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“Mama! Mama Come Back!”
One
Ana
“You’re sure this is okay?” I ask, holding my arms out to show off my newly made outfit. I’ve never been a vain person before, but since taking up the role of boss of The Tomb I’m finding impressions are important.
“Your boobs are showing,” Ax comments from his vantage on our bed. His eyes tell me he likes the view while his posture tells me he doesn’t want others to like it. I roll my eyes at him, pushing my hands down the top.
“They are not!” I argue. “Just because they exist and aren’t wrapped doesn’t count as showing.”
He mumbles something under his breath, but wisely doesn’t say anything further. Axle knows I’m already uncomfortable wearing anything that isn’t baggy hoodies, a consequence of having worn one for basically eight years while pretending to be a man. Thank fuck makeup and shit isn’t a worry in here, I wouldn’t have the first clue what to do with it.
I turn back to the warped mirror and look myself over again. Sewing was a skill I learned at a young age and it’s only now, a few weeks after arriving here, I’m finally trying to craft myself something that fits. It’s weird, and I don’t like how exposed I feel just wearing fitted clothing. Tugging at the top, which is honestly not at all revealing, I can’t help but be uncomfortable with how close to my skin it is.
“I can’t fucking do this!” I exclaim, throwing my hands up and sitting on the edge of the bed.
“You could just wear the hoodie again?” Ax says hopefully and I smirk at him.
“Have I told you lately how endearing your possessiveness is?” I tease.
“I believe it was yesterday you told me ‘to give you some fucking space and stop being so damn jealous’ or you’d castrate me,” he replies with a hand on his chin. “So, nope. Don’t think you’ve mentioned it.”
I fight to keep the smile from my face at his accurate recollection. Okay, so I’ll admit it; I kind of go back and forth a bit on that one. His possessive and jealous nature is equally adorable and maddening. I feel I’ve more than proven I can take care of myself here. He knows he’s the only one who can touch me, but it doesn’t stop him from acting like a damn caveman sometimes.
“Well,” I reply, “today I like it.” I kiss him on the nose, and he wrinkles it, making me giggle.
“Fucking indecisive woman,” he mutters as he pulls me down to him.
“Hey, now. You watch it,” I warn before being sucked in by his kisses.
“Mmmm,” I mumble through his lips, “I’m gonna be late.”
“I think we’ve had this conversation too,” he mutters back. I push off his chest, admiring the devilish gleam in his eyes before snorting.
“You’re insatiable,” I tell him. “Come on. Plenty of time for that later, let’s go.”
His deep sigh and reluctance to let me go make me smile, but I try to hide it. While I love the fuck out of this man, I know a part of me still holds back from giving all of myself. There’s the smallest sliver holding back, forever afraid those whom I love will die and leave me. Afraid of truly giving myself fully.
We make our way down the corridors. Close, but not touching. I see his hand twitching slightly at his side and know how much it takes for him to be near me and keep his hands off. I smile at him appreciatively. We both knew right away after I won the fight in the Pit that I needed to keep up a certain persona to the general prison population. Part of that means no public affection, no reminders of the fact that Iama woman. His caveman ways are one thing when we are alone, and him being generally foreboding is a given, but there’s a line.
Luckily, he wants me to succeed in this role, and knows these prisoners far better than me. For the most part, I take what advice he offers. I will admit I’ve gotten stubborn about a few things.
Brutus stands just outside our grouping of cells waiting, and I smile up at his hulking form. I found out after I took over his real name is Clarence. I’ll admit I actually snorted when I heard that, but good ol’ Clarence didn’t mind.
He also didn’t mind when I dubbed his new name to be Brutus. A big guy like him needed a more badass name.
So, I assigned him to basically be my bodyguard. He follows me around and glares at everyone. He’s a simple man, and obviously has some kind of mental illness. More important to me though, he’s kind, strong, and proven loyal after I stood up for him in the yard last month. Other than one minor incident where he ran into our room after hearing me cry out (apparently pain versus pleasure sounds similar) he’s been an excellent person to have around.
Brutus was one of the few things I didn’t listen to Ax about, and I’m glad for it.
He smiles back at me, nodding as we pass before falling in line behind us. I lead us to the outer walkway, keeping my posture tall and tight. I’ve been thinking a lot about the things I was taught about “acting manly”. A lot of it comes down to confidence.
Whether it’s the world we live in or just nature, women don’t walk the same as men. They tend to avert their eyes more, swing their arms. Slouch more, and just overall look less sure and confident. Not only do I not want to appear an easy target—gender be damned—but I need to give off the aura of self-assuredness and badassery.
I am “Queen of the Tomb”, after all.
I see the corner of Ax’s mouth twitch when we reach where the other inmates can see us, and I straighten up further. Ignoring it, I keep my eyes ahead as we make our way to the old administration office where I’ve asked the other “family” heads to meet with me.
