the corner of the top bunk, wobbling, looking at the mess.
"That's what you want me to get used to and fucking enjoy? You're nothing but a rapist, a fat, stupid perverted rapist. I ain't groveling to you."
Monster laughed. "Who asked you to, you cop killing delinquent. Cop killers don't usually last very long in here. You're so fucking hated by the guards I could cut you into little pieces and they wouldn't do nothing to stop me."
I hadn't thought of that, I guess because I wasn't a cop killer. But yeah. I was in more trouble than I thought. I gingerly made my way to the john and then the sink. I pulled clothes on and waited for roll call, standing and leaning on the radiator. I didn't want to test sitting down yet. I kept a wary eye on Monster, who ignored me.
Just as I thought. I got much more attention than usual, many more eyes on me, and the guy next to me, nudged me. "Listening to that porker ram you all night got me off," he confided. I stiffened, and I almost jumped him. I kept control. I couldn't cause trouble, not if I wanted to see the warden.
I glared. I hated all of them. I tried to walk normally, and trust me it hurt to try, all the way to the cafeteria. I sat down gingerly and ate without tasting it, and without looking up. Every laugh, every snigger I heard I was sure was about me. Maybe they weren't, but I blushed anyway, at all of them. I finished, put my tray up and then made my way to the guard who looked the friendliest.
"Sir," I said very sweetly. Okay, so a slight bit of ass kissing couldn't hurt at this point. "I need to speak with the warden. And I need to place an important phone call."
"Do you," he nodded his head. "Not so cocky today, are you, Dylan? What's the matter, boy? Your new roommate snore too loud or something?"
"Please sir, it's very important."
"I'll tell you, boy. It's Friday, which means the warden's too busy to see inmates. Then of course, there's the weekend when he doesn't work, and he's taking the day off Monday. Tuesday, he'll be busy, as well, catching up. I would say I could get you in to see him on Wednesday. Thursday at the latest. How's that, punk?"
He looked at me, feigning an innocent expression. Despair threatened to strangle me. I took a deep breath. I nodded. "Yes sir. That's fine. About the phone call...?"
"Well, you know, I'd have to check with the warden regarding your privileges. I will remember to do that, too, next Wednesday."
"Please, sir," I whispered. Fuck, I had finally stooped to begging.
"I won't forget, Dylan. Don't worry."
Fuck. I felt like crying again, it was an unwelcome sting behind my eyes. In two days I've had that urge more than the whole two years before. I was breaking. What would I fucking be by Wednesday?
I looked at the guard. His eyes bore into me, the corner of his mouth turned up slightly. And he was one of the least heartless bastards. There was nothing I could do. I had to hold on for five more days, and hope he kept his word.
Five days. Little did I know they would be the hardest five days of my life. I guess I should've known.
Monster kept his promise. He herded me around, he was my shadow, but not my protector. He handed me over to the other prisoners, and kept watch while they fucked me. Against walls, over tables and on the floor I accommodated cocks in both ends and I did whatever they told me to. I tried to fight at first. I didn't stand a chance, I was gut-punched and strangled into submission until I was the perfect whore. I had learned to suck cock, too, that night, with Monster's beefy hands clenched in my hair. Monster wasn't totally satisfied with my performance, though, and he made me suck him for hours before climbing on top of me and fucking anyway.
Of course, after five days, I was a pro at it. Well, a pro at not choking to death.
Those days did pass. I was not in very good condition by Wednesday, as you might imagine. I could barely think straight, never mind speak when I was dragged in to see the warden.
Warden Danvers was actually a jolly looking fellow, if you didn't search his eyes too deep. He lectured me for awhile, all about right and wrong decisions in life, before he would even hear what I wanted to say. It was simply to torment me, and I knew he hated me. Well, the feeling was mutual. Sort of. I didn't really feel hate anymore, I didn't really feel much of anything, except tired.
"Sir," I finally said. I was actually getting used to the word. "I wonder if I could request a cell change."
"Sorry, no. Out of the question. Anything else?"
I felt tears. Damn it, I could feel. Sadness, anyway. I had somehow held it back for five days. But the fucking warden didn't even give my desperate request two seconds of his thought. I took a deep breath. "Please, sir."
"You may go, Dylan," he excused me.
"Wait. I need to make a phone call."
It was not all that different from being raped when he came around his desk, and said. "You mean, you humbly request to make a phone call."
"Yes, sir," I closed my eyes. "I humbly request."
"That's better. You're learning, boy. Fine. You'll need money for the pay phone. I'll tell the guard to bring you to your cell to get some, and then you may make your call."
I had had a little money coming in here, but it had long ago been taken, along with my cigarettes. "I have no money, sir."
"Oh? Well, when you do, come back to see me. I'm sure there will be no problem giving you permission, as long as you cause no trouble and make another humble request."
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Sounding like a whiny little kid, and angry, I sputtered, "You can't do that! I need to speak with my lawyer! I've waited a week already, and if you don't figure out a way for me to contact him, I'll report this. I know my rights."
"Well, well. The little cop murderer knows his rights. If it was up to me, you'd have none at all. You don't deserve any. But go ahead, make your call, you can use my phone."
"It's private," I told him as I took the phone from his hand.
"It's either me, or a guard babysits you, Dylan. Your choice."
I nodded in defeat, and I dialed the Chase's number. A woman answered. I recognized her voice. Jeremy's mother, and for a minute my heart was in my throat. "Mrs. Chase," I said softly, not caring about the tears that sprang forth and began falling steadily. There was no answer, I thought she hadn't heard me, but then she said, just as softly, "Dylan?"
"Yes, it's me," I closed my eyes, again. I loved her. I missed her, she was one of the only good things I knew of in the world, besides her son of course. I swallowed. "Is Jeremy home?"
"Yes. I'll get him for you," she answered. "Dylan, are you all right?"
"No. Not very much, not at the moment."
"Dylan, I'm sorry." And I knew the words meant that she was sorry for everything, for not being able to save me. She had told me this before, with her arms around me, when I was just a little kid. I felt like one now.
"I know," I whispered. "It's not your fault."
"You were always a good boy," she said fondly. "I'll get Jeremy. He'll help you. Hold on."
I cried, actually sobbed, my shoulders fucking shook. The warden shuffled through his papers, but when I glanced at him, I could see he was smiling, enjoying my misery.
"Dylan!" Jeremy greeted me. "What's up buddy. I miss you."
I clenched my fist, driving fingernails into the skin to focus and be able to speak. "Jeremy, I can't really talk, but I need help. Seriously. I don't know if your father can do anything, or not."
"What is it?" he asked, concerned.
"I can't talk. I need him to call me or come here or something. I'm in trouble."
He didn't hesitate. "Okay. Hold on. We'll be there," he said and I loved him for that, for not even having to think about it. "Can I bring you anything?"
"No, no, just..."
"Okay. See you soon," he said, and he hung up. I put the phone down gently.
"Thank you, sir," I said to the warden.
He waved his hand at me in dismissal, and I walked out to where the guard was by the door. It was almost lunch time, and I actually felt hungry. I wiped my face and joined the cell block, not scared now. But I should have been.
After lunch, and after some time in the pitiful excuse for an exercise yard, I was herded to the showers. As always, Monster was on my tail. But then something strange happened. The guard left and the door shut. I looked around. There were eight of them, counting my huge shadow, all facing me and coming closer. Oh, no.
"You gonna tell your lawyer what we done to you, boy? Go ahead, cuz that ain't nothing compared to what we WILL do to ya," one of them said.
So much for a private phone call. I backed up. "Look, I won't say anything."
"I dunno if we believe you, do we?" The man looked around at the others.
They all shook their heads. I went to Monster's side, quickly. "I'm sorry," I pleaded to him. "I need your protection."
He scoffed. "Earn it, Dylan. First, you're gonna have the living fuck beat out of you."
Monster threw me to the wall, and they were on me. I fought with all I had, but I was weak these days and there were eight of them, all bigger than me. Most, way bigger. I went down and I stayed down. And even when I was just cowering, and trying to protect myself, they kept at me. Monster fell with one knee and all that weight onto my ribs, and the world went red, and then one of them kicked my mouth and the side of my head and it all went black.
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I arrived at the prison, alone. I decided not to get my step-father involved until I knew what was going on. I was dreading going inside and yet... there was this expectation. Seeing Dylan, just the thought of it did something to me. I didn't want to think about what. I sort of knew. I just didn't know how I felt about it yet.
Going through the entire prison visitor routine is far from anyone's idea of fun. I will not bother with the details of how molested I got. It was only then, after I checked out, that I was told what happened. Dylan was in the infirmary, and the guard led me there, to a special room I guess they put patients in who have visitors.
Dylan lay there, pale and bruised and sleeping. The doctor informed me that he wasn't asleep, that he hadn't regained consciousness since the attack. I kept swallowing hard as he gave me a few more details than the guard had. His ribs were cracked, all of them on one side as if someone had tried to cave his chest in, he had a concussion and he'd been raped, numerous times, I was informed. Then the doctor told me I could stay, and to let him know if Dylan woke.
I drew up a chair to sit by the bed. I took hold of Dylan's hand. It was cold and I looked at it. He must have fought like a demon, his knuckles were black with blood and bruises, swollen. I saw then that so was his wrist. His face was a mess, battered, and he still looked... hot. Wild, I guess, which is how I always thought of him. Untamable. I sighed. Dylan was too goddamn good looking for his own good.
"I'm here," I told him, thinking it sounded stupid, I had gotten here too late, after all. Better maybe if I didn't say anything. He didn't move and I rested against the bed, with Dylan's hand in my own, to wait.
I was dead tired by evening, and the lights being on made no sense, we were the only ones there in the room. I was about to find out how wrong I was, about the sense of it, as I got up and switched them off. My movements, settling back in the chair and putting my head down on the bed must have woken Dylan, for no sooner had I relaxed when I heard the slight rustle of the sheets and his breath get ragged.
I couldn't really see him, just an outline, that's how dark it was, but I moved my legs up to get in the bed beside him, slowly. His head tossed side to side, and he coughed weakly. I put a hand on his shoulder, to offer comfort, and Dylan sobbed a breath out, trembling under my hand.
"Please," he whispered, the sound was dry and so weak. "Please, don't... please don't-" He turned his head to me, I could see that his eyes were tightly closed, though and now his whole body was shaking badly. "Please," he pleaded again in a frightened, hollow voice. "I can use my mouth... you liked it, you said and I'll do better this time, please, baby, please don't hurt me..."
"Dylan, are you awake?" I asked as calmly as I could, trying not to think about what all of that meant. Maybe he was delirious.
Dylan's eyes opened, and I do mean wide. He stopped breathing completely for long seconds as he stared, and then barely audible, he croaked, "Jeremy? How... am I...dreamin'- how can it be you?"
"You called me, remember? I got here as soon as I could, but not soon enough. You're in the infirmary. They let me stay until you woke up. I think they forgot I was here or something."
"Jeremy," Dylan said, in disbelief. "I didn't do it... I never hurt anyone," he cried forlornly. We had already been through this during the trial - more than once. Then I remembered he had a concussion, and I held his hand again. He clasped on.
"Shh, I know, I know. I always knew," I answered softly.
"Jeremy, I need help. They're gonna kill me."
He eased himself into my arms and I embraced him like one would a child. My hand was in his unruly hair, combing it from his face with my fingers as gently as I could. He still shivered, and he still took ragged, shallow breaths. I just held him. I didn't know what to do, or what to say. We were both quiet, until many minutes later when I felt him stiffen.
"Is your father here?" he asked anxiously. "Did he come with you?"
"No, I-- he's always busy and I thought that first I could see what was going on-" I stammered, realizing I had made a major mistake, too late.
Dylan's body pulled back from me. I felt a spasm of pain jerk him in protest, but that only seemed to make him more determined. On his back, his eyes on the ceiling, he spoke again with anguish tearing at his voice.
"There's nothing you can do. I shouldn't have bothered you. Best that you leave and don't come back."
"I can't. I won't," I told him, not sure myself what I meant. Just, I know him and this was scaring me, his giving up and the haunted look in his eyes. Dylan had suicide on his mind.
Not to mention, he had felt so good in my arms, and despite everything, I had been aroused by his closeness. I wanted it back. I had convinced myself that I had everything I needed, that my new life was perfect, but I didn't have this.
"Dylan..."
"Don't do this to me. Let me die in fucking peace," he whispered.
"No."
He looked at me and shook his head. "Go, for fucks sake, don't make me hit you. You want to know everything, you smug, rich bastard?" he turned some toward me, gritting his teeth. "I love you. There, I said it. I love you, and I'm a fucking pervert and a whore and get the fuck out!"
Dylan choked, his arms went around his ribs in pain while I snarled back. "Not a chance, now, that I'm leaving. I'm sorry I didn't bring my step-father, I'm sorry for being stupid. But I'm not sorry that I love you back. You're a prick, Dylan, and a fucking crazy one, but you're innocent and I won't leave you here. I'm going to find a way to prove you didn't kill that cop. I'll go over every single word of the transcripts, I'll talk to every single one of the witnesses, and anyone else I can think of. There has to be a way--some way, and I won't stop until I find it. Now, yell, swear what-fucking-ever you want, because you're stuck with me."
"Don't you understand? Didn't you hear me?" he asked quietly. "I'm a total fuck-up. And I dream about touching you, Jeremy, kissing you and all of it. I'm a fucking pitiful excuse for a friend. And the first chance I get I'm killing myself. That's the only way out I have, asshole. That's always been my only way out, only I was too stupid to see it."
"Dylan, that's not true," I bit my lip, and then surged ahead. "You didn't hear me. I'm in love with you, too."
"Don't," he said in anguish, "just don't."
I looked into his eyes, and saw my life reflecting. "I mean it, Dylan. I never told anyone this before. It feels... good to say it, to just say it and not hide anymore."
I could see that I'd softened him with the sheer shock of it. Emotion warred on his face, but he wasn't that easy, not at the moment. I laughed very softly, said; "Yeah. So what, right? Doesn't matter? Too late?"
I had anticipated what he was going to say, so I had said it for him, leaving him lying there mute, with his mouth open. I put my hands on his shoulders, shook him just a little. "I'm getting you out of here. Then, I'm having my wicked way with you. Get used to the idea."
His brow crinkled up. His lips started quivering, as his eyes shone with tears. I'd gotten through. I could see him more clearly now that my eyes had adjusted to the darkness and it was very satisfying. I had never had the last word with him before. It had taken coming out to do it, but what the hell. Had to happen sometime.
"Dylan. We always knew. All this time, I've never been able to stop thinking about you. And sorry to say, I've fucking tried."
His spurt of laughter was refreshingly Dylan-like. "You asshole. Not that I blame you. Get me out of here?"
"That's the plan. I may not like it, but I love you, Dylan and I'm done fighting it."
"'Bout fucking time," he said, and I finished the sentence for him, all about how he'd never have deserted me so I ended up like this.
"I'm sorry."
"Yeah, well. Once I'm free, maybe I'll believe it," he told me gruffly, but his eyes were soft and warm.
I couldn't think of an answer, so I embraced him, and he let me. He was still shaky, and it took quite awhile for him to calm down. As I snuggled him close against my chest, I thought that as much as I loved his spirit, this slightly humbled version of him was nice, also.
I knew he had been through a lot, I know he was beaten and raped, and I wasn't very certain that I could do anything to prevent it from happening again. It would take time to do what I'd promised him, if it was even possible. They had broken him, I knew that too, now. In two short months this place had done what the world had never managed to do. It hurt to think about. But practical matters had to be addressed.
I whispered in his ear. "Listen, Dylan, do what you have to do to survive, it doesn't mean anything. This place is a fucking joke, full of animals you wouldn't give the time of day to outside of here. They need bars and guards and gangs to win, to me that's not winning anything. They can't have you, Dylan, not in any way that matters. Let them touch you, and know they can never touch you, got it?"
He pressed to me harder, trembling. He nodded. "I know," then he slowed his breathing, to ask, "You really love me?"
"Yeah. You really okay with it?"
"It's just strange, is all. I wonder if our childhoods had anything to do with it. That we are both... " he gulped, "...gay."
"Hard to say that word, isn't it. Damn. Fuck the world for making it hard. You ever been with anyone?" I asked, added, "This place doesn't count."
"No. You?"
"No. I ignored the whole thing. I forced myself to look at girls, made a show of it in front of people. And tore my eyes off any guy I had the urge to look at. I did notice one thing. The only ones who made me want to look twice, looked a hella lot like you."
Dylan took a long, shaky breath, and tried to smile, wincing and putting his hand to his bruised mouth. "Ouch. Jeremy. Get me out of here. Fast."
The faith he had in me was, well, for him, astonishing. This boy trusted nothing and no one, except for me. I had to manage somehow not to let him down. For both our sake's. I said, "As fast as I can. Just promise me one thing."
His eyebrows raised in question.
"That you'll never call me 'baby'," I answered.
Dylan managed a very weak laugh. "I won't, sweetie-pies darlin' hunny-bunny. I promise."
And we both laughed, and we hugged again carefully tight, and we both had much to get through before this was over and we knew it and I wanted so badly to kiss him, but it would wait, I thought.
But then, Dylan's hands gently took my face, and his torn lips pressed every so softly to mine and I think I shivered worse than he had.
And then, before I could even adjust to the touch of his mouth on mine, the door opened and the overhead light flicked annoyingly on.
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Would I never get the chance to stop cursing my luck? Just as I got up the nerve to kiss Jeremy, a doctor walked in and switched on the lights. Those few seconds of touching him in that intimate way, our lips just barely meeting, would be a memory I would keep all of my days. I guess, in some ways, I am sentimental...
Or maybe, it was just how torn apart I felt. Unfocused. Part of me really did want to die, and although I had not formed a plan for suicide yet, it had been right up there in my mind. Now, I had this, too. I had felt that brief, gentle kiss rip right through me. It wasn't passion, that would have been fucking difficult in my current state, no, it was desperation that drove me to it. I needed him to know how I felt. But... Jeremy loved me? In that way? Me?
Sometimes, I do remember him looking at me. Just staring at me, like he was puzzled, but we were thirteen, fourteen, then. I would just grin and say 'what?' He never had an answer. Thinking back, we were so close, him and I, like brothers I had thought. During the long trial when he stared I thought it was just with sympathy. Maybe, partly with disdain. I wasn't sure what he thought of me when everything came out, such as my arrests and the time I spent in juvy and on probation. I imagined he thought he was lucky not to be associated with me anymore. Maybe I had been wrong. I guess I had been. I'm wrong too fucking much in this life.
Truthfully, I never put it together, not back when we were kids. I didn't know that what I felt for him wasn't just what all brothers felt. I had no brothers, or sisters, either, so what did I know? Love comes in many forms. One of the forms it took for me was the day I let go of him. The day I found my way to his new home because I was so lost without him. He didn't hardly even greet me that day. He didn't need me, anymore. By the looks of him and the house he lived in, I was probably an embarrassment. When I realized that, I told him I was running away. It wasn't a lie. I was running from him and my almost obsessive craving for him. Just for his company, damn it.
I had gone to school with him for years. His mother made him go, mine couldn't of cared any less, either way, what I did. I went, and I signed my own reports because we had no mailing address and I kept out of trouble so no one at the school would feel a greater urge to try to contact her. I did not want her attention on me any more than necessary, that attention had a way of being violent.
After seeing Jeremy that day in his big house, clean and so not glad to see me, I dropped out. I never went back. I did other things, things I'm not proud of. And I made no more friends. Fuck that.
At school, he and I had been outcasts. Kids were always making remarks about the tattered, dusty clothes we wore, our questionable lineage, and whatever else they could think of to stomp on our feelings. We ignored it, shrugged it off, after all we had each other. We had both been stomped on by the best way before ever going to school and had no expectations. Just going to school with Jeremy seemed like enough for me to be thankful for without any perks.
It was just the life we led. And I never allowed the harassment to become violent. The very few times it had been attempted, Jeremy had gotten scared and that infuriated me. I not only went after, and took out whichever of the assholes was biggest, but I threatened them with revenge that would make a mafia hit man proud. Jeremy of course, backed me up and eventually, we were left alone. It didn't matter to me, none of it did. And then, with barely any notice, Jeremy was gone.
The car with the U-Haul had taken him away. I had stumbled in shock to the steps of his little abandoned trailer and hadn't moved much for many days.
The memory made me reach for him, almost desperately I touched his arm. The doctor joined us.
"I was just coming to check on my patient before going home," the doctor said, his eyes on Jeremy who had sat up quickly. "I didn't realize you were still here."
"My client only woke up a few minutes ago," Jeremy answered, lamely. I was his father's client, not his, anyone could see that he was too young to be a full-fledged attorney yet.
"He needs to be wheeled back to primary care. And I have orders to return him to the GP as soon as possible."
"What's the GP?" Jeremy asked, standing up. I saw his hand go to his mouth, briefly. I wondered if he was thinking of the kiss. I can hope, can't I?
"General population," I whispered to him.
He nodded and asked the doctor, "I don't think he's in any condition to go back there. It's too dangerous. And what's been done to the ones who did this to him?"
"I don't have your answers. You'll need to speak with the warden. He'll be in here for another day or so before I can release him with a clear conscious. I'm sure that the guards will be informed to keep an eye on him," the doctor said. He came to the bedside, adjusting his stethoscope into his ears and leaning over to place the cold end to my chest.
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
I wanted to laugh. "Crappy," I answered.
"Take a deep breath."
That wasn't possible, I shook my head.
He leaned back up and took a step away from the bed. "One of the problems with rib injuries is the risk of pneumonia from not breathing properly. It may hurt some, but you need to deep breathe as often as possible. Place a pillow or something against your chest, hold it snug and it won't hurt as badly. Alright?"
I nodded. Whatever.
The doctor looked at Jeremy, sizing him up. My only friend in this world was almost six feet tall and geek lean. His well-cut, gleaming mahogany-red hair was stylish - longer in front than in back and he was dressed in an actually suit and tie - in every way just so different from me - that the doctor had be wondering what the connection was. If he had seen any part of our embrace, he would wonder on that, also.
Jeremy knew he had to go. I knew it, too. I wondered if I would ever get to kiss him again. To really kiss him, deep and long and hold him close for a week without letting go. The ache for it was almost unbearable.
Jeremy came close, his hand closed over mine, and he stroked the top of it with his fingertips. "I'll be back," he said.
I nodded, whispered. "Jeremy?"
I couldn't have put into words what I was thinking. It had to do with abandonment and my own faithlessness in this world. He looked at me with those soft, blue eyes of his. He nodded. He understood.
We squeezed hands all too briefly, and then he was gone and I was consumed with grief and yet, I was stronger, too. I can't explain it. But suicide was no longer an option. My mind worked furiously as the doctor summoned a guard and they wheeled my bed back into the larger room. There, I spent the rest of the night, deep in thought.
Morning came, and I was ready for it. Jeremy and his stepfather would help me, if there any possible way to. That certainty had cemented itself into my mind.
Meanwhile, I had to survive in here, and that meant making a bold step in a direction I would never have thought myself capable of. I had one more day, I thought, to figure everything out. As it turned out, I didn't. That afternoon the doctor released me, saying that twenty-four hours had been enough time for him to be almost certain I had no neurological damage. Almost certain, thanks for nothing, doc. I wonder how he would have enjoyed worrying about what it would feel like to have Monster bouncing on him if he had cracked ribs. I didn't argue with him, I didn't complain. What would the point have been? I had to help myself.
I did not return to the GP like the beaten dog I think they expected me to be. Stiff and sore, I nevertheless walked straight, if slow.
In the going on three months that I had been here I had learned quite a bit about who was who. So, at supper that night, I didn't sit by myself, as I usually do. Instead I went right for the top dog. Treye DeLucca. Murderer, drug smuggler and con artist extraordinare. That was what I heard, anyway, but how extraordinary could he be if he was in this place?
Didn't matter. He had connections like none other, and money up the ying yang. Even the guards left him completely alone. He had a few followers, hand-picked prisoner elites to keep him company. It was also said that he could have anyone murdered, in or out of here. He and his small group had a table to themselves at meals, so it was private and off limits, but I didn't let that stop me.
I took my tray and headed over and before any of them could say a word, I plunked down opposite Treye. I didn't glance left or right at any of the others. I pinned Treye down with my eyes. Not disrespectful, just direct.
"Private table, idiot, get lost," one his stooges said. I ignored him. I felt a hand on my shoulder, I shrugged it off, not taking my eyes from Treye's. Just as I'd hoped, I had his attention.
He put a hand up to his cronies. He looked at me patiently. "What can I do for you?"
"Protection," I answered. To try to con him in any way, to not be totally honest would have been a huge mistake. I knew many guys like him. Small time, maybe, in comparison, but the egos work the same.
"It looks as if you asked too late, kid," he smirked a little.
"I did. Because I never ask for anything from anyone. I've got an attitude problem. But the low life in here, I underestimated them. My lawyer's working on getting me out of here. But until then, I offer you my services. And if I am not the best you ever had, in every single way, I'll be quite easy to get rid of, won't I?"
"You ain't leaving here, kid, we all got lawyers working on appeals. Some of us have for decades. Don't mean shit," a man to the left of me said. I totally ignored him.
"What if I asked you to do me a favor if you did manage to get out?" Treye asked, softly.
"It would depend on the favor. But I pay my debts."
He understood, without us going into detail. I was not stupid, the silence said. I had set an invisible line, and I would keep that line. But I would also not forget what I owed him. I was putting my life up if I did forget.
"Cop killers I have nothing against. I don't have much use for pretty little sluts," came Treye's next test.
"I do what I have to. I don't care who likes it. Pretty little sluts, with some talent, can keep you very warm on cold, lonely nights," I told him. I was not offended. He and I both knew, and lived with, the truth.
"You kill that cop?" he asked.
"Nope."
"How'd they get you for it, then?"
"Circumstance. Past record. I was born unlucky. I'll give you all the details, alone some night, if you're interested," I smiled at him.
"How does tonight sound?" Treye asked, and I didn't flinch. I let out my breath with relief, and nodded.
"It sounds perfect."
"If the lights go out, and you're not with me, don't come around anymore," he told me.
All that meant was he would check me out, and he would make sure my price was not too high. That was fine with me. I knew it wasn't, not for a cop killer. I was as safe as possible. Now it was all up to Jeremy.
I nodded. I got up and went to sit back at one of the other tables. Monster, the fucking possessive freak, joined me. He sat down close, right up against me. "You just can't behave, can you Dylan? I need to teach you another lesson already. Tonight, baby, will have to be really fucking rough. Sorry. You must like pain almost as much as I like giving it to you."
"Gee. Did I make it that obvious, big guy?" I asked, sweetly.
He was breathing like a mad bull, glaring at me, at the mere thought of the fun he was going to have, I guess. Or maybe he was angry because I wasn't begging and shaking and asking for mercy. He pressed to me harder, and I ignored him. Thank fucking God I was out of his hands. We were herded back shortly after, and I climbed into my bunk over his, and I waited. So did Monster.
Last roll call came before lock down. I admit, I was nervous by then. But it came, my reprieve. One of the guards walked down the row of us and when he got to me he said, "You. Out of line."
I stepped forward. I wanted so badly to watch Monster's face as I was taken away from him. Oh, man, I'd have given a lot to see it. But it would have been petty and I was Treye's property. I had to stand up straight and remain expressionless.
"Reassignment," the guard said, looking at the clipboard in his hand. "Follow me."
It was on the other end that I was taken. Treye's cell, it had a desk and a whole lot of other stuff, too. Like blankets that looked new and warm, posters and shelves on the wall. I went inside and stood there by the door, as the cell block locked down and the lights went off. Treye went to his desk and switched on a small battery lantern. It just glowed enough to see the room fairly well. I took a better look at him, not too displeased. Treye was not bad looking, really, and he was clean and in decent shape. Probably mid to late thirties, clean shaven with thinning hair.
"Make yourself comfortable, Dylan," he smiled. My show of respect, of not moving until invited had impressed him. But I had a whole lot more impressing to do. I hoped I was up to it. I fucking had to be.
"I don't know what it is about you I like," he went on. "I decided to find out."
"Thank you," I answered.
"I'm not sure you realize what you asked for, Dylan."
"I'm not experienced, if that's what you mean. But how could you look at me and think I don't know?"
"What I mean is, I don't get the impression that you get off on being a victim," he explained. "Some guys do."
"Whether or not I like it never crossed my mind. Or that it matters to anyone."
"Hey, relax," Treye said. "It is my hope that you and I will be friends. Sit down. How badly are you injured?"
"Nothing I can't handle." I sat down on his bed, grimacing at the spasm of pain in my ribs. Treye joined me. I immediately scooted off the bed and eased down to my knees, parting his legs and kneeling between. I slowly worked his fly open, and he just stayed as he was, watching me. I looked up.
"We can get along, I have no doubts of that, Mr. DeLucca. But let's not bother to call this friendship."
"Dylan, have you a lover? A girlfriend or anything?"
No, I shook my head. "Only the wish of something that can never be..." I swallowed hard. "Not if I remain in here."
"We can speak more about that later," Treye said.
Time to earn my keep. I pulled his cock from his pants. My fingers trembled slightly, and I lowered my mouth onto it with just the briefest of hesitations. It was soft, but grew harder almost instantly as his breath hissed in and his body gave a jolt. It was no where near the size of Monster's, so that made this much fucking easier. I rolled my tongue around on it, licked it and as it grew, I pulled it right to the back of my mouth with suction. I drew closer and settled myself back on my heels.
I was going to be the best, just as I promised, and that meant I would be in this position for awhile. I worked on Treye, bringing him close and then backing off, over and over. I fondled his balls and he rested further back so I could get to the back of them and even beyond. There was no where that my mouth and my hands didn't touch and explore.
When he could stand it no longer, and his fingers rested in and caressed my hair, I dove on and off him, deep throating him until he tightened right up and his hand dropped back to the bed to hold him. His orgasm was long and I swallowed all of it down. I very gently licked him clean and put everything back inside his loose pants. He sat up.
"Turn off the light, would you? And come to bed," he said, and he smiled at me.
I got stiffly up, and did what he told me. Then he added, "There's drinks in that cooler over there, Dylan. Soda and shit. Help yourself."
The unexpected kindness of that touched me. Not many ever gave what I might feel a second thought. The taste in my mouth could surely use some rinsing, and my meager belongings, toothbrush and all were still locked in with Monster. I took a Coke from the cooler and wondered who kept it stocked for him. I drank half of it down without stopping, and then gulped most of the rest before putting the can on the desk. I didn't want to keep him waiting.
The top bunk was piled with Treye's belongings, so I assumed he wanted me with him. I was about to be fucked, but I was in no shape for it. Neither did I have condoms or lube, did I dare ask him to go easy? I said nothing as I stripped off my clothes and then carefully climbed into the bed with him. He moved over, almost as if surprised, and I stroked his chest, and down his sides. He settled down and sighed contentedly.
"I may just keep you," he whispered, and he lightly kissed my mouth. "Not bad, kid."
He closed his eyes, and I watched him a minute, stunned that I wasn't going to be used. Strangely, I was comforted by his closeness, even more so when he flung a blanket over me. I turned my back to him and moved to the very edge of the mattress to be sure he had enough room, feeling warm and safe. I thought about Jeremy, wondering if he snored or drooled, hoping I had the chance to find out.
Eventually, I closed my eyes and joined Treye in sleep.
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Leaving Dylan had never been more difficult. In fact, it was heartbreaking thinking of what he would live with before I could free him. I touched my lips where his mouth had seared mine, while driving home that night, many times.
So now that I had admitted what I was and what I felt to Dylan and to myself, it was time to tell my mother. And, I thought with some dread, my stepfather. I loved him. I didn't want to disappoint him.
I found my mother up when I got home, curled in the recliner in the living room. She sat up.
"Is Dylan all right?" she asked.
I sat on the corner of the sofa, close. I played with my hands, and kept my eyes on them. "Someone beat him up, Ma. Badly, too. I never really got the story. He and I... we were too busy talking about other things."
"Oh?"
"Ma, I just have to get him out of there!" I exclaimed, looking at her. "He's innocent!"
"Your father did all he could," she said gently.
"I know he did, but dad did it thinking he was guilty. Looking for ways to keep him from receiving the death sentence is not the same as proving his innocence. If he didn't do it, there has to be some way to prove it. I plan to start going over everything tomorrow."
"Well," my mother said, slapping her hands on her knees. "It certainly can't hurt to try. If I can help in any way..."
"Ma?" I took a very, very long breath. "I'm in love with him."
She kept cool, she was silent for a minute and then she shrugged. "He is a very lucky boy, then."
I smiled, then got up and hugged her. "What do you think dad will say?"
She laughed, softly. "Not much would be my guess."
"Yeah. Thanks," I told her as I kissed her good-night.
I made my way to my bedroom, and for the very first time, it didn't look special in any way. It just looked lonely.
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Back* * *Next
I wish I could have just kept sleeping forever and ever.
Instead, I woke up in prison to the sound of heavy breathing and hands pawing at me. Sore as all get out and next to a man called Monster, the one now doing the manhandling. How much worse can life get?
My new cell mate was rolling me over and dragging me closer, placing me where ever he wanted to. I was like a fucking rag doll in his hands. I was murmuring in protest, but I woke completely when he heaved a leg up over me, and I realized his intentions. Panicked, I pulled back, and scrambled to get my hands and knees under me.
"Wait," I squeaked. "I gotta piss really bad."
"You'll have to hold it," Monster said with lust thick in his voice, pushing me firmly back down. "I got a hardon needs some loving, first, boy."
Some loving? God, he was such a total fucking hick, and yet... he had me. I thought about screaming. Then decided, fuck it, it would only draw attention to the fact that I was the prison whore to the biggest, dumbest inmate here. No one would help me. It was more likely that the poor excuses for guards would stop to watch the show, for it had to be a laughable sight, the two of us. I was a tricycle about get run over by a semi. I braced my three little wheels and prepared for the impact.
It took him two more heaves, and then he was on my back, literally, rubbing his cock painfully up and down against my lower spine. It was hard all right, it felt like a rock- as in it hurt - and then he just let his weight fall and flatten me to the bed. Uhhh, fuck. He liked doing that, the bastard. On the outside, I'd have bested this lumbering beast easy. In here - I was his pet, his toy and he threw his weight around to make that very clear.
I probably could've begged him to take it slow, you know, granted him his power and chances are he would have, to some extent. I should have, but groveling wasn't in my nature, not yet. I was shaking like a fucking leaf though, as he worked his body down, prodding, and as he got closer to his ultimate goal, I wished I would just pass out from lack of air. No such luck, I felt it when he entered... it was white hot agony, and if I could've breathed, the scream I let out would not have been silent. I bit the mattress, hard, and struggled, but he seized my wrists and held them down. It hurt just as bad as it had the night before. I was injured, but he didn't care, he just fucked me for awhile anyway. Then he got up on his knees, turned me over and flopped back down like I was just a mattress for him to rest on. Big, wet lips covered my mouth, and his tongue plunged inside, while his hands lifted my legs and he shoved his cock back inside. My head tossed back and forth, my hands pushed on him, but there was no escaping his grip or his cock. For awhile I was leisurely fucked and savagely kissed and soundly crushed and I thought I might die of it. I hoped I would. No shit, I wanted to.
Monster crooned on and on to me, like we were lovers, "So good, baby, so good," and, "can you feel it, baby, how horny you make me? You're just so be-oo-uttiful."
I hated him for that. I would rather he hit me, it would have been kinder and less humiliating, but maybe, that was the point being driven home. I stayed silent.
As he grew close to orgasm, pounding away furiously on me, he once again got loud. He was groaning and grunting and calling my name as the bed once more rocked into the wall with every brutal stroke of his, echoing loudly for all to hear. That was when I started crying again, not from pain, but with fury and frustration. He got his rocks off with my body, and it was disgusting and degrading and he just had to make sure the whole cellblock heard. He drooled on me, for fucks sake. I couldn't breathe for awhile, as he climaxed, that's how hard he pressed down, and it just wasn't necessary. He had proven already that he could what he wanted, this was just rubbing my nose in it and my patience ran out. When he finally lifted his head, I got an arm free and I struck him full in the face. It wasn't much of a blow, not in the position I was in, but I saw a thin line of blood run from one of his nostrils, and I was satisfied. Okay, God, I can die now.
He actually looked wounded, his stupid eyes stared down with surprise while I gasped for air. I couldn't speak yet, but I mouthed 'fucking pig' and I think he understood. I wanted him to. Think I'm crazy? Maybe, but at least if he fucked me mad, I could deal with it easier. It was that, or bow down to him. Those were my only choices.
I was in so much pain already, I didn't think I'd be able to walk. So I guess I was grateful that Monster didn't start punching me. Instead, one of his hands closed on my throat, but not hard enough to choke me, just for effect. However, his words did what his grip didn't.
"It's okay, baby," he said, almost apologetically. "I understand. I'm not pretty like you. But you could enjoy it, if you let yourself and you quit with the attitude. Lots of guys in here probably think you're worth a fuck, Dylan. I guess you'll find out, since I'm giving anyone who wants you permission to take you. Tonight, I think I'll try out your mouth. Now, go piss and clean up, and get some rest. You're gonna need it."
He let me go. I crawled off the bed, and believe me, it wasn't easy getting my legs to hold me up. I saw the blood on the mattress, as I tried to straighten. I held to the corner of the top bunk, wobbling, looking at the mess.
"That's what you want me to get used to and fucking enjoy? You're nothing but a rapist, a fat, stupid perverted rapist. I ain't groveling to you."
Monster laughed. "Who asked you to, you cop killing delinquent. Cop killers don't usually last very long in here. You're so fucking hated by the guards I could cut you into little pieces and they wouldn't do nothing to stop me."
I hadn't thought of that, I guess because I wasn't a cop killer. But yeah. I was in more trouble than I thought. I gingerly made my way to the john and then the sink. I pulled clothes on and waited for roll call, standing and leaning on the radiator. I didn't want to test sitting down yet. I kept a wary eye on Monster, who ignored me.
Just as I thought. I got much more attention than usual, many more eyes on me, and the guy next to me, nudged me. "Listening to that porker ram you all night got me off," he confided. I stiffened, and I almost jumped him. I kept control. I couldn't cause trouble, not if I wanted to see the warden.
I glared. I hated all of them. I tried to walk normally, and trust me it hurt to try, all the way to the cafeteria. I sat down gingerly and ate without tasting it, and without looking up. Every laugh, every snigger I heard I was sure was about me. Maybe they weren't, but I blushed anyway, at all of them. I finished, put my tray up and then made my way to the guard who looked the friendliest.
"Sir," I said very sweetly. Okay, so a slight bit of ass kissing couldn't hurt at this point. "I need to speak with the warden. And I need to place an important phone call."
"Do you," he nodded his head. "Not so cocky today, are you, Dylan? What's the matter, boy? Your new roommate snore too loud or something?"
"Please sir, it's very important."
"I'll tell you, boy. It's Friday, which means the warden's too busy to see inmates. Then of course, there's the weekend when he doesn't work, and he's taking the day off Monday. Tuesday, he'll be busy, as well, catching up. I would say I could get you in to see him on Wednesday. Thursday at the latest. How's that, punk?"
He looked at me, feigning an innocent expression. Despair threatened to strangle me. I took a deep breath. I nodded. "Yes sir. That's fine. About the phone call...?"
"Well, you know, I'd have to check with the warden regarding your privileges. I will remember to do that, too, next Wednesday."
"Please, sir," I whispered. Fuck, I had finally stooped to begging.
"I won't forget, Dylan. Don't worry."
Fuck. I felt like crying again, it was an unwelcome sting behind my eyes. In two days I've had that urge more than the whole two years before. I was breaking. What would I fucking be by Wednesday?
I looked at the guard. His eyes bore into me, the corner of his mouth turned up slightly. And he was one of the least heartless bastards. There was nothing I could do. I had to hold on for five more days, and hope he kept his word.
Five days. Little did I know they would be the hardest five days of my life. I guess I should've known.
Monster kept his promise. He herded me around, he was my shadow, but not my protector. He handed me over to the other prisoners, and kept watch while they fucked me. Against walls, over tables and on the floor I accommodated cocks in both ends and I did whatever they told me to. I tried to fight at first. I didn't stand a chance, I was gut-punched and strangled into submission until I was the perfect whore. I had learned to suck cock, too, that night, with Monster's beefy hands clenched in my hair. Monster wasn't totally satisfied with my performance, though, and he made me suck him for hours before climbing on top of me and fucking anyway.
Of course, after five days, I was a pro at it. Well, a pro at not choking to death.
Those days did pass. I was not in very good condition by Wednesday, as you might imagine. I could barely think straight, never mind speak when I was dragged in to see the warden.
Warden Danvers was actually a jolly looking fellow, if you didn't search his eyes too deep. He lectured me for awhile, all about right and wrong decisions in life, before he would even hear what I wanted to say. It was simply to torment me, and I knew he hated me. Well, the feeling was mutual. Sort of. I didn't really feel hate anymore, I didn't really feel much of anything, except tired.
"Sir," I finally said. I was actually getting used to the word. "I wonder if I could request a cell change."
"Sorry, no. Out of the question. Anything else?"
I felt tears. Damn it, I could feel. Sadness, anyway. I had somehow held it back for five days. But the fucking warden didn't even give my desperate request two seconds of his thought. I took a deep breath. "Please, sir."
"You may go, Dylan," he excused me.
"Wait. I need to make a phone call."
It was not all that different from being raped when he came around his desk, and said. "You mean, you humbly request to make a phone call."
"Yes, sir," I closed my eyes. "I humbly request."
"That's better. You're learning, boy. Fine. You'll need money for the pay phone. I'll tell the guard to bring you to your cell to get some, and then you may make your call."
I had had a little money coming in here, but it had long ago been taken, along with my cigarettes. "I have no money, sir."
"Oh? Well, when you do, come back to see me. I'm sure there will be no problem giving you permission, as long as you cause no trouble and make another humble request."
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Sounding like a whiny little kid, and angry, I sputtered, "You can't do that! I need to speak with my lawyer! I've waited a week already, and if you don't figure out a way for me to contact him, I'll report this. I know my rights."
"Well, well. The little cop murderer knows his rights. If it was up to me, you'd have none at all. You don't deserve any. But go ahead, make your call, you can use my phone."
"It's private," I told him as I took the phone from his hand.
"It's either me, or a guard babysits you, Dylan. Your choice."
I nodded in defeat, and I dialed the Chase's number. A woman answered. I recognized her voice. Jeremy's mother, and for a minute my heart was in my throat. "Mrs. Chase," I said softly, not caring about the tears that sprang forth and began falling steadily. There was no answer, I thought she hadn't heard me, but then she said, just as softly, "Dylan?"
"Yes, it's me," I closed my eyes, again. I loved her. I missed her, she was one of the only good things I knew of in the world, besides her son of course. I swallowed. "Is Jeremy home?"
"Yes. I'll get him for you," she answered. "Dylan, are you all right?"
"No. Not very much, not at the moment."
"Dylan, I'm sorry." And I knew the words meant that she was sorry for everything, for not being able to save me. She had told me this before, with her arms around me, when I was just a little kid. I felt like one now.
"I know," I whispered. "It's not your fault."
"You were always a good boy," she said fondly. "I'll get Jeremy. He'll help you. Hold on."
I cried, actually sobbed, my shoulders fucking shook. The warden shuffled through his papers, but when I glanced at him, I could see he was smiling, enjoying my misery.
"Dylan!" Jeremy greeted me. "What's up buddy. I miss you."
I clenched my fist, driving fingernails into the skin to focus and be able to speak. "Jeremy, I can't really talk, but I need help. Seriously. I don't know if your father can do anything, or not."
"What is it?" he asked, concerned.
"I can't talk. I need him to call me or come here or something. I'm in trouble."
He didn't hesitate. "Okay. Hold on. We'll be there," he said and I loved him for that, for not even having to think about it. "Can I bring you anything?"
"No, no, just..."
"Okay. See you soon," he said, and he hung up. I put the phone down gently.
"Thank you, sir," I said to the warden.
He waved his hand at me in dismissal, and I walked out to where the guard was by the door. It was almost lunch time, and I actually felt hungry. I wiped my face and joined the cell block, not scared now. But I should have been.
After lunch, and after some time in the pitiful excuse for an exercise yard, I was herded to the showers. As always, Monster was on my tail. But then something strange happened. The guard left and the door shut. I looked around. There were eight of them, counting my huge shadow, all facing me and coming closer. Oh, no.
"You gonna tell your lawyer what we done to you, boy? Go ahead, cuz that ain't nothing compared to what we WILL do to ya," one of them said.
So much for a private phone call. I backed up. "Look, I won't say anything."
"I dunno if we believe you, do we?" The man looked around at the others.
They all shook their heads. I went to Monster's side, quickly. "I'm sorry," I pleaded to him. "I need your protection."
He scoffed. "Earn it, Dylan. First, you're gonna have the living fuck beat out of you."
Monster threw me to the wall, and they were on me. I fought with all I had, but I was weak these days and there were eight of them, all bigger than me. Most, way bigger. I went down and I stayed down. And even when I was just cowering, and trying to protect myself, they kept at me. Monster fell with one knee and all that weight onto my ribs, and the world went red, and then one of them kicked my mouth and the side of my head and it all went black.
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I arrived at the prison, alone. I decided not to get my step-father involved until I knew what was going on. I was dreading going inside and yet... there was this expectation. Seeing Dylan, just the thought of it did something to me. I didn't want to think about what. I sort of knew. I just didn't know how I felt about it yet.
Going through the entire prison visitor routine is far from anyone's idea of fun. I will not bother with the details of how molested I got. It was only then, after I checked out, that I was told what happened. Dylan was in the infirmary, and the guard led me there, to a special room I guess they put patients in who have visitors.
Dylan lay there, pale and bruised and sleeping. The doctor informed me that he wasn't asleep, that he hadn't regained consciousness since the attack. I kept swallowing hard as he gave me a few more details than the guard had. His ribs were cracked, all of them on one side as if someone had tried to cave his chest in, he had a concussion and he'd been raped, numerous times, I was informed. Then the doctor told me I could stay, and to let him know if Dylan woke.
I drew up a chair to sit by the bed. I took hold of Dylan's hand. It was cold and I looked at it. He must have fought like a demon, his knuckles were black with blood and bruises, swollen. I saw then that so was his wrist. His face was a mess, battered, and he still looked... hot. Wild, I guess, which is how I always thought of him. Untamable. I sighed. Dylan was too goddamn good looking for his own good.
"I'm here," I told him, thinking it sounded stupid, I had gotten here too late, after all. Better maybe if I didn't say anything. He didn't move and I rested against the bed, with Dylan's hand in my own, to wait.
I was dead tired by evening, and the lights being on made no sense, we were the only ones there in the room. I was about to find out how wrong I was, about the sense of it, as I got up and switched them off. My movements, settling back in the chair and putting my head down on the bed must have woken Dylan, for no sooner had I relaxed when I heard the slight rustle of the sheets and his breath get ragged.
I couldn't really see him, just an outline, that's how dark it was, but I moved my legs up to get in the bed beside him, slowly. His head tossed side to side, and he coughed weakly. I put a hand on his shoulder, to offer comfort, and Dylan sobbed a breath out, trembling under my hand.
"Please," he whispered, the sound was dry and so weak. "Please, don't... please don't-" He turned his head to me, I could see that his eyes were tightly closed, though and now his whole body was shaking badly. "Please," he pleaded again in a frightened, hollow voice. "I can use my mouth... you liked it, you said and I'll do better this time, please, baby, please don't hurt me..."
"Dylan, are you awake?" I asked as calmly as I could, trying not to think about what all of that meant. Maybe he was delirious.
Dylan's eyes opened, and I do mean wide. He stopped breathing completely for long seconds as he stared, and then barely audible, he croaked, "Jeremy? How... am I...dreamin'- how can it be you?"
"You called me, remember? I got here as soon as I could, but not soon enough. You're in the infirmary. They let me stay until you woke up. I think they forgot I was here or something."
"Jeremy," Dylan said, in disbelief. "I didn't do it... I never hurt anyone," he cried forlornly. We had already been through this during the trial - more than once. Then I remembered he had a concussion, and I held his hand again. He clasped on.
"Shh, I know, I know. I always knew," I answered softly.
"Jeremy, I need help. They're gonna kill me."
He eased himself into my arms and I embraced him like one would a child. My hand was in his unruly hair, combing it from his face with my fingers as gently as I could. He still shivered, and he still took ragged, shallow breaths. I just held him. I didn't know what to do, or what to say. We were both quiet, until many minutes later when I felt him stiffen.
"Is your father here?" he asked anxiously. "Did he come with you?"
"No, I-- he's always busy and I thought that first I could see what was going on-" I stammered, realizing I had made a major mistake, too late.
Dylan's body pulled back from me. I felt a spasm of pain jerk him in protest, but that only seemed to make him more determined. On his back, his eyes on the ceiling, he spoke again with anguish tearing at his voice.
"There's nothing you can do. I shouldn't have bothered you. Best that you leave and don't come back."
"I can't. I won't," I told him, not sure myself what I meant. Just, I know him and this was scaring me, his giving up and the haunted look in his eyes. Dylan had suicide on his mind.
Not to mention, he had felt so good in my arms, and despite everything, I had been aroused by his closeness. I wanted it back. I had convinced myself that I had everything I needed, that my new life was perfect, but I didn't have this.
"Dylan..."
"Don't do this to me. Let me die in fucking peace," he whispered.
"No."
He looked at me and shook his head. "Go, for fucks sake, don't make me hit you. You want to know everything, you smug, rich bastard?" he turned some toward me, gritting his teeth. "I love you. There, I said it. I love you, and I'm a fucking pervert and a whore and get the fuck out!"
Dylan choked, his arms went around his ribs in pain while I snarled back. "Not a chance, now, that I'm leaving. I'm sorry I didn't bring my step-father, I'm sorry for being stupid. But I'm not sorry that I love you back. You're a prick, Dylan, and a fucking crazy one, but you're innocent and I won't leave you here. I'm going to find a way to prove you didn't kill that cop. I'll go over every single word of the transcripts, I'll talk to every single one of the witnesses, and anyone else I can think of. There has to be a way--some way, and I won't stop until I find it. Now, yell, swear what-fucking-ever you want, because you're stuck with me."
"Don't you understand? Didn't you hear me?" he asked quietly. "I'm a total fuck-up. And I dream about touching you, Jeremy, kissing you and all of it. I'm a fucking pitiful excuse for a friend. And the first chance I get I'm killing myself. That's the only way out I have, asshole. That's always been my only way out, only I was too stupid to see it."
"Dylan, that's not true," I bit my lip, and then surged ahead. "You didn't hear me. I'm in love with you, too."
"Don't," he said in anguish, "just don't."
I looked into his eyes, and saw my life reflecting. "I mean it, Dylan. I never told anyone this before. It feels... good to say it, to just say it and not hide anymore."
I could see that I'd softened him with the sheer shock of it. Emotion warred on his face, but he wasn't that easy, not at the moment. I laughed very softly, said; "Yeah. So what, right? Doesn't matter? Too late?"
I had anticipated what he was going to say, so I had said it for him, leaving him lying there mute, with his mouth open. I put my hands on his shoulders, shook him just a little. "I'm getting you out of here. Then, I'm having my wicked way with you. Get used to the idea."
His brow crinkled up. His lips started quivering, as his eyes shone with tears. I'd gotten through. I could see him more clearly now that my eyes had adjusted to the darkness and it was very satisfying. I had never had the last word with him before. It had taken coming out to do it, but what the hell. Had to happen sometime.
"Dylan. We always knew. All this time, I've never been able to stop thinking about you. And sorry to say, I've fucking tried."
His spurt of laughter was refreshingly Dylan-like. "You asshole. Not that I blame you. Get me out of here?"
"That's the plan. I may not like it, but I love you, Dylan and I'm done fighting it."
"'Bout fucking time," he said, and I finished the sentence for him, all about how he'd never have deserted me so I ended up like this.
"I'm sorry."
"Yeah, well. Once I'm free, maybe I'll believe it," he told me gruffly, but his eyes were soft and warm.
I couldn't think of an answer, so I embraced him, and he let me. He was still shaky, and it took quite awhile for him to calm down. As I snuggled him close against my chest, I thought that as much as I loved his spirit, this slightly humbled version of him was nice, also.
I knew he had been through a lot, I know he was beaten and raped, and I wasn't very certain that I could do anything to prevent it from happening again. It would take time to do what I'd promised him, if it was even possible. They had broken him, I knew that too, now. In two short months this place had done what the world had never managed to do. It hurt to think about. But practical matters had to be addressed.
I whispered in his ear. "Listen, Dylan, do what you have to do to survive, it doesn't mean anything. This place is a fucking joke, full of animals you wouldn't give the time of day to outside of here. They need bars and guards and gangs to win, to me that's not winning anything. They can't have you, Dylan, not in any way that matters. Let them touch you, and know they can never touch you, got it?"
He pressed to me harder, trembling. He nodded. "I know," then he slowed his breathing, to ask, "You really love me?"
"Yeah. You really okay with it?"
"It's just strange, is all. I wonder if our childhoods had anything to do with it. That we are both... " he gulped, "...gay."
"Hard to say that word, isn't it. Damn. Fuck the world for making it hard. You ever been with anyone?" I asked, added, "This place doesn't count."
"No. You?"
"No. I ignored the whole thing. I forced myself to look at girls, made a show of it in front of people. And tore my eyes off any guy I had the urge to look at. I did notice one thing. The only ones who made me want to look twice, looked a hella lot like you."
Dylan took a long, shaky breath, and tried to smile, wincing and putting his hand to his bruised mouth. "Ouch. Jeremy. Get me out of here. Fast."
The faith he had in me was, well, for him, astonishing. This boy trusted nothing and no one, except for me. I had to manage somehow not to let him down. For both our sake's. I said, "As fast as I can. Just promise me one thing."
His eyebrows raised in question.
"That you'll never call me 'baby'," I answered.
Dylan managed a very weak laugh. "I won't, sweetie-pies darlin' hunny-bunny. I promise."
And we both laughed, and we hugged again carefully tight, and we both had much to get through before this was over and we knew it and I wanted so badly to kiss him, but it would wait, I thought.
But then, Dylan's hands gently took my face, and his torn lips pressed every so softly to mine and I think I shivered worse than he had.
And then, before I could even adjust to the touch of his mouth on mine, the door opened and the overhead light flicked annoyingly on.
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Would I never get the chance to stop cursing my luck? Just as I got up the nerve to kiss Jeremy, a doctor walked in and switched on the lights. Those few seconds of touching him in that intimate way, our lips just barely meeting, would be a memory I would keep all of my days. I guess, in some ways, I am sentimental...
Or maybe, it was just how torn apart I felt. Unfocused. Part of me really did want to die, and although I had not formed a plan for suicide yet, it had been right up there in my mind. Now, I had this, too. I had felt that brief, gentle kiss rip right through me. It wasn't passion, that would have been fucking difficult in my current state, no, it was desperation that drove me to it. I needed him to know how I felt. But... Jeremy loved me? In that way? Me?
Sometimes, I do remember him looking at me. Just staring at me, like he was puzzled, but we were thirteen, fourteen, then. I would just grin and say 'what?' He never had an answer. Thinking back, we were so close, him and I, like brothers I had thought. During the long trial when he stared I thought it was just with sympathy. Maybe, partly with disdain. I wasn't sure what he thought of me when everything came out, such as my arrests and the time I spent in juvy and on probation. I imagined he thought he was lucky not to be associated with me anymore. Maybe I had been wrong. I guess I had been. I'm wrong too fucking much in this life.
Truthfully, I never put it together, not back when we were kids. I didn't know that what I felt for him wasn't just what all brothers felt. I had no brothers, or sisters, either, so what did I know? Love comes in many forms. One of the forms it took for me was the day I let go of him. The day I found my way to his new home because I was so lost without him. He didn't hardly even greet me that day. He didn't need me, anymore. By the looks of him and the house he lived in, I was probably an embarrassment. When I realized that, I told him I was running away. It wasn't a lie. I was running from him and my almost obsessive craving for him. Just for his company, damn it.
I had gone to school with him for years. His mother made him go, mine couldn't of cared any less, either way, what I did. I went, and I signed my own reports because we had no mailing address and I kept out of trouble so no one at the school would feel a greater urge to try to contact her. I did not want her attention on me any more than necessary, that attention had a way of being violent.
After seeing Jeremy that day in his big house, clean and so not glad to see me, I dropped out. I never went back. I did other things, things I'm not proud of. And I made no more friends. Fuck that.
At school, he and I had been outcasts. Kids were always making remarks about the tattered, dusty clothes we wore, our questionable lineage, and whatever else they could think of to stomp on our feelings. We ignored it, shrugged it off, after all we had each other. We had both been stomped on by the best way before ever going to school and had no expectations. Just going to school with Jeremy seemed like enough for me to be thankful for without any perks.
It was just the life we led. And I never allowed the harassment to become violent. The very few times it had been attempted, Jeremy had gotten scared and that infuriated me. I not only went after, and took out whichever of the assholes was biggest, but I threatened them with revenge that would make a mafia hit man proud. Jeremy of course, backed me up and eventually, we were left alone. It didn't matter to me, none of it did. And then, with barely any notice, Jeremy was gone.
The car with the U-Haul had taken him away. I had stumbled in shock to the steps of his little abandoned trailer and hadn't moved much for many days.
The memory made me reach for him, almost desperately I touched his arm. The doctor joined us.
"I was just coming to check on my patient before going home," the doctor said, his eyes on Jeremy who had sat up quickly. "I didn't realize you were still here."
"My client only woke up a few minutes ago," Jeremy answered, lamely. I was his father's client, not his, anyone could see that he was too young to be a full-fledged attorney yet.
"He needs to be wheeled back to primary care. And I have orders to return him to the GP as soon as possible."
"What's the GP?" Jeremy asked, standing up. I saw his hand go to his mouth, briefly. I wondered if he was thinking of the kiss. I can hope, can't I?
"General population," I whispered to him.
He nodded and asked the doctor, "I don't think he's in any condition to go back there. It's too dangerous. And what's been done to the ones who did this to him?"
"I don't have your answers. You'll need to speak with the warden. He'll be in here for another day or so before I can release him with a clear conscious. I'm sure that the guards will be informed to keep an eye on him," the doctor said. He came to the bedside, adjusting his stethoscope into his ears and leaning over to place the cold end to my chest.
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
I wanted to laugh. "Crappy," I answered.
"Take a deep breath."
That wasn't possible, I shook my head.
He leaned back up and took a step away from the bed. "One of the problems with rib injuries is the risk of pneumonia from not breathing properly. It may hurt some, but you need to deep breathe as often as possible. Place a pillow or something against your chest, hold it snug and it won't hurt as badly. Alright?"
I nodded. Whatever.
The doctor looked at Jeremy, sizing him up. My only friend in this world was almost six feet tall and geek lean. His well-cut, gleaming mahogany-red hair was stylish - longer in front than in back and he was dressed in an actually suit and tie - in every way just so different from me - that the doctor had be wondering what the connection was. If he had seen any part of our embrace, he would wonder on that, also.
Jeremy knew he had to go. I knew it, too. I wondered if I would ever get to kiss him again. To really kiss him, deep and long and hold him close for a week without letting go. The ache for it was almost unbearable.
Jeremy came close, his hand closed over mine, and he stroked the top of it with his fingertips. "I'll be back," he said.
I nodded, whispered. "Jeremy?"
I couldn't have put into words what I was thinking. It had to do with abandonment and my own faithlessness in this world. He looked at me with those soft, blue eyes of his. He nodded. He understood.
We squeezed hands all too briefly, and then he was gone and I was consumed with grief and yet, I was stronger, too. I can't explain it. But suicide was no longer an option. My mind worked furiously as the doctor summoned a guard and they wheeled my bed back into the larger room. There, I spent the rest of the night, deep in thought.
Morning came, and I was ready for it. Jeremy and his stepfather would help me, if there any possible way to. That certainty had cemented itself into my mind.
Meanwhile, I had to survive in here, and that meant making a bold step in a direction I would never have thought myself capable of. I had one more day, I thought, to figure everything out. As it turned out, I didn't. That afternoon the doctor released me, saying that twenty-four hours had been enough time for him to be almost certain I had no neurological damage. Almost certain, thanks for nothing, doc. I wonder how he would have enjoyed worrying about what it would feel like to have Monster bouncing on him if he had cracked ribs. I didn't argue with him, I didn't complain. What would the point have been? I had to help myself.
I did not return to the GP like the beaten dog I think they expected me to be. Stiff and sore, I nevertheless walked straight, if slow.
In the going on three months that I had been here I had learned quite a bit about who was who. So, at supper that night, I didn't sit by myself, as I usually do. Instead I went right for the top dog. Treye DeLucca. Murderer, drug smuggler and con artist extraordinare. That was what I heard, anyway, but how extraordinary could he be if he was in this place?
Didn't matter. He had connections like none other, and money up the ying yang. Even the guards left him completely alone. He had a few followers, hand-picked prisoner elites to keep him company. It was also said that he could have anyone murdered, in or out of here. He and his small group had a table to themselves at meals, so it was private and off limits, but I didn't let that stop me.
I took my tray and headed over and before any of them could say a word, I plunked down opposite Treye. I didn't glance left or right at any of the others. I pinned Treye down with my eyes. Not disrespectful, just direct.
"Private table, idiot, get lost," one his stooges said. I ignored him. I felt a hand on my shoulder, I shrugged it off, not taking my eyes from Treye's. Just as I'd hoped, I had his attention.
He put a hand up to his cronies. He looked at me patiently. "What can I do for you?"
"Protection," I answered. To try to con him in any way, to not be totally honest would have been a huge mistake. I knew many guys like him. Small time, maybe, in comparison, but the egos work the same.
"It looks as if you asked too late, kid," he smirked a little.
"I did. Because I never ask for anything from anyone. I've got an attitude problem. But the low life in here, I underestimated them. My lawyer's working on getting me out of here. But until then, I offer you my services. And if I am not the best you ever had, in every single way, I'll be quite easy to get rid of, won't I?"
"You ain't leaving here, kid, we all got lawyers working on appeals. Some of us have for decades. Don't mean shit," a man to the left of me said. I totally ignored him.
"What if I asked you to do me a favor if you did manage to get out?" Treye asked, softly.
"It would depend on the favor. But I pay my debts."
He understood, without us going into detail. I was not stupid, the silence said. I had set an invisible line, and I would keep that line. But I would also not forget what I owed him. I was putting my life up if I did forget.
"Cop killers I have nothing against. I don't have much use for pretty little sluts," came Treye's next test.
"I do what I have to. I don't care who likes it. Pretty little sluts, with some talent, can keep you very warm on cold, lonely nights," I told him. I was not offended. He and I both knew, and lived with, the truth.
"You kill that cop?" he asked.
"Nope."
"How'd they get you for it, then?"
"Circumstance. Past record. I was born unlucky. I'll give you all the details, alone some night, if you're interested," I smiled at him.
"How does tonight sound?" Treye asked, and I didn't flinch. I let out my breath with relief, and nodded.
"It sounds perfect."
"If the lights go out, and you're not with me, don't come around anymore," he told me.
All that meant was he would check me out, and he would make sure my price was not too high. That was fine with me. I knew it wasn't, not for a cop killer. I was as safe as possible. Now it was all up to Jeremy.
I nodded. I got up and went to sit back at one of the other tables. Monster, the fucking possessive freak, joined me. He sat down close, right up against me. "You just can't behave, can you Dylan? I need to teach you another lesson already. Tonight, baby, will have to be really fucking rough. Sorry. You must like pain almost as much as I like giving it to you."
"Gee. Did I make it that obvious, big guy?" I asked, sweetly.
He was breathing like a mad bull, glaring at me, at the mere thought of the fun he was going to have, I guess. Or maybe he was angry because I wasn't begging and shaking and asking for mercy. He pressed to me harder, and I ignored him. Thank fucking God I was out of his hands. We were herded back shortly after, and I climbed into my bunk over his, and I waited. So did Monster.
Last roll call came before lock down. I admit, I was nervous by then. But it came, my reprieve. One of the guards walked down the row of us and when he got to me he said, "You. Out of line."
I stepped forward. I wanted so badly to watch Monster's face as I was taken away from him. Oh, man, I'd have given a lot to see it. But it would have been petty and I was Treye's property. I had to stand up straight and remain expressionless.
"Reassignment," the guard said, looking at the clipboard in his hand. "Follow me."
It was on the other end that I was taken. Treye's cell, it had a desk and a whole lot of other stuff, too. Like blankets that looked new and warm, posters and shelves on the wall. I went inside and stood there by the door, as the cell block locked down and the lights went off. Treye went to his desk and switched on a small battery lantern. It just glowed enough to see the room fairly well. I took a better look at him, not too displeased. Treye was not bad looking, really, and he was clean and in decent shape. Probably mid to late thirties, clean shaven with thinning hair.
"Make yourself comfortable, Dylan," he smiled. My show of respect, of not moving until invited had impressed him. But I had a whole lot more impressing to do. I hoped I was up to it. I fucking had to be.
"I don't know what it is about you I like," he went on. "I decided to find out."
"Thank you," I answered.
"I'm not sure you realize what you asked for, Dylan."
"I'm not experienced, if that's what you mean. But how could you look at me and think I don't know?"
"What I mean is, I don't get the impression that you get off on being a victim," he explained. "Some guys do."
"Whether or not I like it never crossed my mind. Or that it matters to anyone."
"Hey, relax," Treye said. "It is my hope that you and I will be friends. Sit down. How badly are you injured?"
"Nothing I can't handle." I sat down on his bed, grimacing at the spasm of pain in my ribs. Treye joined me. I immediately scooted off the bed and eased down to my knees, parting his legs and kneeling between. I slowly worked his fly open, and he just stayed as he was, watching me. I looked up.
"We can get along, I have no doubts of that, Mr. DeLucca. But let's not bother to call this friendship."
"Dylan, have you a lover? A girlfriend or anything?"
No, I shook my head. "Only the wish of something that can never be..." I swallowed hard. "Not if I remain in here."
"We can speak more about that later," Treye said.
Time to earn my keep. I pulled his cock from his pants. My fingers trembled slightly, and I lowered my mouth onto it with just the briefest of hesitations. It was soft, but grew harder almost instantly as his breath hissed in and his body gave a jolt. It was no where near the size of Monster's, so that made this much fucking easier. I rolled my tongue around on it, licked it and as it grew, I pulled it right to the back of my mouth with suction. I drew closer and settled myself back on my heels.
I was going to be the best, just as I promised, and that meant I would be in this position for awhile. I worked on Treye, bringing him close and then backing off, over and over. I fondled his balls and he rested further back so I could get to the back of them and even beyond. There was no where that my mouth and my hands didn't touch and explore.
When he could stand it no longer, and his fingers rested in and caressed my hair, I dove on and off him, deep throating him until he tightened right up and his hand dropped back to the bed to hold him. His orgasm was long and I swallowed all of it down. I very gently licked him clean and put everything back inside his loose pants. He sat up.
"Turn off the light, would you? And come to bed," he said, and he smiled at me.
I got stiffly up, and did what he told me. Then he added, "There's drinks in that cooler over there, Dylan. Soda and shit. Help yourself."
The unexpected kindness of that touched me. Not many ever gave what I might feel a second thought. The taste in my mouth could surely use some rinsing, and my meager belongings, toothbrush and all were still locked in with Monster. I took a Coke from the cooler and wondered who kept it stocked for him. I drank half of it down without stopping, and then gulped most of the rest before putting the can on the desk. I didn't want to keep him waiting.
The top bunk was piled with Treye's belongings, so I assumed he wanted me with him. I was about to be fucked, but I was in no shape for it. Neither did I have condoms or lube, did I dare ask him to go easy? I said nothing as I stripped off my clothes and then carefully climbed into the bed with him. He moved over, almost as if surprised, and I stroked his chest, and down his sides. He settled down and sighed contentedly.
"I may just keep you," he whispered, and he lightly kissed my mouth. "Not bad, kid."
He closed his eyes, and I watched him a minute, stunned that I wasn't going to be used. Strangely, I was comforted by his closeness, even more so when he flung a blanket over me. I turned my back to him and moved to the very edge of the mattress to be sure he had enough room, feeling warm and safe. I thought about Jeremy, wondering if he snored or drooled, hoping I had the chance to find out.
Eventually, I closed my eyes and joined Treye in sleep.
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Leaving Dylan had never been more difficult. In fact, it was heartbreaking thinking of what he would live with before I could free him. I touched my lips where his mouth had seared mine, while driving home that night, many times.
So now that I had admitted what I was and what I felt to Dylan and to myself, it was time to tell my mother. And, I thought with some dread, my stepfather. I loved him. I didn't want to disappoint him.
I found my mother up when I got home, curled in the recliner in the living room. She sat up.
"Is Dylan all right?" she asked.
I sat on the corner of the sofa, close. I played with my hands, and kept my eyes on them. "Someone beat him up, Ma. Badly, too. I never really got the story. He and I... we were too busy talking about other things."
"Oh?"
"Ma, I just have to get him out of there!" I exclaimed, looking at her. "He's innocent!"
"Your father did all he could," she said gently.
"I know he did, but dad did it thinking he was guilty. Looking for ways to keep him from receiving the death sentence is not the same as proving his innocence. If he didn't do it, there has to be some way to prove it. I plan to start going over everything tomorrow."
"Well," my mother said, slapping her hands on her knees. "It certainly can't hurt to try. If I can help in any way..."
"Ma?" I took a very, very long breath. "I'm in love with him."
She kept cool, she was silent for a minute and then she shrugged. "He is a very lucky boy, then."
I smiled, then got up and hugged her. "What do you think dad will say?"
She laughed, softly. "Not much would be my guess."
"Yeah. Thanks," I told her as I kissed her good-night.
I made my way to my bedroom, and for the very first time, it didn't look special in any way. It just looked lonely.
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