Title: Cherry Flavoured
Warnings: Implied slashiness
“No, please,” the frantic voice pleaded.
She stared up at him, her mascara running down her tear streaked cheeks. T-bag smiled and began to undo his belt.
“Don’t worry little darlin’,” he said, “I’m gonna make your last few moments reeeeal good.”
“Oh God,” she whimpered.
T-bag was dreaming again. Seth watched him as he twitched in his sleep, a smile appearing on the killer’s face. It made Seth shudder. He looked in the mirror at his bleeding lip, a souvenir from earlier in the evening, and studied his reflection. Late at night was the only time he could be alone with his thoughts. After the scary monster went to sleep, Seth would always squirm out of his grasp and sit in the corner of the cell, his back against the cold hard wall. It was comforting to be so cold. He didn’t know if he’d ever enjoy the touch of another human being again. There was one thing he did know though. He was never ever going to drive again. When he got out, if he got out, he was taking the bus for the rest of his life.
If he got out. That was something Seth thought a lot about lately. Would he make it out alive? If he could avoid pissing off the wrong people he figured he would. T-bag would keep him safe. But the price was high. Sure Seth was safe. From everybody else. But not safe from T-bag himself. And in a way that was worse than death. To be somebody’s girlfriend, to be a whore.
The nickname echoed in his ears, spoken in that southern drawl. He wasn’t one anymore, that’s for sure, but the name still stuck. He thought about all the people on the other side that he had left behind. His parents who still loved him, his girlfriend who he hoped still loved him. She hadn’t been in to visit him yet. What would they think of him? What would they say if they knew? Oh sure, your boy is safe, but only after becoming some sick pedophile’s bitch.
He thought about Michael, the other new inmate. He’d been in there only a short while longer than Seth, but already he commanded respect. He was confident. People listened to him. And he was nobody’s bitch. Seth wished he were Michael. He wished he could be like him. Be free. Hell, he wished he was just about anyone in there other than himself. Sometimes he even wished he were T-bag. Then at least he would be the one giving out the punishment, not receiving it. He cursed himself for thinking such a thing. He did not want to be T-bag. He did not want to see inside that man’s head.
Sometimes he’d catch a glimpse. Late at night, T-bag would lie next to him, whispering into his ear all the nasty things he had done. Why the prison even bothered to put two bunks in T-bag’s cell, was beyond him. They were always in the same bed at night, with Seth trying to block out the things being told to him.
“Let me tell you a little secret.”
Those words never meant anything good. Seth figured he probably knew more about the crimes than the police did now. But no matter how bad the stories were, what followed was always worse. It was like foreplay, T-bag telling those horrible things. Like that sick fuck was reliving it. And afterwards Seth would always be forced to do something he was ashamed of.
He looked over at the sleeping murderer. It would be so easy to kill him in his sleep. He pulled the shank out from under the sink and stood over T-bag. His hands trembled as he imagined bringing the sharp object down into the sleeping man’s chest, the blade cutting through the skin and puncturing his heart. He imagined T-bag waking up, blood dribbling from his mouth. And as the dying man looked into Seth’s eyes, Seth imagined himself saying “Who’s the bitch now?”
It was always the same. Every night he imagined it. And every night he stuck the shank back under the sink and slipped back into bed. He felt the now familiar sickening feeling in his stomach as T-bag’s arm fell over him. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t willingly take a man’s life. Even a monster like T-bag. He felt that being a whore was worse than death. But right now it was all he had.