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“Remember that first time?” His voice was quiet. Man like Rev? He doesn’t need to talk loud. Everyone listens to him. He’s got fuckin’ wisdom, man. It’s part of his Gift. Those wild eyes of his, theyseethings the rest of us don’t.
I didn’t know what “first time” he was talking about, so I waited him out. He’d fill the silence, eventually.
Another drag. Another smoke ring. Perfectly round, it expanded up and up until it disappeared in a dark-blue sky with a big, fat moon. “First time you put on those blues, heard that cell door slam shut? First shower? First hoe check?” He paused and pinned me with that knowing look of his. “First time pressed up against a wall with five wolves at your back, making you their new pocket?”
My mouth went dry.
“Remember back when you hadn’t learned to live with it, yet? Remember the dread? You’d see a certain wolf catch your eye, and you’d know. Your sphincter would contract, anticipating the invasion.”
I swallowed, but without spit, it hurt. “Just part of life, man. Just part of life.”
“Maybe. For a shithead gangbanger and drug dealer dumb enough to get caught.” Leaning forward, he put his elbows on his knees, watched the moon.
I lose focus as I stare at his hands, long-fingered and sexy, lazily supporting the half-smoked stogie.
He goes on, hypnotizing me with his quiet tone. “You tell yourself having your ass owned is part of your punishment. You earned it with the choices you made. That’s how you learn to live with it.”
“So.” I shake off the lulling effect of his story-teller voice. I wasn’t super excited to be sent back to those memories, so, yeah, I threw some attitude.
“So.” He looked me dead in the eye. “Did Cora deserve any of the shit that fucker did to her?”
“No. No way.” I didn’t know her, but I knew for a fact she never did a bad thing to anyone, not like me.
“Imagine the ugliest, meanest, funkiest wolf who had you, and imagine him getting you away from the pen and chaining you up for his pleasure. Giving you no clothes. Beating on you. Burning you with cigarettes.” A heavy drag made his minicig glow for emphasis.
I didn’t want to imagine what he described, but Rev said to do it, so I did it. I pictured the inmate. He was six-seven and meaty. His dick was fat as a beer can, and he stank. Man, did he stink. The only reason he hit the showers was to find a pocket, and I was one of his favorites. He was mean. He liked leaving bruises.
“Now imagine.” Rev took his time with his words, letting each one sink in. “You’re innocent. You did nothing to deserve any of it. You don’t have that little bit of reasoning to lean on. You’ve got nothing to lean on. No one. No hope. And everyone you knew and loved is dead.”
With those words banging around in my head, he stubbed out his smoke and got up. His long legs took him away, into the dark.
And I was left feeling sorrier than shit for Cora. No wonder she was pissed when Jud said she had to spend her nights with us. After all she’s been through, she shouldn’t have to look at a man ever again.
Rev made me realize there’s not going to be anything sexual about tonight. His little sermon was a smack to my head. So, when I meet Cora on the porch outside the common room, it’s not a presumptuous bunch of flowers and bottle of wine I have in hand but a battery-powered boom box and a duffle bag full of CDs and mix tapes.
Cora
I wait for Scrapon the porch outside the common room, and my stomach does little flips. I can’t deny that I’m thinking about Grim as I prepare myself to cuddle with Scrap, but I’m also looking forward to getting to know Scrap better. I had a really good time with him this afternoon, and I’m excited to add to that. I’m also determined to push my physical boundaries, especially the “no going inside” rule.
Maybe it’s time to try a tiny bit of penetration. Maybe Scrap, the flirty Hispanic hottie and the man closest to my age, can be the one to help move that boundary a few inches.
I hear his footsteps coming around the main lodge before I see him. He’s dressed in a trendy hoodie with a fitted cut over jeans that hang low on his lean hips. His mohawk is styled to perfection, and his ear stretchers gleam in the light filtering out from the common room. He has a giant boombox on his shoulder, like a Bronx teen from the nineties.
“There she is,” he says with a broad smile. He kisses me on the cheek, and I feel the men inside watching us through the windows.
Doc, Brawn, and Shep are sitting around the fireplace, enjoying mason jars full of beer and “shooting the shit,” as Doc calls it. It’s how the guys spend most of their evenings before bed. Sometimes it’s just a few of them. Sometimes it’s all of them (except Grim). It’s peaceful and homey, and I feel like I’m missing out by going off with one guy every night instead of basking in the banter of the common room.
“Did the dads set a curfew for ya?” Scrap asks with a wink.
I turn to look inside, and see the three men pretend they weren’t just watching.
Scrap laughs and drapes the handles of a duffel bag over my arm.
“What’s this?”
“Put together a little something for you.”
Ooh, a gift! “Thanks!” I unzip the bag and peek inside. It’s full of old-fashioned cassette tapes and CDs. I look a question at Scrap.
