She's Beautiful And Mine (gxg)

Chapter Twenty Three: In A Completely Platonic Way (Part 2)

tw//homophobic violence, language

Norah

"Hello, Dad," I said, staring at the old man in orange as I held the telephone handle against my ear with trembling fingers.

"Hey there, kiddo," he replied coolly in his hoarse voice, dark eyes piercing me with his usual cold glare. I looked away. He never cared, and he probably never will.

"You have to explain to me why you got transferred again," I said quietly, looking down at my knees, and then briefly glancing at the old woman on the right who was talking to another man in orange seated behind the glass wall. She was dressed in pink and looked merrier than ever. I guess the fact that somebody she probably cares about is in jail doesn't bother her as much.

Or maybe there's a story there. Something more than a brother, a husband, a father, an uncle or even just a friend who did a bad thing or got framed. You never know what's going on in somebody else's life as you blame them or judge them.

"Why'd you wanna know? You hate my stories," he grumbled.

"Well, I can't keep travelling around the country, trying to keep in touch, when you're fucking around in here and then getting transferred every three months," I growled. I felt eyes on me in an instant and I sunk further into the uncomfortable wooden chair, embarrassed.

"Can. . . Can you please just tell me what happened?" I asked softly.

He let out a tired sigh, as if what he does is real work.

"This gay tried to come on to me and I messed with him a bit and my friends helped rough him up. He ain't dead, though."

I flinched.

"Proud of me?" he said, smirking.

"You've done worse."

"Like fucking that pretty girlfriend of yours before you called the cops on me and framed me for rape?" he said, evident in his expression that he was mad at me but trying not to show it. Because he needed me. He needed somebody on the outside sending him money.

A cold shiver went down my spine. I wanted to punch something. Anger rose inside of me. That night replayed itself in the back of my mind and I willed myself to not cry in front of the monster staring back at me.

"Leave her out of this. I mean it," I said scornfully, voice hardening.

"Ooh, protective, I see. You know, you remind me of your mother. Except she didn't live long enough to see you and recognize it herself."

I glared at him coldly. "You did that. You didn't take her to the hospital."

"I pulled you out myself. I was very proud. Only wished you had a dick on you."

"Of course," I breathed out, a huge lump forming in my throat. Trying not to cry was getting much harder.

"Where the fuck is the money you said you'd send in?"

"I haven't gotten my paycheck yet, Dad. It's gonna take a while. I-I'm sorry."

I watched as his face turned redder and redder and he shoved the handle into the hook with great force, almost breaking it. He kicked the chair backwards and punched the glass wall, which was somehow strong enough to withstand his strength. I jumped in my chair, backing into it a bit out of fear. His face looked scary. He looked scary. Memories that I'd worked hard on suppressing for years slowly re-emerged in my mind.

The gaurds dragged him out of the room as he yelled and screamed profanities and I watched, paralysed, as a lone tear ran down my cheek.

***