Pine needles crunch under our boots as we trek through the woods behind Rome's house, wind whips around us as the air gets colder. Autumns on the mountain never get old, making the drive out of town well worth it. Soon it will be winter and the ground will be covered in snow until the springtime. We won't be able to come out here unless we want to freeze our balls off, so we enjoy it while we can.
My time in prison wasn't as terrible as it seemed like it might be, although I know my size and muscle mass helped keep people off my back. I never had much trouble with the other inmates, the real torture manifested in my mind. I never had many physical reactions before I went in, but the effects of my time there have changed me for life. My palms started to itch first, a physical manifestation of the restlessness crashing through my brain in waves. A few weeks after that the shakes started and the rage pumped through my veins like I'd never felt before. The guards were convinced that I was in withdrawal, but I wasn't. At least, not from drugs.
One thing about being raised by a parent who doesn't give a shit is that you can pretty much do what you want, whenever the hell you want to do it. My ma was never around to tell us what to do, so I never developed the ability to handle being denied freedom. Most kids get dragged along with their parents to church or, if you're a mom like mine, off to a dealer's house. They make you sit in the corner or stay in the car, and somewhere along the way you learn how to keep yourself entertained even though you're somewhere you don't actually want to be. Since my mom skipped out on bringing us along anywhere with her, I always decided everything for Ashlee and me. What we ate, where we went, and which pieces of furniture we would sell to pay for the next batch of groceries. I had to be smart even though I was constantly terrified– floating through life with no clue what I was doing or how to do it. I grew into a man who was unable to do anything I didn't want to do, how pathetic. I was incapable of being alone with my thoughts and in prison, your thoughts are the only thing that are truly your own. I was emotionally stunted by my mother's abandonment and sitting alone in my cell, everything I'd been pushing back caught up to me.
Being caged went against my very nature, though I'm sure that's part of the punishment. You're not human when you're a prisoner, they let you out into the yard like a kept dog and call you back in to eat the nightly slop before locking you back inside your kennel. That's why I'll never take my free will for granted again. I'll never miss an opportunity that I want to take and I sure as hell won't miss a walk through the woods on a nice, fall afternoon.
Rome's voice drags me back from my thoughts and he seems to know just the way to piss me off on this peaceful hike. "I hate to be the guy who asks this," His voice is low as he feigns a serious tone. His blue hair blows in the breeze, hitting him in the face. "Then don't ask, shitstain." His chuckle is genuine as he continues without the serious facade, "Did you two even sleep together?"
My stomach twists and my fingers curl into fists at my sides. I debate whether to tell him the truth or not– I don't know how much I should share about my relationship with Dorothy– if you could even call it that. I'm unsurprised that Rome is the first of my friends to ask about my sex life, but that doesn't make me any more prepared to answer him. I decide impulsively that I have nothing else to lose, "No, unless sleeping in the same bed counts, we did that a lot." I watch his eyes go wide before he turns to me with a lazy grin, "Never thought I'd see the day you were pussy whipped over a girl who you haven't even slept with, man. This is great!" His laughter scares off any wildlife within a half mile of us as it booms through the trees.
"Yeah, keep talking shit. We're alone in the woods, you know. No one would hear a thing." My threat falls on deaf ears as he continues to laugh and I try not to look in his direction. "She really is a special woman, isn't she? I've never seen a woman go toe-to-toe with you the way she does." All I can do is force a grunt in response.
YOU ARE READING
Stalking the Dancer || 18+
RomanceONGOING /// She's an injured dancer trying to pick up the pieces of her shattered career. He's a broken man with an addictive personality. Like oil and water, they don't mix well. When watching isn't enough, he gets much more than he bargained for...
