Chained: A Bad Boy Romance (3 page)

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.

Charlie

A
cool breeze raced against my cheeks as I crossed the parking lot of the Greene Correctional Facility. It was so frigid, New England weather was much colder than I had ever expected when I uprooted myself from Louisiana.

I stood at the main gate and stared at the massive structure before me. Anticipation began to creep in; today was my next meeting with Owen.

My stomach was in knots with the nerves that flowed through me. I was ready to feel his eyes take me in, I couldn't wait for that. I wanted to hear him speak, feel his voice as it created waves inside me.

I had thought about him repeatedly since our first encounter. I hadn't been able to forget the way he looked, or the way he looked at me.

I wanted more.

Stop, stop this charlie. You have to stop.
I brushed the feeling away, I had to keep my composure.

I'm here as his therapist,
I reminded myself as I exhaled and continued through the doors.

Warden Lynch was standing at the front desk. A short, pudgy man, balding on top. I noticed he carried himself the same way as the prisoners; distended chest, hands resting on his side-arm in its holster. A visual display of his power for all to see.

“Good morning, warden,” I said as I extended my right hand.

“Ms. Laroche.” He nodded, dismissing my gesture. I'd only met him once since I'd arrived here and we'd never had a formal introduction. “How has your time been so far at G.C.F?” He gestured with open arms, as if to show me all the glory of the prison, a king proud of the castle he'd built.

“It's been good so far,” I said as I retracted my hand awkwardly.

“Let me walk you to your office.”

I smiled in agreement as we walked past a window overlooking a massive community room. The criminals congregated there for about an hour a day. I hadn't had the chance yet to see it in action until now.

The room was a circle, guards posted above in a caged walkway. The men were all talking and playing cards or dice. Others were watching the television hanging against the back wall. I could see the separation between the groups. All I could think of was a high school cafeteria, each table a different clique.

As I slowed down to observe, I began to hear the hooting and hollering of the men. I couldn't make out one particular yell from another. It reminded me of a pack of wolves zeroing in on their prey, each howl bringing the attention of another to their call.

The prey was me.

I'd realized in my first week that the warden hadn't expected a female therapist when he'd requested me. Though my name was Charlotte, I went by Charlie, and that had obviously thrown him off. His eyes had flooded with confusion the first time we'd crossed paths.

“Ignore them,” he said, “I'm not sure if you're aware, but you're the only female staff we have. You might experience this kind of reaction often. Just don't let them get under your skin.” He chuckled under his breath as he continued towards my office.

I bristled when he said that. Did he think I didn't have the level of control needed to ignore some slobbering, cat-calling guys? I knew deep down I was qualified for this, and even if the warden doubted me, my work would prove otherwise.

“I won't let some barking animals phase me, sir.” I hoped that might show a little of my humor and strength.

“While you may be here for the rehabilitation process, take note that some of these men are extremely dangerous and will try to take advantage of you. That kind of... interaction between prisoner and staff isn't just forbidden, it's illegal,” he said, narrowing his eyes at me. “We don't take their behavior lightly, Ms. Laroche, and I expect you will do the same.”

I was off kilter with his statement. Did he think I wasn't taking this serious?
Or that I'd somehow let one of the men touch me?

Helplessly, the memory of Owen—his alluring smirk and flexing arms—entered my mind. Would a man like that try to have his way with me?

Would I let him?

No. I'd never let that happen.
I inhaled sharply, hoping the warden didn't notice.

I cleared my throat. “Of course, I take these things very seriously.”

“Let's hope so,” he mumbled.

Heat inched along my spine. He hoped so? The warden had obviously read my background information for him to request me. He had to be aware of my seven years in the field.

I prided myself on my work. My mom used to refer to me as her 'mother hen.' My affinity for wanting to help had paid off. It brought me here, it gave me the chance to make a difference.

“I understand these men
can
be dangerous,” I said, following at his side. “My purpose is to make sure your prison gives them the ability to learn the control they need. I wouldn't down play the seriousness of that.”

He shot me a sideways look. “You can't always teach an animal to behave. You'd be wise to understand that, even with all of your 'understanding,” Ms. Laroche.”

What an ass,
I thought as we reached the door to my office.

“Any thing you need, Ms. Laroche, just let me know. I'm always around.” He continued down the hall, twirling a small whistle.

What a strange man.
I closed the door behind me, checking the time. It hit me that my meeting with Owen would begin in half an hour. I could feel my palms getting clammy from the idea of sitting across from him again.