Prison Loving

Fuck

*You know the drill. I know it takes me so long to write but I never have the time nor the motivation to. I'm so sorry because I know a lot of you like this story. But I promise you I'm trying my best. Thanks for reading. Much love. Xoxo*

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I turned around so fast I became dizzy. I slammed the heavy door behind me and walked down the hallway quickly.

I grinded my teeth together. I could feel myself beginning to black out.

My breaths came in short gasps.

I leaned against a wall and pressed my head against it's cool surface. I was sure I felt hot. My body was on fire. This always happened when I was upset.

I felt itchy all over and hot and twitchy and I couldn't stop panting.

I squeezed my eyes closed and hit my head against the wall tightly.

I heard a voice from behind me, "Looks like someone's having a rough day."

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Fuck.

I twirled around and looked at the man who'd ruined my life straight in the eyes.
And as expected, all I could see was coldness. Nothing. No compassion. No love. Only malice and evil.

My teeth were clenched so hard I thought they might break.

We just stood staring at one another for a moment.

I could feel my body shaking yet I had to ignore it. I had to suppress the deep hatred inside me and try not to slam this fuckers head against the ground.

"You know you have some fucking nerve." I spit out at him through my locked teeth.

He looked at me so condisendingly I had the urge to slap that bullshit smirk right off his face.

"Is that really how you want to talk to your old man? Come on, son. Let's talk about things. Father and son."

I could tell he was being sarcastic. It was a challenge. Already being pissed, I stupidly fed the fire.

"You are not my father. And you will never be."

He feigned hurt and shock, "And how's that? My own boy, refusing to call me his dad."

I snarled at him, "You lost that right when you stopped being a father. You took everything from us. You know what this is just what I need right now. Fuck you. And stay the Hell away from us."

He rolled his eyes and stepped forwards. Into my personal space. Oh Hell no.

I didn't take my eyes off of him.

"And what are you going to do about it little boy?"

I clenched my fists at my sides. I knew if I hit him without being physically provoked I could still be reprimanded. I didn't want to lose privalages over petty games.

Luckily a guard spotted him and talked into his radio for a moment. Then, he waltzed right over to us and looked at me in a way that said he knew exactly what was going on.

"What seems to be the problem here?"

He glanced from me to John. Obviously on the look out for any violent acts or continuation of the argument.

Oh how I wished John would so something so they could transfer his ass on the spot.

Then again they might not. We didn't have the reputation we once had. They might just throw him in solitary. Just a little slap on the wrist.

The guard shifted on his feet, waiting for an answer.

"Just a little chat buddy. Nothing to get upset over." John smiled at the man. Obviously a mix of trying to win him over and still being an ass.

The man rose an eyebrow, "First off inmate, don't call me or any officer buddy. Second, if it was just a chat, why are you both visibly upset?"

John bristled, "That's not any of your business now is it?"

The guard put a hand on his belt, covering his mace just in case.

John of course noticed this movement and smiled at him as the man spoke, "Actually it is. This is my hallway, and I won't tolerate this. I think it's time we got you back to your cell."

John put his hands up smirking and walked slowly towards his section.

"Move it inmate." The guard spoke as he kept a close trail on John.

He glanced back at me and nodded.

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding in.
I didn't have the heart to keep dealing with John. The threats, the looks, even the idea that he is in the same building as I am makes me uneasy.

I hated my father. I hated him so much that I often dreamt of slitting his throat in his sleep. Maybe then Sammy and I could've been safe. Maybe if I had done it, we could be in a different place.

Maybe I would go to jail for killing him. But at least Sam would've been safe. At least he could've lived a semi-normal life. And John would be gone.

It didn't matter what happened to me. As long as Sam was safe.