Internets back! :)
With regards to some of the attitudes referenced in this chapter, I should point out again that this is set in the eighties when responses to the LGBT community were very different.
Hope you enjoy :)
x x x x
Cath's POV
I didn't get much sleep last night, although it was not a particularly uncomfortable night. My mind simply wouldn't switch off.
My realisation that Sara sees me as more than merely an object, a sex toy to be used and thrown away, left me reeling.
The fact that she will go to such lengths for me when she gets nothing from it is puzzling in itself; although ordinarily, taking her chosen career into account, this wouldn't be too surprising. But it is blatantly obvious from her reaction to my offer that Sara is not gay and has never slept with a woman until she got dropped into this hellhole.
So, what makes me so special?
I can honestly say that I have never even considered dating a woman, and if I hadn't ended up in here the thought would probably never have crossed my mind. But there is no denying that I miss the comfort of being in a relationship.
I know it happens in prisons – hell, I have seen it happen. Prison is a very lonely place and it's far from uncommon for gender lines to be crossed in search of a little affection.
But there is a difference between sex and a relationship. On the inside, of course, that difference is negligible since 'dates' consist of a walk to the end of the courtyard and back.
After spending most of the night pondering this, I have come to the conclusion that it is not so much my desire to begin a proper relationship with this girl that is troubling me; it's the thought of what might happen after prison. Will I still feel comfortable going back to dating men or will I be turned gay for life?
It's one thing to date a woman when you're encased in a stone box with only women for company. But in the outside world, it's a very different game. If I were to take that leap, will I be resigning myself to a life of seclusion and intolerance?
All of this is redundant of course, since Sara doesn't appear to have any desire for a relationship with me or anyone else in here.
But that still doesn't answer my initial question of why she is willing to sleep with me.
X x x
Sara's POV
I'm not sure whether it is leftover tension from last night's talk or whether she is a mind-reader and knows what has been going through my head, but Catherine has been acting very strange around me today.
It's like she knows there's something I want to ask her.
I thought at first that I was imagining it, until I went to wash my hands and incidentally brushed her arm as I reached for the soap. Her first reaction was to jump as if she'd been burned; but then she turned around, wrapped one arm around my stomach and kissed my cheek before ambling across the cell to get dressed.
Initially, I chalked it up to the fact that she had just woken up and wasn't thinking straight. But that didn't explain why she was being exceptionally nice to me. Unusually nice, in fact.
I am struck again by this peculiar turn in nature when she joins me on my bed and places a warm hand on my knee.
"Not drawing today?" She inquires lightly.
"I've run out of paper." I state miserably, casting a wistful look at my completed notebook. "And my pen's stopped working."
"Oh dear." The lack of enthusiasm in her voice at my plight is not particularly surprising, but for what must be the tenth time today she moves her hand to my shoulder and squeezes it gently for no reason at all.
I frown at the action, although she remains oblivious to my growing confusion as she ambles lazily over to the bars and peers into the hallway. It is mid-afternoon and we are free to wander but we both chose to remain inside today. In truth, I think we both feel safer in our own little box.
Watching her idle movements closely, I consider biting the bullet. I have discovered in recent weeks that it is when Catherine is in moods like this that she is the most approachable. Perhaps her bizarre behaviour is her way of inviting me to open up.
"Catherine?" I ask, chewing on my lower lip nervously.
"Hmm?"
"What do you miss about sex?"
She freezes, turning slowly to face me with a wide-eyed look of confusion.
"I'm sorry?" She asks, quirking an eyebrow.
"You said that you miss it? What do you miss?" I press, sitting up a little straighter in an attempt to project more confidence into my question.
She continues to stare at me in unbridled bemusement until I start to squirm under her intense gaze. Eventually she walks slowly over to me and sits down again, opening and closing her mouth a few times before settling on a starting place.
"I'm not sure I understand the question." She begins. "Are we talking psychologically or the physical aspect?"
Her failed attempts to hide her amusement are less than encouraging but it is too late to back down now.
"I've just never seen the appeal in it." I shift, starting to wish that I had never broached this subject. "It's painful, it's degrading and I usually wake up hating myself for it."
She frowns, her blue eyes searching my face for a long moment before she speaks again.
"Honey, I don't know who you've been sleeping with but that's not how it's meant to be." She says, her voice unexpectedly soft.
"Oh." I squirm, feeling my cheeks flush. I'm not sure how to explain to her that my experiences – professional and otherwise – have probably been vastly different to hers, so I elect not to say anything.
X x x
Cath's POV
It's easy to forget that Sara is only seventeen. By all accounts, she's still a child.
But looking at her now, her eyes wide and filled with naïve confusion, it is all too apparent.
I know that I am hardly one to lecture her about the deeper meaning of sex. After all, most of my past liaisons were anything but romantic and tender.
But this girl clearly needs some guidance – if she didn't she wouldn't have ended up working street corners in the first place – and right now I'm all she's got.
"Sara, hon …" I pause, biting my lower lip as I consider what I am about to say. She cocks her head to the side curiously, awaiting whatever pearl of wisdom she thinks I can offer. When I can't think of anything suitable to say, I chose a different technique. "Come here."
I take her hand and drag her up onto my bunk. There, I encourage her to lie down on her back and I blanket her body with my own.
"Cath…" she begins, a distinctive tremor to her voice. I can feel her heart pounding against my chest, sending shivers down my spine.
"Shush." I place a finger over her lips, quickly replacing it with my own.
She responds instinctively to the kiss; after all it's something we have done before. She allows me entrance, although it's clear from her tentative behaviour that she is uncertain about where I am taking this.
Her kiss is sweet, as always. Like her touch, she seems almost scared to apply too much pressure – as if she could hurt me.
When I pull back she is watching me with wary eyes.
"How do you feel?" I ask her, watching the confusion mask her features again. Considering the topic of conversation, it's remarkable just how innocent she looks right now.
"I don't know." She replies blankly.
"Do you feel safe?" I rephrase.
"Yes."
"Do you trust me?"
"Yes."
"Have you ever felt this way with someone before?"
She pauses and I can see understanding fill her eyes.
"No." She whispers, looking away. I reach up a hand to brush her hair aside, but she shimmies out from beneath me and drops onto the floor.
Before I can call her back, she has already disappeared into the hallway.
X x x
Sara's POV
The drizzle soaks into my clothes quickly, but I barely feel the cold. Having grown up by the sea, I am used to the feel of damp fog seeping into my skin. It's a comfortable, familiar feeling; reminiscent of early morning walks and long chilly evenings. If I close my eyes and concentrate really hard, I can almost smell the salt in the air.
It's fairly quiet in the yard, aside from a few inmates milling about and a select group smoking in the corner. Cigarettes are technically contraband, but Cath had informed me that the guards are inclined to look the other way in return for certain favours. I have been smoking since my early teens but I don't need them enough to go to those lengths.
The girl who arrived here the day after me, who I now know to be called Brenda, is lurking in a corner by herself.
I have tried to reach out to her, to let her know that I understand her plight, but every attempt has been rebuffed until I eventually gave up altogether. On the plus side, she seems to be keeping Harper occupied.
I can't help wondering whether Catherine had been like that when she first arrived. Perhaps that is why she keeps to herself and doesn't socialise with other inmates. Apart from me, of course.
I'm sure she is confused by my behaviour and I can't blame her, but I needed to clear my head.
Her words made me realise something; and while I'm certain she knows this, I bet she doesn't know what it is.
I have never trusted anyone in my life. Not my parents, not my teachers. Not even the doctors who used to stitch me back together when I was injured.
But I trust Catherine Flynn.
I have known this woman for a matter of weeks. She's a drug-addicted stripper who took a wrong turn somewhere. She's a virtual stranger to me.
And yet I trust her more than I have ever trusted anyone. And she is the only person I have ever – with full consent – been intimate with. Granted, it's always me servicing her needs, but intimacy is still intimacy.
So why do I let her near me and no one else?
Despite every instinct pushing the thought aside, I find myself recalling her offer to mind.
"Maybe one day I can repay the favour."
Do I want that?
The safe, defensive part of me is saying no, of course not. But for some reason I find myself curious as to what it would be like. And the more I think about it the more I am inclined to take a chance.
After all, it wouldn't be the first time she's touched me.
A sharp whistle snaps me back to my sad reality and I turn to find several guards beckoning everyone inside. The drizzle has turned into a heavy rainstorm and has soaked me through to the bone. I hadn't even noticed.
I slope back inside, dripping my way through the winding corridors until I make it back to my cell.
To my surprise it is empty. Catherine must be in the canteen – it is nearly dinner time, after all. Making the most of my moment of privacy, I peel off my sopping wet clothes and slip into something dry. The coarse fabric has been playing hell with my sensitive skin, but I'm starting to build up a resistance to it.
Shaking my wet hair out with a miserable pout, I reach down to grab my towel from earlier, which is still in a heap on my bed. Instead, sitting inoffensively on my pillow, I find a set of pens and a brand new notepad.