Just a little something that popped into my head whilst watching the second to last of Brendan's episodes. Spoilers if you haven't seen it yet.
Disclaimer: I only own Allie, her friend and the plot. Nothing else.
Visit from a Stranger.
A nineteen-year-old girl and her friend, eighteen, stood at the doorway of the visiting room of the prison. Rows and rows of tables were stretched out in front of them, with the inmates sitting in the chairs facing them.
They had already passed through the metal detector, and removed their jewellery and mobile phones, the both of them removing their earrings; she taking out her sky-blue studs, and her friend removing her ear stretchers. The nineteen-year-old was wearing a little yellow summer dress and white ballet flats, while her friend, who had a more "edgier" style, was wearing black leggings, Doc Martens and a long-sleeved T-shirt which had been artistically ripped. She had short red and black streaked her, while the older girl had elbow length fair hair.
The girl was with her friend, who was visiting an aunt, who had been put away for burglary, when she noticed a man with a dark handlebar moustache sitting alone. Everybody else had a visitor except for him. She wasn't going to be talking to her friend's aunt anyway, so she decided she would sit with the man instead.
"I'm gonna go talk to him," she whispered to her friend, before making her way over. This was out of character for her, and friend looked surprised before walking over to her aunt's table. "Hi," she smiled shyly, taking a seat opposite the man.
"What do ye want?" he asked in a thick Irish accent.
"You looked lonely, so I came over to talk to you." The man said nothing, so the girl tried to start a conversation. "You waiting for someone?" He looked at her as if he was going to say something scathing, but thought better of it.
"No," was all he said, but the girl was determined.
"What you in for, then?" she asked casually. He looked at her again.
"Murder," he said simply, and the teenager was shocked, although she didn't show it.
"Who?" she asked curiously. Again, he looked at her.
"Me da'," he said, wondering why he was telling her.
"Your dad? Why?"
"Because he deserved it!" he hissed at her, but the girl remained unfazed.
"Probably did," she muttered. "What did he do?"
"Loved me a bit too much," he paused before replying darkly, and a strange look descended into the girl's eyes.
"I'm sorry," she said sincerely.
"Ah, it ain't your fault, darlin'," the man muttered absent-mindedly. Then his whole demeanour changed; his whole face darkened and angry didn't cover the look that filled his eyes, but she wasn't scared; after all, she was in a room full of prison guards. "That man ruined my life!" he growled suddenly. He looked at her with contempt. "I don't suppose ya know what that's like, do ya, princess?" The 'princess' was intended as an insult, but she ignored it. "I bet you've never had a bad day in your life, have ya? I reckon you've never been dealt any hardships. Do ya know what that's like? Do ya?!" he growled, putting his face close to hers.
She observed him silently for a moment before replying quietly, "yes."
"No, ya don't!" he hissed.
"Yes, I do," she insisted.
"How could you possibly understand?!"
"Because," she didn't take her blue eyes from his, "it happened to me, too."
That certainly shut the man up; he hadn't been expecting that. He leaned back in his chair and properly scrutinised the girl for the first time; she looked happy enough, but if he looked closely enough at her eyes, there was a sadness there that never quite left, even when she smiled. The man knew that look very well; he saw it every time he looked at himself in the mirror.
"What?" was all he found he could say. He always found it hard when he discovered that someone else had been through what he had.
"Not by the same person as you," she added, "it just happened to me as well, so I understand." The man just sat there staring at her. "Did you ever tell anyone?" she asked, and he shook his head.
"Not until it was too late. Did you?" he found himself asking.
"Not on purpose," she admitted. "I never had a dad growing up," she revealed, "it was always just me and my mum. Then, eleven years ago, when I was eight, she met this bloke.
"It happened a couple of times. I thought it was normal. Then I accidentally let it slip one night at a sleepover. They phoned my mum. He got arrested, but he denied everything. Went to court, but he didn't go to jail." She heaved a great sigh. "I don't like people now," she said. "Before.. it happened, I was an introvert anyway; now I don't talk to hardly anyone, except her," she jerked her head over to where her friend was sitting with her aunt. "We've been best friends since we were five," she smiled in spite of herself.
"Did you ever... get help?" the inmate asked and the teenager shook her head, the smile dropping from her face.
"Did you?" and the man found himself copying her actions and shook his head as well. They sat there in silence for a while, before he leaned towards her.
"It ain't too late for ya. You can still get help." The girl looked sceptical and he surprised himself when he placed his hand over hers. "Listen, sweetheart," he said genuinely, "I don't want ya to grow up like me; I don't want ya to be someone who can only show love through hurtin' people. This is no place for ya." The girl considered this, and then she looked at the man.
"Alright, I'll get help... if you do as well," she said.
"I can't."
"If I can, you can," she insisted. "Besides, you've done nothing wrong; you shouldn't even be in here."
"I killed my da'."
"Well, you had good reason to. I wish I could kill the one who did it to me," she added quietly.
"What happened to him, if he didn't go to jail?"
"They just let him go. You know, I don't like going anywhere alone now; I'm afraid that he's gonna be waiting around the corner." He nodded, knowing all too well how she felt. "Please, just go to one session?" she pleaded.
"Fine," he said, after much deliberation. "But only one!" This seemed to be enough for the girl and she smiled.
Just then, a bell rang, signalling the end of the visit, and she got up to leave. "By the way, what's your name?" he asked.
"Allison, but everyone calls me Allie," she said. "What's yours?"
"Brendan," he replied. "Brendan Brady." She smiled at him and left with her friend, and Brendan felt a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
~ X ~
There you go! Hope you enjoyed; I've never written a "Hollyoaks" story before and I wrote this in about an hour.
Compliments? Criticisms? Let me know!