Come Home Bad Boy (13 page)

I rested my head back and shut my eyes, hoping these flashes would fade.

I'm his therapist, I took an oath,
I reminded myself silently.

And yet, as I drifted off to sleep, the last thing I saw was his smile.

Owen

C
harlie. What a strange name for such a beautiful face.

I stared at the warped ceiling above me. The gray cement blocks were chipping and flaking apart. I'd spent years watching them erode, each day blending together, wondering if I'd actually get to wake up again with the morning sunrise on my face.

In here, there was no sun. There were no birds singing. What we had was the sound of over grown boys carrying guns, telling us when to get up, when to eat, when to sleep. I
hated
that.

The guards think their guns give them power. I knew they were all a bunch of insecure assholes with authority issues. Using the weapon was a way to feel better about their small cocks.

I don't deserve to be here, I never deserved this. One error and I get fucked.

I was left behind, left here to rot like spoiled food in the trash.

My rage was building, I exhaled heavily.

I'll be out soon.
I had to keep this in the forefront of my mind.

Images of Charlie began to intercede the negativity surrounding me. These flashes were welcome, it had been ten years since I was that close to a woman.

And a fucking hot as hell woman, too.

Her voluptuous curves replaced the idea of being forgotten. I could see the emerald green of her eyes taking me in, their jeweled surface reflecting my image back. I watched her breasts rise and fall with her breathing.

I could tell by the way she fidgeted in her chair that she was nervous. I couldn't be sure, but I had a hunch that it had been me that had made her squirm. Honestly, I loved that idea.

If she thinks I made her writhe around this time just by looking at her, I'd kill for a chance to show her what I can really do.

Kill. That word made me flinch, so I hurried to think about Charlie again.

Her soft ivory skin, the gentle curls of her burgundy hair resting over her shoulders. She was hot, a real woman for me to lay my eyes on.

I needed her,
needed
to run my hands over her body. Her full breasts called to me, so obvious beneath the light pink blouse that dressed her chest.

My pants tightened with thoughts of her sweet, southern accent as it parted her lips. Immediately I wondered if they'd feel as sweet draped over my cock. 

What I'd give to have that, it would be worth the trouble to claim this woman.

My years of being alone here were almost done. I was ready to feel the warm skin of a woman's beautiful body against mine. No more pretending or dreaming.

She'd asked me about what I planned to do once I was out of this shit-hole. I didn't have an answer for that. I didn't even know what family or friends I'd have left. No one had tried to contact me or come and see me.

I could hear the heavy breathing from the inmate next door getting off. Probably using a dirty magazine smuggled in by another criminal.

Prison was not a place for me.

There are two things you could do here to pass time; work out or jerk off. I guess Hector chose the less sweaty activity.

I looked over at the small collection of books I had sitting on the shelf next to my mirror. Thumbing through them, I realized I had read all of them at least three times each.

A shimmer of my reflection caught my eye. I stared at myself in the mirror and barely recognized the face glaring back.

I could see the results from my time here. An expressionless appearance, hardened by the brutal world of the prison system.

I fell back defeated on my bed, it creaked loudly as the weight of my body hit it, bowing in the middle where support lacked. I tried to close my eyes and sleep, but Charlie was there.

What questions will she have for me next week?
I wondered.

I couldn't stop thinking about all the dirty things I wanted to do to her. I imagined running my hand up her thigh, sliding it between her legs to feel the heat that radiated.

I could still smell her perfume in my nostrils. There was a time where perfume was nauseating to my senses, a choking sensation would fill my lungs. But her fragrance stayed with me. The mix of lilac and vanilla was a refreshing scent.

In spite of my hunger for her, Charlie had an air around her that got under my skin. She seemed to hold herself on a higher level. I didn't like that. It made me feel beneath her.

It was a tough thing for me to grin and bare. I grew up feeling as if I needed approval from those around me, those who were supposed to love me.

My childhood was a sham.

I spent more time trying to seek some form of acceptance from my older brother Brice than anyone else. My mother left  when I was two and my father, a raging alcoholic, didn't care what we did or when so long as he was left alone to enjoy his vodka.

If Brice or myself got into any trouble and got caught, dad's good ole leather friend told us just how he felt about it. My father had no mercy.

I always felt my dad had been easier on Brice. I questioned if it was because he was the first born, maybe it had been because I was a mistake?

I just always had it in my mind that I was never wanted or good enough for his liking.

All of that doesn't matter anymore.

I was really hoping that my next session with her wouldn't lead to questions about my family. They're in the past and I'm moving forward. She could ask me anything else, anything at all.

Family life was better left where it belonged.

Forgotten.

The low groan of my neighbor broke my concentration.

He must have finished.

The mattress below me was thin. I could feel every spring as I shifted, trying to get comfortable. I spent most nights dreaming, it was an escape from the hell I'd been living in.

The end was so close, it was in my grasp.

This town had made an experiment of me. On the local news I've heard my story, heard the thoughts the residents had about setting me free.

One gentleman had said, “He won't change, they never do. You can't change a soul that doesn't exist.”

A local woman called me a monster, a pit of emptiness. She said when I'm set free she would make sure to lock her doors.

These people know nothing about me. They only know what the media portrays me as.

And so does Charlie.

I'm an experiment to her, too. A chance for her to get another notch on her belt.

She's just like every other doctor I've seen, only here for the pay check. What would or could be done with someone like me?

Nothing... I hate what I've become.

The lights flickered gently, I heard the soft soles of the guard coming by my cell. A head check for the night. Counting us like live stock in a pen. I couldn't wait to be free, free to live again on the outside.

I was ready to rid myself of being number 995462 and reclaim my identity. I'd realized after the first year that I was really on my own here. No one cared about what I was going through.

That night at the jewelry store played relentlessly in my dreams. A night that should have never happened, a man that shouldn't have ended up dead.

I did what I had to.

My old life was not easy by any means. Things were rough, I lived on the edge, and I took freedom for granted.

I didn't think about any consequences, it never really occurred to me that this is where I'd end up. The day those barred doors sealed shut behind me was an awakening. It became real, not just a threat like I'd heard many times before.

It became my reality.

The walls around me seemed to get smaller every day. I had plastered them with posters, trying to make it feel a little more homey. It didn't help, I'm being suffocated.

The constant yelling of other prisoners was torture. Every man in here was trying to be the leader of the pack. I had learned early on that if I wanted to survive I had to display my dominance.

No one really messed with me anymore, the fear of being assaulted has faded. Every skill I'd absorbed on the street had paid off in here. Muscle ruled the roost, something I had in spades.

I didn't know if Charlie would understand that, to be able to grasp my need for survival. She was probably raised in a happy suburban home, full of loving memories and laughter.

That thought made me bitter. I wanted what everyone else wanted, I deserved that happiness too.

Why couldn't I have been born in a different family, in a different place?
I asked myself this question a lot. I spent years running the streets, having to do things to survive.

Once, getting a can of soup as a meal for the day was a lucky moment in my life. That was the one and only thing I never hated about being here, three meals a day.

The lights suddenly shut off, the glow from the corridor was all that lit my tiny space. I watched the guard as he passed by, his shadow elongated against the back wall.

The dull lighting drew my eyes to the stained floor. The cement was a mix of rust and bodily fluids. It made me cringe to think of the things that had happened in this place before me.

Tomorrow is one day closer to my freedom. Focus on the countdown.

I glanced at my calendar, it was too dark to make out any numbers or days but I could feel the closeness. The glimmer from the hall enhanced the previous graffiti made by former inmates. I stared at the tally marks and names engraved on my walls.

I had no idea if any of those men made it out of here alive. I was able to muster half a smile knowing the next person in this room would not see a single sign of my existence here.

I had promised myself I wouldn't let this place break me. Keeping some trace of my former self had been the most difficult thing.

I wanted Charlie to know that, I wanted her to know that despite all the treatment and all the torture I've felt here, I was
not
broken. I wouldn't let this road block in my life finish me.

I wanted her to write that in her report. The parole board needed to know I'd changed, I wanted them to see enough of a difference to let me out.

Let them see me and only me; not the reason for my stay here, not the fact that I had been a killer. I was a changed man, a new man.

Charlie's face came back to focus in my mind. Those lips, I couldn't shake them out of my thoughts. I didn't really want to, I wanted to taste them.

I imagined the delicate flavor of her tongue. The feel of her creamy skin against my face. I wanted all of that right now, this very moment.

I enjoyed thinking about her. It made my cock, I could feel it growing. All I wanted was for her to touch it and stroke it.

The fantasy made this night one of my easiest. I found it relieving to be distracted from the steel bars.

I kept trying to get comfortable, but I continued to toss and turn, trying to find the right spot to fall asleep. Nothing was helping.

My feet hung off the edge, the blanket was barely thicker than paper, and this intense burning I felt consumed my insides. The nights here seemed endless. I didn't know what time it was, clocks were no where to be found; another way for them to display their control.

Power was all they wanted over us.

We lived here on the prison's time, for all I knew it could be seven at night. I was only ever aware of the actual time when I was in therapy, or if we were being served a meal.

I'm already locked in here, what would knowing the time really change?

Nothing, it wouldn't change a fucking thing. I didn't even think half the inmates here could even tell time.

I've watched a lot of guys come and go over the years, all here for various reasons doing time. I never let any of them in close, not enough to truly know me. I always sat separate and refused to speak about why I was here and what happened.

They all liked to talk and tell their side of things, as if it would give them some sort of satisfaction to think others might believe them.

I don't need some drug dealer or rapist to accept me. No one understands what I've gone through, and I don't need them to.

I'm human, we're all susceptible to mistakes. You can't learn if you don't fuck up.

My only weakness was following those who I thought were there to protect me.  That would follow me for the rest of my life.

I won't fall into that dark place again. I refuse to.

My head felt as if it wanted to explode. I hated thinking about my past. The pain that turns my stomach is too much to bear sometimes.

I couldn't wait to leave, to feel fresh air on my face. The small things in life have become the ones I fantasize about. All that I took for granted would have a place in the new life I created.

This nightmare will be over soon.

At least I knew that, knew that my legacy was not going to be in this prison. I'd prove I deserved the freedom this fucking program was offering me. The prison wanted to look good, to act forgiving and charitable.

Fine.

I'd take what they had to offer.

I was owed that pardon, anyway.

My hand rested heavily across my forehead as I released a low grunt of frustration. I tried to push all the regret down, away from my inner thoughts. I was sick of feeling it, I was tired of how it took over so easily.

I was ready for this to all disappear, ready to get back what I deserved. I wanted to live again. I was going to  breath life again.

When I finally walk out those doors I would never look back.

This would become a distant memory.

Charlie. I'd like to make some memories with her.

I'd make her scream, make her sweat. If I had the chance, I'd guarantee that
she
wouldn't forget me. No, I'd turn her stiff, professional attitude upside down when I made her quiver and cum in my arms.

Fuck.

I ached for that.

With the vision of her plump lips and syrupy accent in my ears, I settled onto my hard cot and slept better than I had in years.