Sorry, Sorry, Sorry. I know I'm taking ages updating stuff but in my defence I am writing THREE fics, plus soon I have to go back to the wonderful hell hole that is university :-P. Also I was suffering from writer's block; my laptop deserted me for several days. I know excuses LOL. Sorry but I AM working on it. I'm trying to write the next chapter for Love is a battlefield and I'm sort of attempting to write a chapter for on my own. Anyway I managed to churn out a chapter for this so I hope you like it . Thanks to everyone who reviewed/reviews as usual I really appreciate it. Ok on with the angst!
Hanson blinked, his lips slightly parted, Marco dragged himself up from the cold ground using the bunk to steady himself.
"Nothing" he groaned wheezily, he gulped deeply his eyes locked on Hanson.
"That true Hanson?" questioned Collins suspiciously. Hanson nodded slowly, his eyes cast downwards, focused on the soiled floor of their cell.
Collins gave an exasperated sigh, neither inmate was going to utter a word about the fray which had occurred but judging by the situation at least Hanson was able to hold his own. For the moment.
"Go get yourself ready for morning inspection Marco" he commanded
Hanson raised his eyes from the ground, the chocolate brown orbs shimmering and burning with unasked questions.
"Go Marco!" barked Collins his tone seeped in irritation.
Marco shuffled slowly towards the prison door as Collins unlocked it, placing the inmate into the custody of a fellow prison warden. He listened intently as their shoes squeaked down the hollow corridor.
Hanson stared intensely, his body twitching with an urgent desire to break free from the cage that confined him. He cast his gaze around the cell, the dark, dank walls closing in on his small frame.
"Why won't you shower Hanson?"
The Cell block captain's question split the air, shattered the silence into a million irretrievable pieces.
Hanson focused his attention on the cuff of his uniform, plucking at the stray threads of blue, tying them around his fingers and snapping them sharply.
"Stop it" chastised Collins, "You're an inmate in this prison Hanson that means you gotta follow the rules, former cop or not"
"Is that the reason you're gonna give my friends and family when they ask why I'm dead?" questioned Hanson softly, "That I died because I had to follow the rules?"
"You're quite a melodramatic son of a bitch aren't you?" smirked Collins
"Melodramatic? Melo-fucking-dramatic?!" cried Hanson, "They are going to kill me! Does that mean nothing to you? You, you can keep sitting in your office, rattling your little nightstick against the bars, close your eyes and your ears to the things they say and do to me. I can't do that! I have to live with it every second of every day. They're always waiting for me. Always. I can't sleep, I can't eat. They're always there."
"That's prison son. What were you expecting, an en-suite with private shower facilities away from all the big bad criminals? You're a cop killer boy! You deserve to be in here, and I can't do a damn thing about that. You pulled the trigger kid not anyone else" barked Collins
"I did not pull the trigger!" yelled Hanson furiously. He recoiled sharply as Collin's palm made contact with his face, raised a tentative hand to his lip, felt the warm stickiness of blood as he pulled his fingers back.
"You following your inmate-cell block captain relationship rulebook?" he questioned sarcastically, his throat tightening with trepidation.
He gave a low moan of pain as Collins drove his baton into his stomach, winding the young man. The weight of the pain reducing the young inmate to his knees, Hanson clutched at his stomach desperately trying to soothe the sharp ache of pain that was shooting through his torso like wildfire.
Collins yanked at Hanson's hair, pressing his face against the cold metal of the baton, cutting a firm groove into the man's already aching features.
"Your big mouth ain't gonna get you nowhere in here son" spat Collins, panting with fury.
Hanson spluttered against the stick, his chest burning with agony, his stomach screaming in pain, his entire body coated with a film of fear induced sweat.
He stumbled for balance as Collins sent a boot hurtling in his direction, his slender frame tumbling to the ground, his limbs crashing to the concrete with a sickening thud.
He lay there, his torso bruised and battered, struggling to draw breath, as Collins crouched above him.
"Get up" he mocked, his eyes flecked with disgust.
Hanson dragged himself up on his hands and knees, futilely attempted to crawl a few paces before collapsing to the ground again.
Collins sent another savage kick in Hanson's direction, his boot making contact with the man's ribcage.
Hanson gasped as the pain caught up with the blow, instinctively reaching out to soothe the hurt, withdrew swiftly as Collins' stick bluntly stung his slender fingers.
" You gotta learn to follow the rules in here Hanson"
"Like you?" groaned Hanson, his hair matted, his body aching and convulsing with the hurt. No matter how much physical punishment this place heaped upon him he wouldn't let them take his soul. He had to keep it, no matter how zealously they chipped away at his self worth.
He screwed his face up against the blow, felt his face explode with pain as Collins' boot punted him ferociously. His nose burst with the force, blood dripping from his face, seeping through his clothes, crimson patches spotting the once blue uniform, mingling with the filth and sweat already caked in the stale fabric.
He felt the blood bubble in his throat, spat violently to the ground, a splutter of pink tinged saliva landed on the already soiled concrete.
Hanson dug his finger nails into the dirt, desperately tried to claw himself up from the ground on his hands and knees. He glanced up at Collins through half shut eyes, hair slick with blood, his face a crimson mask.
"Y-You can't d-do-"he broke out coughing, the taste of blood sourly bitter against his tongue.
Collins leant down beside him, grasping him by the collar of his stained and blood encrusted shirt. He brushed his greasy lips close to Hanson's ear.
"This is prison son. I can do what I like"
Hanson closed his eyes, his body weak. The pain searing through every limb, agony piercing every pore, blood seeping from his mouth and nostrils, the purple mounds of bruises trailing across his face like a well trodden path of kicks and punches.
He inhaled, his breathing shallow, his throat tightened by unshed tears of frustration and dismay. He would not let them fall, batted his eyelashes against the stinging droplets which threatened to overflow.
He flinched savagely as the cold wet cloth made contact with his aching chest. He allowed it to slip silently onto the floor.
"Welcome to Fulham Prison sweetheart" said Collins, his mocking tone ringing in Hanson's ears.
With a dull buzz the cell door rattled open, Collins turned the key; the lock snapping shut behind him.
Hanson lay slumped against the wall, his eyes barely open, his head spinning, his body ablaze with pain, streaked by blood and bruises, a mess of red, purple and yellow. He struggled to his feet his shoes slipping in his own blood, he clutched at the basin, his nails splintering against the porcelain as he dug his fingers into the bowl. He dragged his shoulders up, managed to balance himself precariously upright.
With a sharp squeak the tap turned freeing a violent gush of water; he scooped it up in a shaking handful, cupped the water to his face, and flinched as it stung against his cuts and bruises.
He looked down watching a whirlwind of red disappear down the plug hole as it gurgled away.
He padded his face as gently as he could, feeling the coarse material chafe against his tender skin.
He placed a hand against his nose, felt the sweet stickiness of blood as he withdrew.
Welcome to Fulham Prison indeed.