Chained: A Bad Boy Romance (7 page)

It took three guards to get Owen to the floor. He was cuffed and brought to his feet, glaring down at the now bloody and bruised scarred-man. He mouthed a series of words that I couldn't make out.

I wanted him to look up at me; I pressed my palms against the glass, willing him to look in my direction.

He never did.

The main attacker stumbled to his feet, wiping the blood from his nose. It smeared across his cheek as he spit more onto the floor. His eye already showing signs of swelling under the lights.

A smile crept across my face. I wasn't a fan of violence, but that guy got what he deserved. It made me happy that Owen had put himself in danger, just so he could protect someone in need.

Maybe he isn't such a bad guy. Maybe there's another side to him.

I was more intrigued by Owen than ever before. I was anxious to talk to him, to ask him why he'd saved that prisoner from the others.

Why did he put himself in that position? He didn't need to.

I replayed the scenario in my head. The way he'd stood as still as stone, refusing to back down. He took control when the guards who were here to maintain order couldn't. I could see his muscles tense while he spoke, enhanced by his dark mood.

I ached to have those arms use their strength on me. The thought gave me chills.

Never in my life have I been so wrapped up in someone, and a damn murderer at that!
I pulled myself away from the glass, I had to find the warden. Maybe he'd allow me to have another session with Owen. I didn't want to wait a week.

I needed to see him now.

There was more to his story than what he'd let on. A stone-cold, egotistical man would be unconcerned about what others did around him.

What motive did he have to intervene?
Why?

His noble action deserved praise, he should be commended for saving someone else.

I don't understand, in the past I would have been disgusted by anyone who thought fighting was the answer. But watching Owen just made me want him more. I can't figure myself out, I have no idea why this made me excited. What is going on with me?

The desire to talk to him was overwhelming. I entered my office and immediately called the warden, Lynch. I waited impatiently for him to pick up his line. I hoped he wasn't still congregating in the foyer.

Abruptly, the line clicked as someone picked up. “Hello?” Lynch asked, sounding bored.

“Warden? It's Charlie. I need to set up an extra session to see Owen Jenkins.”

“I'm sorry Ms. Laroche, but Mr. Jenkins is in the hole for the next two weeks due to his little stunt in the common area.”

My heart stopped. “Wait, what? Why? He didn't...”

“Ms. Laroche, it's our policy here that any inmate who takes part in a fight spends a designated amount of time in the hole. You will return to your normal schedule and see him on your regular day in two weeks.”

Gritting my teeth, I went to argue. Before I could try, the dial tone filled my ear.

I was baffled. Owen didn't start that incident. How could he be sent into solitary confinement for something he'd stopped? It didn't make sense to me. The warden didn't have the whole story!

Some lie had been told to the man, maybe a guard covering for his own lazy ass. I'd had a birds eye view of the whole situation, and Owen hadn't started any trouble. He'd put himself in the middle of danger to help someone.

All I wanted was to see him. I needed him to know I'd seen what he'd done. I was overcome with wanting to help, but I felt impotent.

I stared blankly at my desk. Absently, I let the phone fall back on the receiver.

How has this day gone so wrong?

The suddenly loud ringing jostled me out of my daze. On reaction I picked up the phone. Holding it to my ear I asked, “Hello?”

A piece of me hoped I would hear
his
voice on the other end. I craved the deepness of his gritty baritone.

“Hello, is this Charlie Laroche?” It was not a voice I recognized.

“Yes, this is Charlie.”

“My name is Dr. Phillips, I'm calling about your dog. I don't have a name down here for him, but I wanted to let you know he was doing well. He sustained a broken back leg and some bruising to his ribs. Let me just say you, have one tough dog.”

I sat up straighter in my chair. “Oh, thank god. You have no idea how happy that makes me to hear that.”

“You should be able to pick him up in three days. We'd like to keep him till then, just for observation. So long as nothing pops up, he can go home.”

Chewing my bottom lip, I sat forward. “Well, actually, he's not really my dog. I explained all of this to the staff earlier today. I don't know who he belongs to, I just happened to be there when he got hit. He could be a stray or maybe a pet that got loose?”

“Ah, okay. Well, we'll post some things and contact the animal shelter.”

Animal shelter? I know what happens to unclaimed dogs there. They don't last long. I don't want that! Maybe I should take him in? Could I take him? No. I barely have enough time for myself, he'd be alone constantly.

I was relieved to know he was fine, he was lucky it was just a broken leg. I tried to move my thoughts onto the only good thing that had finally shined through today. My heart rose a bit to know his injuries were minor.

The dog had a chance at a new life. I was sure some nice family would adopt him and he wouldn't be fending for himself anymore.

The man on the line said, “I want to thank you for doing this for him. He wouldn't have made it out there alone.”

“It was nothing,” I said warily. “Call me when he's better, okay?”

“Of course. Have a good day, Miss.”

The call ended, and instantly, I rested my head against my hands.
I'm always in limbo.
I had to wait to find out about the dog, and about Owen.

My thoughts returned to him, how he was in the hole and I could nothing about it. Even as his therapist I had no authority and no say in what happened to him.

My fist came down hard on the desk.
How does this help his rehabilitation? It just isn't fair to him. That warden has no idea what this could do to him. Complete isolation for that long could take hold of him mentally!

The purpose of the program was to help give Owen the tools to be part of society again. The treatment was meant to ensure he had the ability to make proper decisions.

How can I do my job when they don't even evaluate a situation like the fight? They just automatically throw people into solitude without knowing why.

This didn't sit right with me. I had a natural instinct to help those in need.

Owen needed me.

And I need him.

Owen

I
couldn't see a foot in front of me.

The only light I had came from a small crack beneath the door. My food was pushed in through a slot, it came at random times. No contact was allowed with anyone, not even the guards.

It was my own private hell.

As I sat in the shadows I could hear a constant dripping of water around me. Echoes of it rang off the pipes and filled the air. It definitely seemed louder than it should be.

I felt so alone, I couldn't even see my own shadow. There could have been another person sitting directly in front of me and I wouldn't even know it.

Punished, again, for trying to do the right thing.
That seemed to be a common event in my life.

I'd been shoved into exile for taking a stand; that was a real punch in the gut.

This is why I stopped trying to help.

It always backfires.

And I always fucking pay.

I could feel the pain bubble up again. I hated thinking about what had brought me here to begin with. Desperately, I shoved it back down into the pit of my soul.

But my past kept clawing back up.

It had been my desire to help that had kept me by his side. That, and my damn need to be appreciated—told I was worth something.

I used to tell myself that there would be a time that
he
would take me seriously. He would finally see I knew what I was talking about. I'd thrown myself into harms way a multitude of times for the only one I ever truly felt connected to. The amount of dedication I had to him was numbing.

I'd held him high above me and ignored the voice inside my head.

Look where that got me. Who's here for me now? Not a soul.

As I sat alone in the dark, realization sank in that I'd been my worst enemy. I was blind to those around me and their motives.

How could I have been so fucking stupid?

I should have never gone that night.

My instincts had been right, they usually are.

I lifted my arms up and grabbed my head, clutching my temples between each forearm. To know things didn't have to end up this way was hard to swallow.

My arms tried to squeeze this regret from my mind. I pressed against my skull, wishing the thought would burst out.

The shittiest part was knowing that I had been left behind by someone who I thought would
always
stand by me.

The pit in my stomach felt as empty as the room I was confined to.

I told him things didn't feel right
.

I'd wanted him to change his mind, but...

My brother refused.

Brice had fucking refused.

He was dead set on going forward with the plan. I should have just gone home, but I couldn't leave him there. I'd always put him first above anything else.

Even above myself.

I'd thought I would always have him there for me, that we stood on the same pedestal together as equals.

What did I get for standing by my brother? This, this fucking life behind bars.

Abandoned by the one I'd set out to help. Nothing could cut deeper.

I knew I'd made some awful decisions in my life, I'd chosen the road that led me here, but I didn't have to. I'd had options!

Why didn't I take them?

When I first got into the prison, I'd made endless calls to him. I wrote letters constantly, but never got one in return. He hadn't even attempted to pick up the phone. There was no effort on his part.

Shock had hit me first. Depression set in when I acknowledged that the one person who said they would always have my back had turned against me.

There's no other pain like betrayal by your own blood.

I brushed the sweaty strands of hair away from my face.
My freedom had been taken, my life has been altered forever,
I thought morbidly.

The walls seemed to engulf me,  the quiet was maddening. You have to really enjoy being your only company to survive this kind of hell. Otherwise, you'll be the death of your own soul.

I was going to go crazy in here. At least out there I had things to keep me busy.

Charlie had become my new hobby.

Even though I was blind, the image of her face was bright. I wanted to focus on her, push the other thoughts away. I didn't want to think about my brother anymore.

I pictured myself softly touching her hair, the silkiness sliding through my fingertips. My eyes closed as I rested my head against the cool, damp wall. Trying to soak up her silhouette, I squeezed my eyes tighter.

Stay there, stay right there. Don't fade into the wickedness of this place.

I knew that wouldn't be completely possible. The never ending absence of light brought the worst images to my mind. I wanted to think about her, but I couldn't. No matter how hard I tried to keep her curvy figure in my eyes, his deception replaced it easily.

He was my brother. My kin. The one and only person I'd ever been able to rely on.

Apparently, in this fucked up world, you can't even trust your own blood.

If he would've just listened to me for once in his life!
I grunted loudly, slamming my foot against the dirty concrete floor.
He failed me, he left me here... left me to rot while he continues to live on the outside.

That night, there wasn't even supposed to be anyone there. I gritted my teeth in anger, a screeching noise filling my ears. Brice had told me the security would be gone before we arrived. He'd assured me that no one would be inside.

I trusted him.

Like countless times before, I let him lead me into the belly of the beast.

I never thought he would have been ungrateful for what I did. If I could go back and change things I would. I've had dreams about that, being in that place and asserting myself. Not asking him, just making him leave.

In the surrounding abyss I heard muffles of voices outside the door. A shuffle of feet scurried by as I watched the light dim and reemerge from the crack.

A web brush against the back of my neck. Quickly I swatted it away, I hated spiders. Nothing creeped me out more than the thought of a gross, hairy eight-legged creature crawling over me.

My body shivered with disgust. I shifted uncomfortably to try and move away from it. I wasn't even sure if it was a spider, but I wanted to be as far from that feeling as possible.

When I was eight, my brother and myself had decided to camp in our backyard. We only had our sleeping bags, no tent. It was just the two of us, as it had been my whole my life.

I woke up to a burning feeling running through my entire body, an immense pain that I had never experienced before.

During the night a large recluse spider had crawled into my sleeping bag. It had bit me several times and my entire left leg swelled. The scream I let out was gut wrenching. Brice picked me up and carried me into our house.

His face was plagued with worry and concern. He had been the only person to ever show me that. To show me true care and love.

Our dad was passed out and despite how much Brice tried to wake him, he was dead to the world. Finally, my brother called the ambulance and got the help I needed.

He had saved me.

I had to spend a week in the hospital from that. I've hated spiders ever since. Beyond that, the way I looked at my older brother was never the same. He became my role model, a hero in my eyes. I would have done anything for him.

I
did
do anything.