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Tony was shoved into a cell and the door slammed behind him. He turned, begging desperately to be released, but the guards began to jeer at him. Stepping back, away from the intimidating guards, he tripped and fell to the cold, concrete floor. He yelled out in pain, but there was no one to hear him and comfort him. He tried to stand, but the pain was too bad, and he began to feel dizzy. The room was spinning around him, and the walls were closing in, getting closer and closer. He was trapped!
Tony sat bolt upright yelling. He was covered in sweat, and was shaking all over. He took a deep breath as he realised where he was, and buried his face in his hands. It was the second night in a row that he had had a nightmare about prison, and the second time he had woken in such a state.
He leaned across the bed, and reached for the light. That was better. The sight of the bedroom calmed him down – he was definitely at home. He looked across to the other side of the bed longingly, wishing Michelle was here to comfort him, and take his mind away from the horror of his dreams.
She had left for Seattle three days ago, and he missed her desperately. The house was quiet and empty without her around, and memories kept coming back to haunt him.
Knowing that he wouldn't be able to sleep in fear of another nightmare, he climbed out of bed slowly, and headed downstairs for a drink. Armed with a glass of milk and a large pile of cookies to calm himself down, he settled on the sofa and began to browse through the channels. After watching a couple of hours of trash, he dropped off into sleep, more peacefully this time.
Tony woke up to the phone ringing. He glanced at his watch sleepily. It was half past ten – good thing Michelle wasn't here to tell him off for sleeping in and wasting the day! He sprung up and grabbed the phone.
"Hello?" he asked, his voice sounding groggy, then almost dropped the phone as a male voice asked for Michelle. It couldn't be work – everyone knew she was away, and they always called her cell anyway. Who was he?
"She's not here. Who is it?" he demanded, failing to keep the accusing tone out of his voice.
There was a pause on the end of the phone. "Look, if she's not there I'll call back some other time."
Tony began to protest, but the phone was hung up. His mind whirling, Tony replaced the receiver. Who was he? He forced himself to calm down; knowing that he shouldn't jump to conclusions. So Michelle had some male friends as well as female, what was wrong with that? He knew in his heart that Michelle would never see another man while she was married to him, and that he shouldn't be so over-protective. He tried to put the phone call out of his mind – he knew that if he asked Michelle about it, it would sound like he was accusing her.
Tony spent the next couple of days lounging around the house watching TV. The only time he left the house was to go shopping to stock up on food supplies, and his mood worsened every day. He hated being without Michelle –one of the worst things about being in prison was not being able to see her, and now he was out she was gone again. He knew it wasn't her fault, but the combined boredom and loneliness built up.
Four days before Michelle was due back the silence of the house became too much for Tony. The house reminded him of his cell and he couldn't block out thoughts of being trapped and alone. He left the house and made his way to the local bar.
The bar was jammed full of people, and Tony, ordering his first pint of the evening, settled next to a large crowd of young lads, allowing his mind to concentrate on their conversation to block out his own negative thoughts. He listened to their stories of drunken escapades intently, his own empty beer glasses slowly filling the table.
Suddenly Tony was enraged. One of the lads was boasting about a time that he and a mate had stolen a car while drunk, and escaped the police. He had been sent to prison for trying to save his wife from a terrorist, and this guy got away with theft and drunken driving? He could have killed someone!
He stood up quickly, stumbling slightly as he stepped up to the bragging lad. "So you think you're funny do ya?" he asked, pointing his finger in the youth's face. "You got away with something that could have killed someone, and that's something to show off about?"
"Get lost mate" the lad drawled.
Tony moved forwards angrily and grabbed hold of the lad's shirt. "Look…" he snarled, but got no further as he was pulled backwards by a group of hands. He somehow managed to regain his balance and hurled himself back into the group, hitting one of the lads in the face. He tried to hit again, all rational thoughts gone from his mind, but was overpowered by the fists coming at him from every direction. He fell to the floor and everything turned black…
Tony woke the following morning and a wave of pain flashed through him. He had no idea how he had got home; the last thing he could remember was losing his temper and grabbing the lad's shirt. His head throbbed – a mixture of a hangover and the drunken fight.
He forced himself into the bathroom, and examined his face in the mirror. His left eye was swollen and bruised badly and his lip was cut. He tried desperately to remember why he had started an argument with the lads, but failed. Peeling off his shirt slowly, Tony winced at the fresh bruising. He couldn't believe how stupid he'd been – there must have been ten of them! His body ached and he felt drained despite just waking up. He crawled back into bed and collapsed under the sheets, briefly wondering how he was going to explain his bruises to Michelle, before falling back to sleep.