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I'm not in your prayers any more. I can feel it. I'm not the one you think of just before you close your eyes. It scares me, Beech. It scares the shit outta me. And I don't get scared easely. 'Cept now I'm terrified, not knowing where you are. Just that makes me wanna scream out of my mind. It's so damn quiet and it's making me nuts.What the fuck did you do to me, Toby?
No matter what.
And as soon as you walk free you find something better, someone that makes more sense.
Someone free. Someone who never had another man's blood on their hands. Someone you can forget about this place with, someone with who you can pretend you were never 97B412.
But you were Tobe. And it won't go away, no matter how hard you try.
You can take your kids to the Zoo. Buy them ice cream on a nice warm spring day. Take a stroll through the park. Take them home and tuck them in. Read a bed time story. And then fuck their teacher's brains out, treat yourself to a nice pussy.
But what about when the nightmares come? Huh, Toby? And I know they come. They always do. And in your dreams there's no place for your kids, or for the lovely teacher.
Does Kathy Rockwell still have a leading role?
Or is it Schillinger branding your ass?
Is it me?
Is it me, Toby?
Do you dream about the hell that is visitation day? The only day of the week 97B412 is impossible to ignore. The only day you're not a lawyer, a father, a lover. The day when you go back to being a prag.
Am I your nightmare?
I don't hear you wispering in your dreams anymore. You know how much that hurts? But you know what hurts even more, baby? I don't think I would want to.
I'm too scared. Scared you'd whisper the wrong name while having one of those rare pleasant dreams.
Too scared you'd scream mine while having a nightmare.
I knew how to soothe you, make the bad dreams go away. Would you want me to soothe you now? Or is the lady teacher doing a fine job with that one? Does she give better blow jobs than me? Is she holding you less tight, not as possessive, not as afraid to lose you? Does she find all the right words, say all the things you need to hear?
I just bet she does. Well, 'cept the blow job part.
But you know she can never understand. She wasn't there. She can never know what it was like to be Vern's bitch. To have to choose between life as a prag and death.
Did you show her the swastika? Did she kiss it like I did? Does she understand why the man she's sleeping with bent over night after night after night just to live another day? If you told her you took a shit on his face, could she keep her food down? Could she look at you again?
Of course you'd never tell her that. Because you know she couldn't. You know she doesn't want all of you. The good and the bad. She wants Tobias Beecher, esq., a loving father, a gentle lover.
Short hair, nice suit.
Not a mad man slicing guards with his nails.
But I know, baby. I know what it's like to take it up the ass to survive. I know what it's like to kill someone with you bare hands. I know the nightmares. I know it all.
I know you. Like no one ever will.
How you like it when I kiss and lick your collarbones, so gently, barely touching. You would always shiver when I did that. 'Member? And that quiet groan you would make when my fingers played with your balls, avoiding your dick, making it almost impossible to bare.
The way you'd stradle your hips, trying desperately to find my hand, to thrust, but I'd pin you down, refusing to let you have your way because I know what's right for you, even when you don't.
Can you still feel it? Can you remember my tongue on your crack, the wet trail it left behind? Does it tickle you, baby?
Do you wish it was my mouth on you now, taking it all, everything you could give, more than I dreamed I'd get in this miserable life. Sliding, sucking, licking, devouring, making you feel so good you forgot everything, everything but my lips on your cock, my fingers in your ass, opening you, prepairing you- one, two, three fingers, moving through your warmth, finding that spot, making you moan.
Your face flushed, your fingers digging deep in my hair, fireworks of ecstasy ripping your muscles, igniting every nerve in your strong body, making it weak from all that pleasure. Frenzy setting you free.
I set you free.
And then I entered you and I knew I was home, I knew it was meant to be, because it fit so perfectly. You were mine because I was yours, because you let me and that thought alone could've made me come.
But I wanted it to last a little longer. I waited for you to look at me, look at the person making love to you, making you feel so damn good. See me for what I was but embrace me tighter.
And then I would come, not from you clenching your muscles tighter around my cock, but from that look.
Acceptance. Of me. From you.
Is it lost? Now that you're out, do you look at me in the visiting room and see just another convict, a murderer, a monster. A man from the other side of the law system. An animal that doesn't deserve anything else but to be caged. An animal that is disgusting.
Do I disgust you, Toby?
Maybe I should remind you what it's like to be on the wrong side of the bars, baby. You seem to forget too easely.
You're no better than me. Just ask Kathy Rockwell when she comes to visit. Or Metzger. Or the Schillinger boys.
But, God, I miss you. You, Toby, not that prick in the expensive suit who comes every week.
I miss that guy who hopped off his bunk, the best fucking invitation there ever was. The guy who kissed me, wrapping his arms around me, making my eyes sting when I tought I had no tears to cry.
I miss that guy who kissed my wound, thankful for having me back. Glad that I was alive.
You were glad I was alive, Toby. You know how weird that felt? How strange that someone needed me that much? Especially after that short glimpse of what was coming after.
This is hell. Lying here on this bunk, alone, with nothing but memories to keep me occupied. And it's worse than Cedar Junction, ya know. At least then I knew your bunk was as hard as mine, your walls as real as mine, your life as shitty as mine.
But now you got a real bed and yer using it, you little fucker. I know you are. Oz is in the past.
So am I.
But I got nothin but you, Beecher. I don't think you ever completely understood that. I've been married four times. I had women and men, wanting me, desiring me, loving me. It was never enough. I was looking for something to fill the emptiness. For somebody to make me feel something other than lust and anger.
It wasn't about their unconditional love.
Or their unconditional surrender.
It was about mine.
You showed me I was able to love, to feel one decent emotion I never thought I could.
And that's what makes you mine and what makes me yours. Forever.
You don't honestly expect me to give that up, now do ya? You can't take it all away now, not after you made me human, Beech.
Scared you'll stop visiting.
Scared I'll forget to love you and start hating you instead.
Scared it was all a lie and I never really was that man who loved you so much he chose you over himself. Chose a life in prison over a life without you. The man who took the fall for you.
I will always take the fall for you.
Believe me when I say I hate to do this, but I havta.
Maybe you'll hate me.
Maybe you'll never be able to forgive.
Maybe I'll find a way, like I did before.
I know I'll try.
But whatever happens, at least I'll get you out of that expensive suit.
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