Larry Stylinson prison au.
Doing tattoos in prison was not the way Harry dreamed his life would end up being when he was a child. That's what trusting wrong people does: it takes you to unexpected places. From now on he tries his best to be out of t...
Louis thinks his past foster homes and especially his dear foster mom Johanna in the shower line.
After shower the gang finds him and beats him up because Louis didn't succeeded with his task that the gang gave him earlier.
L pov.
The first thing I feel is pounding in my head. It's a good thing cos now I know I didn't die. It hurts like a bitch though. I can't even open my eyes. But I try.
I'm laying in bed but the room is not my cell. Here are really bright lights as well as white walls. Everything is looking really steril. Hospital! This must be prisons hospital.
After a while my vision gets better and I see clearly my surroundings. There are five other people in this room. Most of them are unconscious. Some have brutal scars and bruises. I probably have some too.
Everything feels silent and blurry. It's weird. I see people and machines that are supposed to make noise but everything is completely peaceful like the time was stopped.
Little by little the pain started to flow back at my body and suddenly I sensed everything again. The noise and the pain, the memories and humiliation of yesterday. Everything.
There is someone next to me. Staring at me and repeating my name. I can't take my self to say anything back but I turn my gaze towards her.
"Tomlinson! Can you hear me?" The woman asks. I nod at her.
"Good." She smiles at me kindly. "We are now in the prison hospital. I'm your doctor. Do you remember how you got here?" She continues.
I don't know how to answer that. I do know what happened yesterday. I got beaten up. But that's probably not a wise thing to tell. I may be stupid but I'm not a snitch. And to be honest I have no idea how I got here after the beating. So I shake my head for an answer.
"No? Okey. I understand. But just so you know, someone is gonna question you after you are feeling better." The doctor knows exactly why I'm not saying anything.
"about your Injuries. You truly are a lucky one. Apart from few pretty rough bruises and one scar from stabbing in your leg your injuries are nothing too bad, no broken bones or anything. You should be alright in a week."
"T.. th.. thank y..." I try to say but my mouth is too dry.
"It's alright. Do you want some water.?" She asks already giving me a cup where I take a sip. I don't feel lucky. I feel like dying ether from pain or from shame.
"How I got here. In the hospital I mean?" I ask not being able to hold my curiosity.
"Murray found you unconscious in the cleaning closet."
"The guard?" Good thats good. Now I'm not left in debt to anyone.
The doctor starts to leave to check other patients and says "You can sleep here couple of hours but I can't keep you here any longer. Just visit me every morning so we can change your bandage."
"Okey! Thanks doctor."
And I try to fall back asleep. Trying not to think how stupid I was when trusting to the gang and how mortified I am for not being able to protect myself. It makes me feel myself so weak.
...
H pov.
Tomlinson hasn't been back here since our fight in the morning. It's almost evening. I must have upset him really bad.
I didn't mean to. I really didn't. Actually I find Tomlinson as a good company. At least most of the time. He's so humane. I feel like we understand each other. I like having someone sane as my cell mate. Not that I didn't like Thompson. I just don't like my cell mates constantly disappearing as they nowadays seem to do.
But there are good sides with Tomlinson missing. Now I have free cell to take customers in. Actually one is supposed to be here any minute.
I'm quite popular tattoo artist around here. There are a couple of others but I'm not even trying to be humble. I am the best one. Maybe not at tattooing itself but there are more important things than that. I'm not expensive, I do what people ask me to do and keep my needles as sterile as possible.
That makes me trustworthy. Some tattooers use dirty needles and don't listen customers wishes enough. I really don't get the point in that.
I just try to earn some money while inside and I take pride in my art what I have accomplished.
I have even made my own tattoo gun with pen, toothbrush and a small motor that I stole from a cd player. I felt like MacGyver while building it. It's kind of cool.
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...
While doing a tattoo I see Robinson leading Tomlinson towards our cell. Shit! It's good to see him again but right now there's more important things to do.
"The guard is coming" I whisper shout to my customer and shut down the tattoo gun. "Pull your sleeve back down and act normal."
He obeys and I close the ink jar and hide it and machine under my mattress just in time before they step inside.
"Hello inmates! You having fun?" He says with knowing smirk. He probably have a good guess about what we were really doing because our pale faces but being Robinson he doesn't do anything.
The customer leaves the cell quickly as people do when guard comes to the cell where they are visiting.
My thoughts of getting caught dissappears the moment my eyes land on Tomlinsons bruised face not to forget his limbing figure that is leaning on Robinson. His whole image is quiet and almost hiding behind the guard.
"What happened?" Falls out of my mouth.
Tomlinson just turns his face away. So instead of answering Robinson asks me to help Tomlinson on his bunk.
And I do. I approach him slowly trying to get some answers to all of my questions by looking at him. He is avoiding my gaze but letting me help him.
He supports some of his weight on me and we take small steps towards his bed until we finally reach it.
Robinson is long gone by then so there are only the two of us.
When he sits down small whimper escapes his mouth. He must be in so much pain and he looks really ashamed, mortified actually but he's not not the same vulnerable boy I saw last night. Instead he somehow manages to look brave.
I know he doesn't want to answer any questions so I don't ask. I don't need to. He probably got beaten up. But the questions are by who, why & when.
We don't exchange a word at whole night. After I got him laying down he turned away from me never turning back.
The irony of the situation is that it was just yesterday when I told him that prison is not that bad and he is going to be alright. Little did I know.
Here ya go!! I watched a couple of youtube vids of how to make a tattoo gun ect. in prison to write this book. Those are so cool.
