The Darkness Inside Me

1 - From Bad To Worse

Juice had already made peace with his fate. His life was over. It had been since the moment the prison gates closed behind him. Ever since there had been no way out anymore, no escape from hell. All he was now, was the plaything of a monster. Juice even underwent his tyranny stoically. He had been fighting his whole life; against the loneliness, against the ever returning negative thoughts, against his own cowardice. The voices in his head had prevailed. He was garbage; only stray dogs like Tully still had an interest in him. He was sinking deeper and deeper into the chaos in his head, let it consume him, at times believing that he was already dead.

A deep indifference came over him. Nothing mattered anymore. Juice was dead. With every mistake he had made, a part of him had died. What was left, was nothing but a mangled body in which the filth of society could stick its dick. 

When he fled Queens and joined the Sons of Anarchy, he never thought it would end like this. That he would lose even more: his self-esteem, his dignity, his hope. His will to live. 

Yet, he wasn't in a rush to die. Things wouldn't become better for him, he wouldn't find any peace. He believed in a heaven and a hell and he knew very well where he was going to end up. In the burning flames of hell. With other rotten souls. Murderers. Rapists. He wondered if he would see his brothers there and if they would still make him pay for what he had done – reminding him of his betrayal for eternity.

Warm fingers stroked his face. Juice wished they had been cold, or scorching hot. Now, he took solace in it; it was a warmth his body longed for. 

"Where's your head at, little boy?"

Juice looked up. Ignoring his cellmate would only worsen his mood, Juice would gain nothing by it. Still, it was hard to find words and he shrugged his shoulders. 

"I wasn't thinkin' anything," he said eventually when Tully kept staring at him. "Or maybe I was thinking about too many things."

It was a useless answer, but for Tully it was enough. He had answered like a good puppy, that was all he wanted. 

"Let me read you something. Poetry always helps me to sort my thoughts."

Uninvited, Tully sat down on Juice's bed. Instinctively Juice shoved towards the wall. 

"Lay your head in my lap, baby boy. Daddy knows you like it."

Juice knew these words should make him feel sick, but he obeyed in silence. He was far past the point of panicking. This routine was almost a relief, even if it made him feel ashamed. For a few moments he would know what was going to happen, the predictability giving his life a sense of normalcy. 

Tully's fingers glided across his scalp as he recited his poem. Juice laid curled up next to the man he hated so much, his head resting in the guy's lap. He paid no attention to his rhyme, completely shutting out the man's voice. With closed eyes he concentrated on the fingers caressing his head, imagining those weren't the ones of a rapist. Of who else they could be, he did not know. There were no fond memories of loving parents or a sweet girlfriend. Chibs – he thought about Chibs. The best friend he ever had – but who hated him now. No, Chibs would never pet his head like this, so he imagined a random girl. Caramel brown skin, tiny black curls, a sweet smile. 

The dream was quickly interrupted when Tully's caresses became more compelling, pushing Juice's face closer to his crotch. He could feel the man's erection grow. 

"I'm ready for you baby boy. What would you like today?"

As always, the question made him feel nauseous. Tully made it sound like he had a choice, like this was his own decision, like he wanted this. It took away the resignation, the feeling that he had no choice but to suffer from the man's sexual fantasies. Tully turned him into an active participant by making him chose between sucking his dick or getting fucked. He hated both. The rapes hurt like hell, but at least he wasn't facing Tully which made it easier to create some mental distance. Sucking his dick... That was more intimate. More humiliating. 

Before Juice could give an answer, there was a gruff voice behind him. 

"Ortiz, get your stuff."

Confused, Juice looked over his shoulder. A guard had opened the shutter and was watching him. 

"What?" he asked in a daze. 

"Your stuff," the guard repeated. "You're being transferred."

Juice stared at the man in bewilderment. As much as he wanted to leave this place, he knew there was no chance he really would. Confused, he turned to face Tully. The man however looked just as baffled as Juice felt. The look in his eyes was dark and compelling, as if he wanted to persuade Juice to object. 

In silence, Juice slipped off the bed and gathered the few belongings he had. He didn't dare to hope. There was no reason to believe this was a positive development. Yeah – he hated this place and he despised Tully, but he knew very well Tully was the only reason other inmates left him alone. Without his protection, he would be dragged even deeper into hell. Nevertheless, there was a spark of hope. A spark he hated, for it was extinguished time and again. Every time he was hoping for something; better circumstances, forgiveness or a new chance – he was met with disappointment. This time he told himself his situation wouldn't get better – and still, that hopeful whisper in his head didn't silence, trying to convince him that his penance was over, that his brothers realized that he had never wanted to hurt anyone, that if anything, it had been his love for them and his fear to lose them that had influenced his actions. 

Juice had no idea why, but before he left his cell he looked over his shoulder. The expression on Tully's face was more than dissatisfaction alone because his plaything was taken from him; he even thought to see fear flicker in his eyes. Juice knew Jax had told the man to kill him. Tully had postponed it, he had refused to give up on his plaything so soon. That he was losing Juice now, would undoubtedly lead to consequences. 

Juice turned around. The fate of his rapist should leave him indifferent. Still, there was a feeling of unrest in his chest. He had hated his situation, but he had somehow accepted it. It had given him peace of thought, something he'd craved for for years. No more surprises, no more backstabbing. He had waited for his inevitable dead. And now... Now he didn't know what to expect. There however was one thing he was sure of: there was no reason to assume that this would lead to something good. He had no friends, no people who cared about him – he couldn't think of anyone who'd be willing to help him. Whatever would happen to him now – it would be bad, maybe even worse than his life had been up to now.