Authors' Note:
The title of this work has been borrowed from a dance, which can be found at watch?v=2vLkkF8Vucc.
This chapter was inspired by a dance called "Lost Love". You can find it here: watch?v=Za6bYHKxYVY. Every chapter of this work will be named after a dance.
This work is co-written by ADancerWrites and SugarsweetRomantic. ADancerWrites writes Franky and the inmates, and SugarsweetRomantic writes Bridget and the prison staff - generally speaking.
-x-
It was easy. It had been way too easy. Francesca Doyle's shoulders shook as tears that she never meant to cry were falling from her eyes. She had fought it and she had fought it successfully for days now, but experience taught her that time simply meant nothing in a place like Wentworth Prison. She let herself drop down onto her bed and heaved as she let herself cry into what could hopefully be considered an emotional relief. If anyone passed by her cell, she could always tell them that she feared for her charges. Wait! No, reverse that. Franky Doyle never feared anything. Not that they would know of, anyway...
Franky quickly wiped the tears away with her fingers before extending her arms out in front of her to assess the damage. Her lower arms were covered in nail marks. She had said 'no'! She turned her arms around, but aside from a sharp pain as she turned her left arm, there was nothing much to see. She had said 'no'! Franky dropped her arms again and reached her hands up to her face as she silently wept for no one to see. She had said 'no'! Her heart was still pounding in her ears from the sudden onset of adrenaline when Gidge addressed her. Congratulations, baby. She had said 'no' and was now in her right mind to file assault and attempted rape charges against her. Sadly or stupidly – Franky could not really decide which of them was more applicable – she probably would not.
Franky did not drop her hands from her face until she felt something slide down from her right wrist down to her elbow. Turning her wrist in front of her face, she noticed a single trail of blood, with a very heavy and thick dark red drop at the bottom. Franky moistened the thumb of her left hand by pushing it against her tongue for a quick second and then rubbing it against her wrist so that the red blood made way for the white skin underneath. Though the pain in her left arm made her wince in pain, Franky decided to ignore it. Gidge pushed her away with such an extreme force of strength to make her stop... The skin on her wrist was most definitely torn. An odd and uneven line showed an undeep slice of approximately five centimeters; maybe a bracelet or watch had gotten stuck on her skin. Good. She hoped it would leave a scar.
Clutching her left arm, she sat back against the wall and rested her head against the pinboard. The encounter lasted barely a minute and if this is how banged up this had left her, she could only imagine the damage that she had caused to Gidge. She was only the aggressor. Research and perhaps a healthy dose of personal experience taught her that the victim was left with the biggest wounds. Things that do not mean a thing to the sender can be life changing to its receiver and Franky was all too aware of that fact.
"What am I turning into?!" she spoke upon deaf ears as tears started welling up again.
-x-
Bridget's chest heaved with unshed sobs threatening to come out. She had said 'stay away'! Not here, not now Westfall. You're at work. You're exposed. You can't break down crying right now, no matter how much you want to. The cool breeze of the aircon made her look down at her abdomen. Shit, her blouse had been completely destroyed just now. She gripped the zipper with trembling hands and pulled it up, covering her bare skin. She had said 'stay away'! She was lucky the hallway was currently abandoned; what if someone had seen her? The mere thought made a new rush of panic rush through her veins. Closing her eyes, she leant her head against the wall.
'Breathe, Bridget,' the still-rational part of her brain told her, 'what you're feeling is just your body's fight-or-flight-response. It's adrenalin. Just a chemical floating through your blood, attaching to neurotransmitter receptors. You're fine.' She took a deep, shaky breath and slowly exhaled. Opening her eyes again, she walked off into the direction of her office. She needed to think. She needed to process what had just happened. She just couldn't do that here. She had said 'stay away'!
-x-
The moment Bridget heard the click of the door of her office falling into its lock, she let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. Keep it together just a little longer. Close the blinds first. Don't let anyone see you. Nearly on auto-pilot she walked towards the internal window and twisted the rod, coating the small office in a soft shadow.
Bridget made her way over to the bright neon green armchairs in the far corner of the cramped office. Now ex-governor Joan Ferguson had refused to allow her any more space than the minimum. Bridget figured Ferguson saw her as a nuisance, only there to comply with the rules and regulations laid upon the prison staff by the government. Lowering herself onto the bright-colored polyester, she felt the tears she had managed to suppress so far spill onto her cheeks. Dropping her face into her hands, she cried with deep, silent sobs, letting the panic and hurt leave her body and mind.
Franky had assaulted her. Franky had cornered her, torn open her blouse, groped her breasts, tried to thrust her hand between Bridget's legs. But why? This was not the Franky she had seen grow so much since she met her; since she left this horrific place. Because hey, let's face it. Wentworth was no happy-go-lucky location to be in. If anything, this was an action more fitting for a top dog, or someone like Lucy Gambaro. Why had Franky done it? What had Bridget done to force her into a position where this was her most logical reaction?
Franky had told her to stay away. She hadn't. In fact, she'd forced herself onto the younger woman, going out of her way to see her, to spend time with her, to touch her. She'd been the one overstepping boundaries first, before Franky had. But God, why couldn't Franky see she was only doing this out of love for her? Bridget didn't know how she would survive without seeing those beautiful green eyes, without being able to trail her fingers across that gorgeous olive skin, without feeling the sensation of those soft lips against her own. The thought of having to go without all of that caused her shoulders to shake with sadness and grief.
She would have to respect Franky's request, wouldn't she? But would she be able to? Glancing at the clock on the wall she realized it was nearly time for lunch. She could use some food - the panic and adrenalin had caused her to burn through her mid-morning granola bar quickly, and she was definitely feeling it. Maybe after eating something she'd feel a little better. It was worth a shot.
-x-
The world seemed to pass her by as Bridget walked towards the break room. Her head felt full and the tears were still threatening to spill, like a glass so full the water sphered at the rim. She grabbed a mug from the cabinet and made herself a cup of tea. Coffee probably would only make her jitteriness worse. She took a mindless sip of the hot liquid as she tried to remember what she'd brought for lunch today. Oh, that was right. Just a simple cheese sandwich. She could hear Franky's voice in her head: "Gidge, that's no lunch!" Three days, and already she found herself missing the brunette's delicious meals. Shaking her head, she sat down, away from the guards who were having their breaks. She couldn't deal with small talk right now.
Bridget forced herself to get the food down her throat. No matter how nauseated she felt, she knew her body would need food to get through the day. Just make it through the rest of your appointments, and you'll be okay. She found herself getting lost in thought again. The events kept replaying in her head, on a loop like a broken record. "Or maybe that's what turns you on? I'm your big fuckin' prison fantasy!" Was that really all this was? Physical attraction? Excitement? No...it wasn't. At least, not for her. It was love. Genuine, unfiltered, all-encompassing love. Did Franky feel the same? She thought she did. It felt like she did. She was sure she did. Almost sure.
She closed her eyes and let her cheek rest upon her shoulder. Just breathe. It'll be okay. She could hear footsteps nearing, and someone sitting down to her left. Opening her eyes, she stared into the face of Governor Vera Bennett.
"You okay?" The simplicity of the question itself and the complexity of the answer running through her mind nearly made her laugh. All she could manage to reply was a breathy: "Yeah." Judging from the look on Vera's face, she didn't believe her, but dropped the subject nevertheless. That was the thing about Vera: once she'd gotten an answer to a question, she moved on; right now that was perfect. The other woman took a breath, and announced: "I need to show you something." She unfolded a piece of paper. "Ferguson had this sent to the Ombudsman." Bridget nodded. Of course she had. This was Joan Ferguson. "It's a letter, detailing your continued involvement with Franky and my knowledge of the relationship." Vera angled the text towards Bridget. She accepted the letter and scanned the lines. Fuck, this was bad news. "The Ombudsman is coming in this afternoon to discuss it."
"I'm so sorry," Bridget offered, but Vera smiled and shook her head.
"This isn't about you. Or Franky." Bridget could feel a headache coming up. She lifted her hand to her forehead and lips, trying to hold back the rush of emotion she felt at the mention of the younger woman's name. "It's me she's after. She wants to ruin my career."
No, she couldn't let Vera throw away her career for this. The woman had worked long and hard to get where she was, and this was Bridget's fuck-up. She couldn't let Vera take the fall.
"I'll, uh, I'll resign," she stammered, trying to turn her thoughts into words, "so, uh, I'll just quit. You deny everything, and just…" There was only one way to solve this. "Just blame me, Vera. Just blame me." She could hear the defeat in her own voice, and lowered her eyes to the letter. Don't cry in front of her. Don't.
"You shouldn't make a rash decision in a negative frame of mind; I'm sure you told me that once," Vera interjected. Bridget laughed through her tears at the ridicule of having her own words thrown back at her: "Yeah, that sounds like me." She looked back into Vera's eyes.
"I don't want you to leave." Vera took the letter back from her and got up. "The Ombudsman will be here in about an hour. Can you come to my office in about fifty?" Bridget nodded. She could do that. She could do this. Just get through the day, Westfall.
-x-
The meeting with the Ombudsman felt like a blur. Bridget barely registered the man sitting across the table from her and Vera. Her thoughts were going a mile a minute, while at the same time she was trying to concentrate on the matter at hand.
"Miss Westfall's contact with Francesca Doyle…" Franky...where would she be right now? Was she okay? She'd give anything to be able to walk through those hallways right now and go to her. Talk to her. Talk about what happened. She knew Franky - the younger woman's thought would be going in thousands of directions right now.
"...isn't that right, Miss Westfall?" She looked to her left and saw Vera looking at her expectantly. Bridget cleared her throat, and confirmed: "Yes." She smiled, though she had no idea what she had attested to, but Vera seemed pleased, and so did the Ombudsman. Pay attention. This may be your only chance at staying here. At still being able to see her, even if she won't let you come near her. Concentrate.
"Thank you very much for understanding, sir. This has all been an unfortunate attempt of Miss Ferguson's, to discredit both Miss Westfall and myself. Can I confirm the matter has now been dealt with?" Vera asked as she showed the man out of the conference room.
"Oh, definitely, governor. Thank you both for meeting with me to clear this up. If you will excuse me, I have to leave." He turned around and shook Bridget's hand, acknowledging her: "Miss Westfall." Bridget smiled politely at him.
"Of course. Miss Miles, would you please show Mister Glass the way to the exit?" The chagrined face of Linda Miles appeared in the doorway and begrudgingly escorted the man down the hall.
Vera turned towards Bridget. "Bridget, I think you should go home early today." Before Bridget could interject, she added: "And I'm not taking no for an answer. As governor, I'm telling you to. As your friend, I'm asking you to. Please." Bridget took a deep breath to start her negative reply. But...maybe Vera was right. She let the air leave her lungs on a deep sigh, and nodded gently.
"You've been through a lot today. Go home; rest, recharge, and I'll see you back tomorrow." Vera raised a hand and let it hang in the open space between them for a second before lowering it again. "Your wellbeing matters to me. And to someone else in this building." Bridget nearly scoffed at the mention.
-x-
Franky walked into the courtyard all by herself, quickly scouting the entire area for the quietest place to sit. She would soon regain the strength to put up her brave face again and turn into Old Franky again. Or was that New Franky now? Or was she New Franky up until a few hours ago and was she now a whole Different Franky? The remorse gnawed at her stomach and she involuntarily kept looking at the clock, knowing instinctively that Bridget Westfall would still be somewhere in the prison and what the day – or the end of it – would hold for her.
Realizing that her face was all too familiar and would very quickly attract peers that she did not feel like meeting up with right now, she beelined straight to the vendor and bought herself a magazine that she did not care to read. Shielding her face with it, she crossed the yard to one of the least popular spots; anywhere near to the separate exercise cage. Those engaging in there were able to create a horrific amount of noise that no one ever wanted to be near or a spectator of.
Franky sat down with her back against the iron grated wall, bringing her knees up just enough for her to be able to rest the magazine on them as convincingly as she knew how to at this moment, opening the booklet mindlessly somewhere close to the middle. The lady that was now staring into her soul all the way from that piece of paper annoyed her to no end, so she aggressively tore the page from the magazine and turning it into a tiny visible ball of paper rage between her right hand and the ground.
It did not take long before a pair of white gym shoes were standing next to her. Per automatic response, Franky gave the person who wore them a quick lookover before groaning inwardly and turning her attention back to the direction of her knees as she rolled her eyes. "Piss off!"
But Joan Ferguson was very commonly greeted with a catchphrase like this one nowadays and was not the least taken aback by it now. "I just wonder what happened that made this...defenseless inanimate object the receiver of such crushing violence."
Franky, being reminded of an entirely different kind of violence earlier afflicted by herself as well, could feel the emotion making its way back to the surface and knew of no different way to avoid this than by simply turning her back towards the former governor. Without a word, she scooted herself a full ninety degrees sideways. She brought up her knees a little closer than before, so she could rest her elbow on it and shield the side of her face with her hand.
She heard some shuffling behind her which had nothing to do with the sound of feet walking away from her and everything with someone getting more comfortable on a level that's lower than they found themselves at originally. Franky closes her eyes for a brief second in frustration as she angrily bites down on the inside of her lip, before nodding her face back into a neutral position with a small shake of the head. She should have known. That fucking freak got off on negative energy and sees silence as an invitation. She should try being civil the next time.
"You're usually not out here at this time of the day," by the way that the tone of her voice was still stuck in the low keys of expressing a fact, Franky deduced that she was not done with her yet and mentally braced herself. "This is when you usually do your boxing training up ahead – God knows why you like it – but I wonder why you're not there now." Silence. Franky did not know what else to offer her that was actually legal. "Are you injured perhaps?"
"Can you shut the fuck up now? I just came here to enjoy the sun." She could strangle herself for sounding as unconvincing as she did.
"Truly? Then you must have a better update on the weather than I do. It looks particularly cloudy today, don't you think?" Well, she deserved that for her weakling excuse. Being silent previously served her better, so Franky decided to just pursue that for now. "Alright. I'll let you in on a little secret. People tend to change their posture when they are hurt to avoid worsening the injury and to protect their bodies from any further damage. Judging by how you changed yours, I'd say it's your left arm."
"We have Medical for injured prisoners."
"I am aware of that, thank you, Doyle. It is a pity that prisoners who self-destruct do still tend to fall through the cracks, nevertheless. It's going to be particularly hard to hide that arm when you're in the showers with the rest of them."
"'Them?'" Franky recoiled.
"Yes, I learned my lesson a while ago. I take showers on different occasions." Franky continued to ignore her by staring down at the magazine in her lap, but Ferguson did mention a valid argument here. Her arm could not possibly be more than just a bad sprain when Gidget had grabbed her tightly and then had to use her entire weight to bump her off of her. Medical could put a nice and shiny white bandage on it for her, but it would make her look weak like the idiot that she felt she was. Lord knows for how long she was going to have to stay in here for, but she had yet to find her place in the current prisoner hierarchy and she had never been good at being a follower. Or a ghost. "I suppose you must be quite worried about this predicament you are now finding yourself in."
"I reckon I wouldn't be," Franky refused to look up, "even if I only had a single clue as to what you're referring to." To prove her point, she even turned a quick page with her healthy arm. However, this caused her to lose sight of her surroundings and in that moment, however swift, Ferguson had somehow made her way in front of her and squatted down to her level. The surprise of being confronted with that freak's face suddenly in such close proximity to hers caught her so off guard that she did not think to protect herself at all and within minutes, Ferguson had Franky's left arm in a vice grip.
Joan smiled as her action instantly led to the younger woman's unwanted reaction of her questioning look turning into a pained grimace and her entire upper body fell forward as her natural instincts kicked in to curl herself into a fetal position. "Well, well, well," despite Franky's very strong pull to regain custody of her own body, Ferguson did not let go of her.
Instead of actually assessing the arm, she did a fast look-over and then tried to recapture Franky's eyes. Franky herself was trying to avoid that happening at all cost, as the pain shooting out to nerve endings all over her body were triggering an adrenaline response for the second time that day. "Fuck off me!"
"It would seem that your little stint this morning left more than just your one desired victim. Did it not?" Ferguson asked with a smile, all the while still holding Franky's arm hostage. Franky decided to stop the struggle and narrowed her eyes at her. Of course stabbing Red to death would have required a certain amount of strength, but where the hell did this death grip come from? "I'm hoping that this clue is obvious enough for you. When I mentioned your left arm, I was insinuating this limb right here."
Wrestling Ferguson to the ground would not end in her favor; Franky could tell that much. Continuing to fight her for release of her arm was most likely only going to alert the other prisoners, with all of them learning immediately of her current temporary weak spot and all of them not waiting to push it. Franky ignored all the alarm bells screeching inside of her head when she straightened her back and set upright again, moving her head forward until there were mere inches between hers and Fergusons. "Hold that 'limb' for one more second and I will dislocate your jaw with one of the others."
Ferguson laughed, but did finally release her arm. "Oh Doyle...," she sighed. "Haven't you lost enough for just one day?" Without offering her another look, Ferguson pushed herself up from her squat and stood back up. Not liking the way that she was now looming over her – not just with her posture, but with her shadow too – Franky decided to stand up as well. They stood side by side, the one obviously not trusting the other far enough out of their sight as Franky looked into the exercise yard where she much preferred to be and Ferguson facing the directly opposite way into the courtyard. "You've fractured your radius in at least two places. You need to go to Medical and they will have to transport you to an emergency room outside of this prison."
"Tsh!" Franky dismissed her. She could still move the fingers of her arm, which made it highly unlikely for one of the two bones to be broken. Franky slid her left hand in the pocket of her teal vest and was glad to establish that she could still move her middle finger and thumb so that they could touch each other. Of course it hurt, but... no one was saying that it should not hurt when you try to rape your girlfriend and continue just as long until her attempts to fight you off actually start to hold meaning to them. Would she have actually been able to go through with it? When had she planned to end it herself?
There was no plan.
She could feel the freak cooking up her next move against her as they stood beside each other. Franky did not care. She just wanted her to leave. Franky just wanted to – never mind.
"I'm saying this to help you..." Ferguson started.
"Bullshit!" Franky jumped, turning herself just enough so she could get a look at her. "You don't help anyone! Not unless it's out of the frying pan and into the fire, that is." Franky wrapped her right arm across her stomach so that she could rest her left arm on top of it and make it look as if she was standing naturally with her arms crossed in front of her to everybody else.
Joan did not even look back at her. She was plucking at something on the hem of her sweatshirt that was invisible to everybody else, as usual. "Well, we both know that's not true, Doyle." She then surprised Franky by suddenly looking up at her. "Where's the fun in that?" She whispered. Franky's mouth dropped open in mild amusement. "Hm?"
Franky shrugged her shoulders. To be honest, she had been convinced that this was one of many of Ferguson's rhetoric questions. "Don't blame me for you choosing a career that consists of incarcerating dickheads that have the average intelligence of a flower bulb." Franky now turned herself to face the same yard as Ferguson. She leaned against the iron fencing with her back. "Also, building people up just to tear them all apart to a new low later, shows just how fucked you are. I'm not taking any 'help' from you. Everyone who ever did, ended up breaking the law or turned up dead."
"Well, whatever you decide is ultimately up to you. However, considering we are halfway down the afternoon already, if your arm fracture turns out to need a treatment that consist of more than fixating it in a cast, you might have to stay overnight. During the evening and night hours the specialized orthopedic doctors and surgeons are largely understaffed, so...," Franky listened silently. "The same goes for the staff at Wentworth. At night, you will not be monitored by a screw sitting outside your room. You will just be handcuffed to the bed with one wrist. Sadly, for you that will mean the wrist from your good arm. However, I'm sure that after all this time you and Miss Westfall have become quite creative when doing your...business. From eleven at night until seven in the morning, there will not be anyone to disturb you."
Franky's face had dropped midway Ferguson's monologue, but her lack of conjuring up the perfect retort had failed her ability to interrupt her. She was quickly losing sight of what she wanted, what she needed and what she could not do. Of course, her parole was fucked already and for her own sanity, it would be great if there was someone that she could talk to or find an ally in. "I just keep wondering when I missed that newspaper article about humans developing x-ray vision..."
Of course she would never even consider Ferguson for that position; she knew better than that. She had once been able to rely on her own and she would be able to do it again. After she figured out a way to regroup. "I am not wrong. Without medical intervention, your arm will not be able to heal properly." Franky just shrugged her shoulders in reply. All that would happen is that she would be pressed for the who, how and why she hurt that stupid arm. Not that she would say anything, but being grilled about it when the scene kept replaying in her head would not help her either.
Don't worry about it. I can handle it.
"You're not going to, are you?" Ferguson broke Franky's train of thought. Franky looked at her and saw that satisfied smirk appear on Ferguson's lips and it meant little good. She was going to try to weasel her way into her brain like the dirty snake that she was. She just stood there; looking at Franky like the battle was already won.
Franky stepped out and braced herself, shrugging her shoulders and mimicking the smirk but turning it into an amused one. "You've got nothing on me. It's just a fucking sprain." Franky showed her left hand with her middle finger touching her thumb. "See? I'm sorry to disappoint you." It hurt like crazy, but Franky was determined to keep her smile up.
The former governor let out a small unimpressed chuckle. "You won't be able to do that by tomorrow." Franky dropped both her hands and placed them on her hips defiantly. "If you think that physical pain is more manageable than a broken heart, then I have to disappoint you. Not only is that reasoning defective; the satisfaction of this type of…," Ferguson looked the young woman up and down, before continuing her sentence, "release, is very short."
Franky nodded and leaned her head back. "I'm impressed." But not really. "Which medical romance novel did you quote that one from? I know that most books in our library are crap, but—"
"For a lawyer in training or well…formerly in training, you do not listen very well, Doyle. Not to mention your definite lack of interpretation skills." Ferguson glanced at the court yard, where everyone seemed to be engaged in either a basketball game, a talk among peers or some very obvious drug dealing. She leaned forward to Franky conspiringly, who in turn did not move at all. "I know about you and Miss Westfall."
Franky laughed out loud, throwing her head back before leaning into Ferguson as well. "You know. Jack. Shit."
Ferguson stood up straight again, knowing that she was now starting to strike a nerve. "Well, it's no longer just a rumor. I saw the Ombudsman arrive two hours ago." Ferguson nodded into the direction of the entrance and exit for personnel. "He has been alerted to your affair. He even knows that Vera has been allowing it to take place right in front of her eyes. The fact that I haven't seen him leave yet, probably means that it is a very time-consuming conversation…"
Franky raised her eyebrows. "So you're not just a lagger? You're a lagger who's wrong." Franky made a face and pulled her shoulders up.
"You don't have to believe me. Ask anyone who was with you in H3 this morning." Franky's smile fell for a moment, unsure of where this was going. Ferguson was done smirking as well and that is when she was the most dangerous. "Everyone could hear you trying to…persuade Miss Westfall to leave you to your own devices."
Franky was taken aback. How many people had actually witnessed the scene? Gidge had stormed out of her room without fixing her clothes. She had torn her shirt open from top to bottom. Had people seen her as exposed as Franky made her? Franky's eyes stared into the nothingness as she shook her head violently. "Nah."
"And because she wouldn't listen to your earlier warnings, you responded the only way you know how to."
Franky just continued to shake her head. She could storm off, but that would mean that she gave Ferguson the upper hand. Even worse, she would know just how to get to Franky. Franky could not do her that favor. "Shut up. Leave it alone."
"You attacked her." Just one last time. I know you want it.
Franky's heart was racing and her breathing quickened. Her eyes were spitting fire and she found it hard to stand still. She made sure not to meet Ferguson's eyes by bringing her hands up to her face, wiping sweat from her forehead that was not there and even resting them against her eyes. I'm trying to get you off like a fucking crim'!"Shut up."
"And that's when she broke your arm."
Franky turned herself away from Ferguson and tried to get her breathing under control. She exhaled slowly a few times as all the memories flooded her mind. Just days ago she was sharing a bed with the woman that she was now so desperate to get away from. She needed to forget. These good days would never happen anymore. She would be charged with twenty-five years with first degree murder. Manslaughter if she was lucky, but as a repeat offender she had the system against her. This is what you want, isn't it?"Shut up!"
"However much I understand your motives for this self-castigation, it will never succeed."
Franky felt her control slipping right out of her fingers and why should she not give in? Maybe this is where I belong. Behind bars like a fucking bad girl. Gidge…even if they managed to stay together during her sentence, they would be condemned to what? Quick kisses in her cell? Forced fucking on her office desk? Prison was no place for romance. Franky, you know that's not true.
"Because there is no real end to it, is there? The bone will heal wrong, but I guess that's the same for rape. The visible scars will heal, but on the inside they never do. It obviously was the same for Miss Westfall. The panic on her face after your sexual onslaught against her, read that it reminded her of the time that she had not been able to get away." Well, come on. Let's go! Let's fuck."So that hardly makes you a martyr then, does it?"
And with that, Franky lunged upon the former governor, grabbing her by the neck of her sweater and pulling it tight. Being a lot smaller than her, Franky used her weight for extra force to drag her down and apply a choking hold on her. "Shut up! Shut the fuck up! I warned you before!"
Ferguson looked at Franky with feigned empathy. "I'm surprised you didn't know. It's hardly a secret." If she was in any way impaired by Franky's stronghold of her, than she was not showing it at all, fuelling Franky's rage even further. She tightened her grip on her. "At the risk of sounding condescending; how are you planning to take me down with just one arm, hm?"
Franky had both hands hooked into the fabric of the sweater, so that her fists were pressed into the freak's neck. However, only one arm was able to put actual pressure against it. "I don't care to take you down; you've made great work of that yourself. I just want you to shut the fuck up with the lies."
"Nothing that I've told you now is a lie. You can ask Miss Westfall the next time you see her. I'm sure that won't be long." Ferguson managed to stay really calm in the face of anger. Franky was just figuring out her next move when the shadow of someone else appearing next to them alerted her.
"What's going on here?" Recognizing Kaz Proctor's voice, Franky just narrowed her eyes and continued her stare at Ferguson. "Haven't we settled on you agreeing to follow my rules before? Let go of her!"
"I don't answer to you."
"Well, you should! I am top dog!" Kaz's patience was obviously running out fast, by the way she raised her volume and slowed down on her pronunciation of her last word. Franky just would not spare her a single look.
Franky was no longer susceptible to any reasoning, having been pushed too far for too long. "I don't care if you're top dog or fucking bottom cat! You better go before I smash both your heads in!"
"I highly doubt that," Ferguson added. Then there was the screeching sound of the heavy employees' entrance door opening. Ferguson glanced over quickly, by simply extending her neck backwards over Franky's fist. "Now's your chance, Doyle."
Franky looked over her right shoulder to see Bridget standing outside, her laptop bag slung over her shoulder, the ridiculous transparent container that every employee got to take with them inside the prison leaning on it. Franky recognized her bread container, water bottle and her paper agenda inside of them. In her hands, she was holding some files in her hands. Franky's heart jumped nervously inside of her chest. This whole scene was not right! Gidge did not finish work until five and she never brought files home with her.
Before the door fell closed behind her, another hand appeared and pushed it open again. Vera Bennett appeared and placed her hands on the psychologist's shoulders. Had Ferguson not been shitting her earlier about the Ombudsman knowing? Was she fired? Or physically hurt? If she really had been raped in the past, than what would that mean for what had just happened between them earlier that day?
"You're bleeding again," Ferguson pointed out, redirecting Franky's attention back to her. She was right. Because she had the sleeves of her vest rolled up to her elbows, the trickle of blood was very visible, making its way into the teal fabric. "That spot will certainly make for a remarkable tattoo."
Franky's mind was racing a million miles an hour, but none of them included Joan Ferguson or Kaz Proctor. Franky looked over to the small passageway beyond the courtyard and suddenly locked eyes with her partner. Or ex-partner. Or whatever.
Franky now understood what it meant when books mentioned that in a single look, time can seem to stand still. It is not that she was looking at her any sort of way, but it was enough for Franky to feel very unsettled. Her stomach was in knots and she found that she was unable to look away. If Gidge had gotten injured, then she was not showing it. If this was their last goodbye, she was not letting it on either. She would go home now – or to the hospital! Is that why she was leaving earlier?
Despite the heat, Gidge had that jacket zipped up as far as she could and Franky knew exactly why. A part of her wants to know and assess the damage done, but that would make it really hard for her to act indifferent. There were certain parts of Prison Franky that she would never want to show her. The girl who fought so hard for power, sold sexual favors from Boomer in return for drugs and always had a prison girlfriend to fuck was changed by Gidge's presence and the promise of a future had changed all of that in her. And though they were so far apart and separated by more than that fucking fence, Franky knew exactly what these eyes were telling her. You wanna push me away?
"Ugh!" In her daze of looking at the woman she had loved to go home with, her grip of Ferguson's sweatshirt had loosened. The one moment she was looking at the psychologist and the next thing she knew, she had received a blow to the chest, right above her breasts. The connection between her and Bridget was instantly broken as Franky fell back to the pavement, hitting not just her back, but also her head on impact. You fuckin' failed!Franky's face contorted in pain, although it was influenced more by the element of surprise rather than actual discomfort.
Franky's first instinct was to sit back up, wondering what the hell had happened. Placing both her hands on the ground so that she could push herself back up, she felt how her left arm gave way and she fell back again. Do not let Gidge see you this way; you are fine. You are just fine – no, even better without her. "Are you okay?" She heard Kaz ask somewhere in the background. Whether it was meant for her or Ferguson, she did not care. She had no intention of feeding that woman any information at all. "Which part of 'no violence towards other women' is too hard for you to understand?"
The young brunette blinked a few times before turning herself on her left side, so that she could scramble to her feet while pushing herself off with just her right arm. She stood back up with her back towards Ferguson and Kaz. And if she was still out there, she could not see Gidge. "It was just a harmless push against the sternum. It was self-defense." Really, freak? Fucking self-defense? Stop it. Stop it!
Franky reached for her stomach as she straightened herself back up. The gnawing feeling had completely been replaced by a queasiness that made her feel like she never would be able to eat again. Was it true? Was it really true? Then why had Gidge not said anything, ever? Franky felt her mouth fill with saliva and knew what that meant. Without any further looks, she started sprinting to the corner in the far back, where there was a short iron enclosure that would force the inmates right back into the prison. All that she wanted right now, was to get as far away from everyone as she could possibly get and back to her own cell. Don't you do this!
But she barely made it to that corner before her body doubled over and she threw up that little water she drank during lunch and that one crust of bread. You wanna hurt me? Hm?Franky raised both her arms above her head, keeping her hair out of her face. Everything fucking hurt. Her arm, her stomach, her head… No tears in the world would be able to relieve that for her. Franky waited until her gag reflex was under control, before lowering her right arm to her mouth.
"Now you must definitely go to medical. I wouldn't want to catch that bug," she heard Ferguson call out to her. Franky just closed her eyes, inhaling and exhaling slowly to prevent it from happening again. "Or is it perhaps a parasite?" Not wanting to find out what other tricks her body could do if she let her emotions get played any longer, she kept shielding her mouth with her arm, using the other to wildly wave it in the direction of two guards who came running in her direction as she made a sharp turn to the left and ran back inside the building. The magazine lay discarded on the ground as a silent witness disappearing back into the stillness of the wind. Congratulations, baby.
-x-
Bridget left her office, files under her arm. Being sent home early didn't mean she couldn't take any work home, maybe write up some reports that were nearly due. She stopped by the locker area and grabbed her things.
"Going home early, Bridget?" Bridget tried to suppress the cringe threatening to break out. Smiling, she turned to her right.
"So it seems, Jake." She didn't like the guard. She couldn't put her finger on it, but he just was so, so...Jake.
"I thought you'd be doing a group therapy session this afternoon?" Bridget shook her head, and replied: "No, that's tomorrow. If you'll excuse me, I'd like to go now." She raised an eyebrow and gently pushed past him, making her way towards the exit. Just as she set her first few steps outside, she was met with the face of Vera. The governor awkwardly raised her hands to Bridget's shoulders and grasped her, squeezing lightly. Vera smiled uncertainly, and softly said: "Take care, and I'll see you tomorrow." Her hands lingered on Bridget's shoulders until Bridget gently cleared her throat. Vera's eyes widened, and she dropped her arms to her sides. "Okay, well, tomorrow. Uh, bye." The woman hurried towards her office. Just leave me in peace, would you, Jake. She didn't have the energy or resilience to deal with him right now. She felt lucky she managed to get a reasonable answer out in response to his sudden intrusion. Her mind was flooded with thoughts of Franky. Of what had happened, of whether she was okay, of whether they were okay. They were still together, weren't they? They hadn't officially broken up...but she wasn't completely sure of where they stood either.
She continued out of the building and stood still with closed eyes, letting the bright beams of the afternoon sun warm her face. Bridget looked around as she began her walk towards the exit gate. There weren't too many inmates in the courtyard at this time of day. She spotted some of the inmates she'd spoken to this morning. Good, some fresh outside air would do them well. Suddenly she spotted Franky on the other end of the pavement...with the collar of Ferguson's sweater in a death grip. Kaz Proctor was standing nearby, seemingly trying to break them up. Shit, Franky! What the hell was she doing? Franky looked up, and their eyes locked. Bridget felt tears well up again. The brunette could look at her like she could see past her eyes, all the way into her heart and soul. All of a sudden she saw Ferguson push against Franky's sternum, and the younger woman fell backwards, crashing to the ground. Bridget's eyes widened and her mouth opened in a silent scream she could barely contain. She felt paralyzed as she watched Franky's face scrunch up at the impact of her back on the pavement. Please be okay. Please get up. Franky scrambled up and ran off towards the corner of the courtyard. Quickening her pace, Bridget moved around the bend, trying to get closer to her, to keep her in her sights. She could just see Franky vomiting near the wall, before the brunette ran back inside of the building. Fuck. Bridget glanced back over to Ferguson. The tall woman smirked at her and raised her hand in a small, sarcastic wave. 'Fuck you, Joan Ferguson!' her mind screamed at the satisfied face staring at her. Instead, Bridget redirected her gaze towards the gate that would let her leave the grounds. 'So there's still something I have that you don't, Joan. Freedom,' she told herself. A little voice in the back of her mind asked: 'Do you, really?'
-x-
Franky had resigned herself to lying on that pathetic excuse for a bed for the remainder of the afternoon. She had managed to get her hands on a red ballpoint pen and had broken it apart into just enough parts that would get the job done. Because the fingers of her left hand would sometimes just freeze mid-conduct, Franky had to make use of balancing some amenities between her lips. It worked just fine, but it did make things a bit more messy than usual. The bleeding had gotten bad enough that she had to wash her arm in the sink a few times in between, because the red ink would not be visible underneath the blood anymore.
She was now lying down on her side, nursing the inflamed skin of her relatively simple new wrist tattoo with her own saliva. She was resting her left arm on the bedding, hoping it would feel better in the morning if she left it alone. She was not going in for dinner anyway.
"Hey!" Franky looked up to see Allie Novak leaning with her arm against the doorpost of Franky's cell. Not quite knowing what to say because she had not accurately established her current frame of mind, Franky just looked back to her own wrist. "I heard you blew chunks all over the yard today." Franky just raised her eyebrows in reply. Not only did Red's girl ask a lot of questions, she was very susceptible to prison gossip as well. "I came to bring you some tea to settle your stomach." Franky looked up again, only this time noticing that she was holding a mug in her other hand.
When Franky did not immediately look away again, Allie took that as her cue to enter the cell. As Franky sighed audibly, she placed the mug on the ground next to Franky. "My stomach is fine, thank you." Franky said. There was a small second of an increase of noise outside her door, making both Franky and Allie turn their heads toward it. Kaz entered H3 and shot a look at Franky as she walked back to her own cell which was inconveniently located next to Franky's. Which reminded Franky… "Unless it's Westfall. In that case it's the Noro fucking virus."
"Oh, you mean Gidget?" Allie dumped into Franky's lap, earning her a shocked expression from the other woman. "Ooh," she said in a teasingly triumphant manner, "I got you with that one, didn't I?"
Franky slung her legs over the edge of the bed and used her weight to sit herself back up. "No. Nah…," Franky reached for the mug of steaming tea on the ground and brought it up to rest in her lap. "It's not a secret that I call her that." Franky shook her head. Used to call her that.
Novak sat back against the wall. "What happened?"
No big deal; just tried to scare her off by raping her. Which apparently would not be the first time that it happened to her. Franky shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know! What should have happened?"
"Enough that would cause you to lose your meal outside." Allie smiled at her empathetically.
"What do you know, she's just a really bad cook," Franky gritted her teeth and made a face. She took a sip of the tea, trusting Allie enough not to attempt to poison her. However… Franky scrunched up her face. "This is fucking vile without sugar!"
Allie sat herself up straighter. "Well, I didn't want to upset your stomach again!" Allie looked up at the brunette defensively. Blue eyes met green, before both girls erupted in some carefree laughter.
-x-
Bridget felt the willpower leave her body the moment she crossed the threshold of the front door. Her defenses dropped; her carefully-constructed walls collapsed, and she felt her knees buckle. The weight of the day was pushing her towards the ground. She let her bags drop to the floor. The sound of the impact felt like a nuclear explosion in the otherwise silent home. She managed to stumble to the bedroom before collapsing face-down onto the bed. Their bed. Sobs racked her body, leaving her trembling on top of the duvet.
Franky, what have you done? She turned onto her side and pulled her knees up to her chest. This isn't the same as then, Bridget. This is different. This isn't aggression merely for the sake of power. Franky doesn't get off on this. This is different. You love Franky, and Franky loves you. You know she does.
Bridget focused her attention on her breathing. After what seemed like hours, she felt her heart rate start to slow down and the shaking of her limbs to lessen. Maybe a bath would help her relax. She got up, a little unsteady still, and dragged her body towards the bathroom. While she let the tub fill up, she raised her hands to the zipper of her jacket. She winced as she pulled it down and was met with the torn black fabric of her blouse and bare skin. When she'd let both items of clothing drop to the tiles, her breath caught in her throat at the sight of her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Angry-looking purple and blue bruises covered the left side of her abdomen. She unclasped her bra to discover a large discoloration on her breast. Well that was just fantastic, wasn't it? Shaking her head, she quickly undressed completely and let the warm water engulf her body. Maybe she'd leave the reports; go to bed early today. It'd all be better in the morning. It just had to be.
-x-
Franky had closed the door to her room early that night, claiming that she was going to go to sleep. She had slowly gotten herself dressed into a white prisoner's shirt and a wide grey pajama pants that had been the largest struggle to put on. She did not have many clothing items of her own in the prison at this time; neither did she care for them. She was much too shaken to be able to sleep at all. As she lay inside her bed, she cried silently. The covers shook around her as her body was wrecked with sobs.
When the door to her cell opened, Franky was completely taken by surprise. To hide herself from whomever was standing in the doorway, Franky threw an arm over her eyes and swallowed her grief for as much as it was possible. "Go away if you don't want to get sick!" She called out to her unwanted guest, hoping that the risk of a gastric flu would be enough to scare them out.
"Doyle, you are a lot of things, but you're not sick and we both know it." Oh great, Vinegar Tits to end her day on an even more positive note. She apparently stepped inside, because the next thing that Franky heard was the sound of her door shutting and just the pedantic tone of her voice let Franky know that she was not done with her yet. Franky turned on her side, facing the wall. "So uh…I caught Miss Westfall in tears in the staff room today." Franky kept her eyes shut, but had to bite down hard on the inside of her lip to prevent it from trembling. "I was wondering if you knew anything about that."
Franky let out an audible sigh. "No, of course not. Now can I go back to sleep?"
"I think that you do, because when I saw her an hour and a half earlier to give her my okay to a counseling session with you, she seemed fine." Come on. Let's talk in my office.
Franky paid close attention to keeping her breathing under control. "What do you want me to say?"
"I want you to say that you'll watch yourself. I understand the difficulty you may have settling back in, but you don't get to take your personal frustration out on prison personnel, including those who are not wearing a uniform. She nearly quit this afternoon, which I do not think she would ever do if she could still get to…" There was a pause in her speech and Franky started filling in words for her. Fuck? Safety? Be happy? "You."
The words cut through Franky's body like sharpened knives and it was becoming increasingly difficult not to do or say anything that she really should not do. Kaz was sleeping right next to her, after all. "Nothing happened." Yet.
"If I ever do find out that you are abusing your connection to Miss Westfall and her suffering adverse effects from it, than so help me, Doyle. It will be you paying the consequences and not her!" Governor Bennett was doing everything to keep her voice down, but Franky could tell that she was very angry. She honestly did not know that she had it in her. A tear trickled down from her eye, down her cheek and onto her pillow.
"And?"
"And if you can't help yourself," the governor took a deep breath, "…then stay away from her." Without waiting for another response from Franky, she opened the door again and stepped outside. "One last thing. The guards said that you hit your head when you fell in the yard today. You didn't check yourself into Medical, but especially since you had to vomit afterwards, nurse Radcliffe said that you may have a concussion." Oh, Franky would just love to be concussed right now. Preferably one of those where you do not wake up from anymore. "So just for your sake, the night guards will wake you twice tonight." And with that, the door finally did close.
Franky turned herself on her back again, tears streaming down both of her cheeks. "Fuck!" She cursed in a hushed voice as her breath faltered. Did they not see? Was it not obvious? Staying away was exactly what she was doing. Whether she wanted to or not was not even the question at hand. The fact was that she was here, all by herself. The days of being outside and with Gidge were long gone. Congratulations, baby.
-x-
Authors' Note:
Thank you for reading the first chapter of The Clock Is Ticking! We're very excited to hear what you thought, so please let us know in a review, and likes are - as always - highly appreciated.