Please use caution when reading this, it’s watered down, but it very graphic and l deals with child abuse/rape. Like my Erica I ask that you be kind, this will be only the second time I share this with anyone and the first time I have written it down, she got to read it yesterday and it helped her open up about what happened to her. I didn’t think I was ready to share but she helped me by taking the first step herself so I am ready. Thank you my love.
Now on with the show…
“It’s time to go, you know the drill.” The warden says outside my cell door
I say nothing; of course, I know the fucking drill. This has been going on for months now at this point. Who would’ve thought a guy like me, life in prison. I would get out early for good behavior, well, if I was lucky. However, I cannot even think about that now. I have other worries.
The prison transport is the worst, cramped, the stink, and that is just the ride. Where we are going is its own private hell.
When we arrive, he throws from the car, the warden always likes to be rough with me when he arranges these little ‘trips’ and he knows he can get away with it at this point. He escorts me to my holding cell, a tiny room with no lights, windows or bathroom. Worse than my usual cell but thankfully I won’t be here for too long.
The warden brings a few of his ‘guests’ to come take a look at me. No one enters the cell, but they all stand by the entrance and whisper, then they leave. This is how it always starts, as far as I can tell they are negotiating price for the merchandise.
Heroin is an expensive drug and the warden cannot afford it on his meager income. So using his connections, he arranges these little trips to get his fix, once a week, once a day, who can keep track anymore. Not that it matters.
The door opens; an older man walks in. Fat, greasy, balding there is a stain on his white shirt, blood, but he is the highest bidder I can tell since he’s first.
I struggle but the weight of him on me is too much. They could restrain me but the warden finds that they like it more this way, a little bit of a fight before the fun. Eventually he manages to get my pants off. I continue to struggle, they want a show, and I am going to give it to them. It’s not doing me any good but I have to at least try.
My motivation to fight is suddenly stifled with a knife to my throat and a warning about how easy it would be to let it slip. He carelessly pulls out the lube and applies some. I feel a distinct sharp pain followed burning feeling. I go limp and let him finish, the sooner this is over the better.
When he finishes I am lying on the bed. I feel sick to my stomach, but I don’t throw up… not yet at least. He zips up his pants and spits in my face before he walks out.
“Fuck you tough guy.” I mumble under my breath
I’m out numbered and who would believe a convict anyway, I would end up in a worse hell even if I could kill any of these little pricks and live to tell the tale.
A second guy
I lose count, I black in and out. I throw up and I’m left choking on the chunks, or maybe it was the cock I was choking on. I don’t recall exactly but it doesn’t matter.
When I finally wake up, it is morning; my body feels like it is on fire. No, it feels like I was run over by a truck and drug for miles, as if my body was covered in road rash inside and out. I sit up and immediately vomit. The already disgusting taste in my mouth is made ever so slightly worse by this.
The warden opens the door.
“It’s time to go.” He tells me as he throws a set of clean clothes a little too close to the vomit.
“Okay” I reply quietly
I stumble up and get dressed. The warden looks at his watch impatiently, taping his foot while I try to regain my balance.
“It’s time to go.” He says in an even firmer tone
He got what he wanted, so while he is rushing he isn’t quite as physical as he was coming. I walk out and blinded by the bright light of the day, I hold my hand up to shield my eyes. There is bruising from my wrist all the way down my arm as far as I can see. Dried blood, from where I’m not quite sure yet but it’s everywhere. The swelling in my hand makes it almost grapefruit size and that is just the left side.
I’ll get a shower when I am back in my proper cell.
I am paraded by a group of men around a table, one last look at their victory before I’m locked away again. Out the doors, through the gate and into the car I feel the gravel from the road pressed against my feet, the smell of the pine trees, it’s morning, or maybe afternoon. I’m not sure but it is day time and I am going back now, that is all that really matters. The nightmare is over… for now.
Of course, this routine would continue longer than I would like to remember, different cells in different prisons. It is amazing how much you are worth to the right buyers.
“We need to make a stop at the store; you are going to stay here.” The warden says
He probably needs his cigarettes or something, why he can’t wait is beyond me, that shower is sounding pretty good right now. I’m fighting the insatiable urge to burn off my skin and scrub until I’m down to the bone at this point.
However, all that comes out is “Okay dad.”
What else is an 8 year old supposed to say on his birthday?