“The pill is gone. You can come out now. You can help me. . . give them Hell.” I whispered to a deeper part of me. I begged him to overpower me like he’d always done. I begged him to come back, despite having been all too happy to swallow the pills. I prayed he could ignore my brutal dismissal of him. . .
I prayed to God, whispering to him, too.
But he didn’t come.
It was like he couldn’t hear me over the noise in the room. Either that, or he was ignoring it like the guards on the floor below.
He was ignoring me.
God had already abandoned me for all the bad I’d done.
I was alone here.
And I couldn’t do this another night—prison life. I couldn’t. I was only on my fifty-sixth night. . . maybe fifty-seventh. It would only be a few more days until I wouldn’t even be able to count down my time here.
I waited for the rutting creep to finish, hoping he’d finish quietly, spraying over me like the dirty shower I’d take tomorrow to wash away their germs. But he didn’t, he pulled himself free, and I collapsed to a heap on the cold stone floor.
He hovered over my trembling body—damaged, just like my mind—and he pushed his cock into my mouth.
The smell of my abuse still fresh on his shaft made me retch again.
And I choked on my sick as his cock pushed it back down my throat.
I closed my eyes, staying silent in prayer, not to God. To something else.Save me.
But again, he let me down.
He didn’t come.
But the creep choking me on his cock did. . . and so did all but one of the other creeps in this room, as they took their turns on mefor hours through the night.
I knew in this moment, I wouldn’t take those pills again—a gift given by a man who claimed to know what I suffered through, smuggled in by someone he thought of as a friend.
I wouldn’t take any pills again. . . not while in this shithole.
It was the only way I wouldn’t have to suffer any of this again.
The gang left when they were done, my cellmate disappearing with them.
The petty thief stole a blanket from the lower bunk and draped it around me before his exit. It still smelt like the prick I shared a room with, but I didn’t voice my disdain.
I stayed silent, as I had all night. Shame owned my voice now, and it wasn’t ready to give it back.
The thief gave me a sad smile and disappeared through the open cell door, a shadow to the monsters who’d already slipped out.
His compassion would save his life. . . would grant him forgiveness. I wouldn’t pray for his death, as I would the others.
I stayed on the floor, in a puddle of my own misery and blood.
I lay silently for hours. My abuser returned and tucked himself in with the blanket he pulled from my bunk while I remained on the cold hard floor, reflecting on my life and the things I’d done.
I started thinking of Jolie, my beautiful girl who had suffered as I had. Suffered because of me.
And now, God was dishing out karma.
A loud snore—caused by the cunt in the lower bunk’s constantly-blocked nose—caught my attention as he immediately drifted to sleep.
I looked over, confirming his own noises hadn’t disrupted his sleep. I didn’t want him awake. If I had one wish, it would be for him to never wake up again.
