P is for…
CHAPTER II
P is for Possession
Michael had noticed the new inmate – a rather rugged attractive man in his thirties – watching him from cell 40 where Sucre lay minding his own business. Sucre was good at that – he kept out of trouble with guards, gangs, and inmates. Westmoreland was the same. Few prisoners could manage that – Michael certainly hadn't been one of them.
He had been just sixteen when he had arrived at Fox River. Tried as an adult for his crime, receiving a 'life' sentence of twenty-five years. His lawyer had assured him that his sentence would be greatly reduced – and it had been. But by that time he had been in Fox River for four and a half years, already an adult, so he had stayed put. And long before that he had accepted T-Bag's offer of protection, moving from Westmoreland's cell to the paedophile's. And despite everything Michael couldn't honestly say he regretted it. Teddy had been good to him – especially recently.
Michael's mother Christina Rose had died when he was ten – cancer – leaving him in the merciless hands of foster parents. There had been a few good homes but the Carter couple hadn't wanted a twelve year old with enough issues to write a thesis on and the Morris family had had to stop the adoption proceedings when they had discovered that Anna was pregnant – they couldn't care for Michael and a newborn at the same time. He hadn't resented them but afterwards he had been a changed boy – he expected abuse, neglect, and rejection and it had come often and in many different forms. From the foster father who locked him up in a cupboard for days on end to the 'auntie' who wanted him to 'play' with her males friends – of whom there were many and few who stuck around longer than the night.
T-Bag wasn't all that bad in comparison. He let Michael eat, shower, sleep and after the fifth year he had stopped making Michael hold his pocket – he only had to do that now when the race fights were going strong or if one of T-Bag's men got uppity. T-Bag hadn't ever rented him out to other inmates – which was very good in Michael's opinion, although he still worried that T-Bag was saving up that favour for something big.
But for the first time in eight years (Michael was now twenty-five; he had stopped 'blushing' after the first year) Michael felt shame as T-Bag drew the curtain across signifying they wanted some 'alone' time together.
"What were you looking at, Pretty?" T-Bag's voice asked as he pulled Michael's head towards his bare crotch. Michael never answered, but as he blew T-Bag he noticed that the cold hearted paedophile kept his eyes on the outline of cell 40 through the sheet.
-xoxoxoxo-