Behind The Wall: A Novella Read online

  They all stared at me like I’d just grown a second head, and then from the back of the room I heard,

  “That was freakin’ hot!”

  I ignored it and carried on.

  “Mr. Garrett, would you hand back the papers, please?”

  His head jerked up, his dark eyes locking with mine. Reluctance oozed from his body as he slid from his chair and sauntered toward me, aversion in every step.

  I gave him a small smile and handed over the papers with his on top, the B+ circled in red.

  I didn’t want to point him out in front of the others, but I did want him to know how much I liked what he wrote and that I appreciated his efforts.

  For a moment, his attitude of disinterest slipped, and I saw his eyes widen at the grade I’d given him. For the briefest second, a small, pleased smile curled the edges of his lips, and then it was gone.

  But I’d seen it . . . and I’d seen him.

  The rest of the lesson went well, and I pushed them hard, going over some of the basic rules of grammar, as well as how to structure future essays.

  Then I introduced them to my chosen text.

  “We’re going to be studying Hunger by the Norwegian writer Knut Hamsun.”

  “Oh, man, I seen that movie!” said Fisher. “It’s got lesbo vampires in it and shit.”

  I settled them down quickly.

  “No, that’s The Hunger—something completely different. The book I’m talking about tells the story of a young man who is a writer, but unable to make a living through his writing, and is slowly starving on the streets of Oslo, that’s Norway’s capital city. He’s not a sympathetic character, but impulsive and chaotic. It was written over a hundred years ago, but feels very modern with its stream-of-consciousness style. Who can tell me what that means?”

  There was some discussion about that, then Benson answered, “Yeah, that’s writing down whatever shit comes out of yo’ mouth.”

  “Pretty much, yes. But it’s an artificial construct because in reality that would be a very boring read. But we’ll get to that and yes, before you ask, there is a movie version.”

  I didn’t tell them that it was made in the sixties, black-and-white, and that they’d have to read the subtitles. I wasn’t that brave.

  Baby steps.

  Garrett

  I ONLY HEARD about half of what she said. I’d turned my paper face down so Hudson couldn’t see my grade, but it was there, burning a hole in my desk. She’d given me the top grade in the whole damn class.

  I’d never gotten anything like that in my life. Not ever. I had to fight back the smile that kept threatening to turn me into a grinning idiot. The warmth of pride flowed through my body, making me feel calm and energized all at the same time.

  It was a dangerous feeling, because it made dreams seem possible.

  I glanced up at her, watching her face full of animation and passion. She gave that to a bunch of prisoners, guys from the streets. I admired her, and I was jealous as fuck of every asshole that she smiled at or spoke to. I wanted it all for myself.

  I wanted her.

  Ella

  AT THE END of the lesson, the men filed out, talking about the work, talking about what we’d studied today. It was a great feeling, knowing that they felt inspired by something beyond these prison walls.

  “Mr. Garrett,” I said quietly as he stood to leave, “if I could have a moment, please.”

  He looked surprised and not entirely happy about it, but sank down into his seat again without argument.

  I waited until everyone had left the room, except my bodyguard who was lounging patiently at a short distance.

  Before I could second-guess myself, I sat down next to Garrett, noting with amusement that his whole body stiffened and he moved away from me fractionally. His essay was tightly rolled and held in his fist.

  “You did really well on your assignment,” I began. “I was impressed.”

  I waited for him to comment, but his eyes were fixed on the empty desk.

  “So, I was wondering,” I continued. “You know that I mentioned I’d be looking for a teacher’s aide in this class . . . well, I thought you might like the job. What do you think?”

  His head jerked up, and those dark, hungry eyes met mine.

  “Why me?” he asked, his voice low and rough.

  I kept my tone as even as possible, trying to ignore the fact that our thighs were just inches apart. Not wanting to admit that this man affected me.

  “You scored the highest mark on the assignment and . . .” I cleared my throat nervously as he continued to stare. “I liked what you wrote—I like the way your mind works.”

  His eyes widened with surprise, then narrowed again with suspicion.

  “You like my . . . mind?”

  “It’s up to you,” I said briskly, starting to stand. “Because it will take extra time to help me with lessons, the Warden is prepared to reduce your duties elsewhere. And I believe there are extra privileges that he’ll discuss with you.”

  I turned to walk away, but Garrett laid his hand on my arm, stopping me in my tracks. His fingers rested there for a second, burning a brand into my skin, and then he dropped his hand.

  “Thank you,” he murmured.

  “You’ll take the job?”

  He nodded once and looked away.

  “Good.”

  As I watched him leave the classroom, his mask firmly in place, I felt nervous about my decision.

  Officer Wilson watched him leave, then turned his assessing eyes to me.

  “A reluctant student.”

  I gave him a wry smile. “And by ‘reluctant’ you mean . . . ?”

  “Ah, well . . . he didn’t exactly get along with the teacher in his previous prison.”

  “Oh! What happened?”

  “He threw a chair at the wall. It bounced off and hit another student, started a fight, damn near a riot. But he wasn’t trying to hurt the teacher.”

  “Oh.”

  My heart thundered as I thought about all the times I’d be one-to-one with Garrett now I’d made him my aide.

  “We’ll look after you, Miss, don’t worry,” said Wilson. “Gotta keep that pretty face of yours safe.”

  “Anything else I should know?”

  “He transferred out of a level four facility a few months ago—and he’d twenty-four months of good behavior prior to his transfer, although he wasn’t allowed back in a classroom. He’s got a temper on him, but he’s not dangerous: pissed at the world and with a bad attitude. The usual. If anyone can reach him, you can.”

  As a teacher in Baltimore public school, I was proud of my reputation with the hard-to-teach pupils. Every day was a new challenge, but one that I gladly accepted. Most days, anyway.

  When Garrett walked into my class, I hadn’t been expecting anything other than the macho posturing that high school juniors and seniors always seemed to wear. It hadn’t intimidated me then and I wasn’t about to let it start now.

  But as I drove home that afternoon, an internal war waged bitterly, and I second-guessed my decision the whole way.

  He’s violent.

  I wondered again what he’d done to earn his incarceration, and whether or not I should find out.

  But there was more to it than that. A lot more.

  Garrett had done the best work, but I knew nothing about him, except for those few honest words on a sheet of paper. And yet somehow, I’d come to care for him. His hopeless, hope-filled words had touched something inside me.

  And for that reason alone, I should stay as far away from him as possible.

  But I was a teacher and a professional. I should be fair and objective.

  On the other hand, I didn’t know any other teachers who went to college planning to end up in jail.

  Garrett

  “SO, YOU’RE GOING to be teacher’s pet now?”

  Hudson jeered when I sat down on my bunk.

  “Fuck off,” I replied, without much heat.

 
I stretched out on the hard mattress and rested my hands behind my head, staring up at Hudson’s sagging mattress but seeing nothing. I wished I could be alone with my thoughts, but there’s no privacy in prison—not even in your head.

  Hudson jumped down and shoved my feet out of the way so he could sit next to me.

  “You’re gonna get your ass in trouble if you mess with her—you’ll fuck up your parole.”

  “I’m not going to mess with her,” I said testily.

  He didn’t reply, but when I opened my eyes, his expression was worried.

  “What the fuck do you care?” I asked roughly.

  “Man, the world is an ugly motherfucking place,” he said, frowning. “But suddenly you’re seeing sunshine and rainbows. Fuck’s sake, you’ll be singing show tunes next. You gotta see this for what it is.”

  “And that is?”

  “Passing the GED is your ticket outta here!” he half-yelled. “You keep on with all those long, meaningful glances at Miss Awesome-ass, and Wilson might wake the fuck up and report you. I’m telling you, brother, keep your cock in your pocket and don’t fuck up.”

  I groaned. It really didn’t help by talking about Miss Newsome and my dick in the same sentence.

  “Come on, you sad fucker,” he laughed. “Let’s do some reps.”

  He dragged me off the bunk by my ankles and let my ass hit the floor. Definitely payback.

  Then we spent the next hour doing pull-ups using the bunkbed frame, pushups and crunches.

  It was one way to pass the evening.

  But it didn’t erase the memory of her sitting so close to me, the scent of flowers filling the air around us, the heat of her body, the feel of her soft skin under my rough, callused hand.

  My dick hardened uncomfortably, and I knew I’d have another sleepless night where even jerking off wouldn’t help. Much.

  Ella

  WHEN I WALKED into the classroom escorted by Officer Wilson, Garrett was waiting for me.

  This time, he acknowledged me as I entered, standing up quickly, his dark eyes darting to Wilson and back to me.

  “Good morning, Garrett,” I said pleasantly, as my pulse began to race.

  Act normal, my brain screamed at my treacherous body.

  “Ma’am,” he said quietly.

  I waited for him to sit down again, then sat next to him, ignoring his slight movement away from me.

  “The focus of today’s lesson will be Hunger and the character’s fall from grace. I think the students will recognize some aspects,” I said wryly.

  Garrett cracked the faintest smile and shifted in his seat again.

  I caught the now familiar scent of cigarette smoke and sweat.

  “Do you smoke?” I asked randomly.

  He blinked, looking surprised by my unplanned question.

  “No.”

  I waited, but he didn’t say anything else. I was disappointed—I’d hoped to build a rapport with him, but that wouldn’t be easy if he was monosyllabic.

  I sighed and picked up the text book.

  “I used to,” he said quietly, not looking at me. “Outside. But I can’t afford it in here. Smokes cost too much and I don’t have the money.”

  “Oh,” I said stupidly. “I’m glad. Smoking is bad for you.”

  He gave a soft, quiet laugh, his whole face lighting up. He was transformed, seeming younger and gentler. And so beautiful. So very beautiful.

  My breath caught in my throat, and I had to look away.

  “You . . . you smell smoky.”

  And yes, my IQ seemed to keep dropping.

  His skin flushed and he looked down, his smile vanishing.

  “I don’t mean that you smell bad,” I said lamely. “Just . . . just smoky.”

  “I was in the day room at lunchtime,” he said softly. “You can smoke in there.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  I cleared my throat and opened the textbook.

  “We’ll be reading the first chapter today, then summarizing it. Everyone will be working in pairs, and I want you to work with Huxley. He has good comprehension skills, but is less able with literacy.”

  Garrett shifted uneasily.

  “I don’t spell so good.”

  “You’re not bad, but it’s something we can work on. And you can definitely help Huxley while I move around working with other students.”

  He seemed pensive, but whatever he was going to say was interrupted by Officer Wilson.

  “Miss Newsome, I wouldn’t recommend you roaming around the classroom—better if you stick to teaching from the front.”

  I looked up, completely taken aback. Wilson was one of the more progressive guards; I hadn’t expected such negativity.

  But then Garrett backed him up.

  “He’s right, ma’am.”

  He stopped speaking, his mouth tightening.

  “What?” I snapped, irritated that these men were trying to tell me how to teach.

  I was hardly a newbie.

  Garrett grimaced.

  “Someone coming up behind you is bad news in prison. Men react. And when you get too close . . . it’s hard to concentrate.”

  I stared at him in shock, watching his eyes flick across my body rapidly. But not so fast that I didn’t see it.

  I felt a blush redden my cheeks.

  “I see,” I said quickly.

  I swallowed several times, my throat unaccountably dry, and tried to carry on, my focus shot.

  Then someone came to the door to talk to Wilson, and Garrett took the opportunity to lean toward me.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  I felt the warmth of his breath across my cheek, and for a split second his knee pressed against mine.

  He’d spoken just two words, three little syllables, but I felt as if it was so much more. He’d let the mask slip and shown me his real self.

  Or maybe I was being naïve. Maybe I just wanted to believe in him, but really I was being played by the ultimate conman. But maybe not.

  “Ella. My name is Ella.”

  His full lips parted, forming a surprised ‘O’, then he straightened up and moved away from me before Wilson saw him.

  As the other prisoners started to enter the room, their curious gazes on me and Garrett sitting so closely together, I stood quickly and resumed my place behind the teacher’s desk.

  I began the lesson, calmly explaining what we’d be doing today and what I hoped the men would achieve. It was hard teaching from the front when I was used to moving among my students, but I’d been advised by two men who knew what they were talking about, so I paid attention. Instead, I let the men come to me, singly or in pairs, when they wanted to ask a question.

  Garrett was good with Huxley, patient and methodical as I watched and listened from a distance, and I knew I’d made the right decision to choose him for my aide. Personal feelings aside.

  The lesson was over too quickly and the men filed out. Garrett’s eyes met mine as he left, but he didn’t smile. If I hadn’t seen it for myself an hour ago, I would have believed that he’d never smiled in his whole life.

  Garrett

  ELLA. ELLA NEWSOME.

  It fit her—pure, gentle, innocent.

  Knowing her name was a new kind of torture. I imagined whispering her name in the dark as I made her fall apart under me.

  Ella. My Ella.

  She wasn’t mine by any stretch of the imagination and never would be, but the words were too sweet to ignore, and they echoed in my brain like the crackling heat of midsummer.

  I wanted her. I wanted to feel her soft skin under my hands, her silky hair wrapped around my fists, and my dick balls deep inside her slick little pussy.

  I groaned as vivid images ran like a porn movie inside my head.

  But she was so much more than just a warm, tight body. She cared about teaching us. And no one had ever cared before.

  So for her, I’d take my job as teacher’s aide seriously. Besides, I’d get some new privileges inc
luding an extra shower mid-week and more time in the prison’s gym.

  And if Ella thought I could help other people, then maybe I wasn’t as worthless as I’d always been told.

  At first, it was kind of a joke to the other men, and I certainly got my share of ribbing for it during the next few weeks. But then some of the guys from the GED class started coming to me in the day room and asking a question or wanting me to check their work.

  It became a regular sight, me sitting with another prisoner, acting like I was a damn teacher, as we worked through a problem together. And my own reading and writing was improving—just doing it every day helped. Who knew that studying worked?

  It was strange, but it felt good, and it soon became the norm and no one bothered us anymore. Well, a few assholes, but once they’d had a taste of my fists, they stuck to name-calling, which was a pussy way of behaving and easy to ignore.

  Wilson wasn’t my biggest fan, and since Hudson’s warning, I’d seen the way he watched me when Ella sat by my side before the start of every lesson.

  It was all but impossible not to touch her, but there was nothing I could do about it when she touched me. A brush of her hands, the press of her knee, the tap of her nails on my arm as she emphasized a point.

  Every one of those brief, near-innocent touches, was burned in my memory.

  And while Wilson watched me, I watched her. She didn’t touch the other guys the way she touched me, and that made my heart soar. I honestly thought that my emotions had shriveled up years ago, leaving an angry, bitter man behind. But with her, I was relearning how to feel—some long repressed part of me had stirred. I tried to be as cool as I could with her, but I was falling, caught by wide brown eyes and a passionate heart.

  Wilson knew what she did to me, he could see it in my eyes, and he didn’t like it. So he watched.

  But when he saw me tutoring the other prisoners, he eased up some on the hard expression and warning stares.

  And each night I fell asleep dreaming of Ella.

  Sweet Ella.

  My Ella.

  Ella

  IN THE WEEKS that followed, the highlight of my days were those brief, snatched moments with Garrett.

  And, finally, as the weather grew colder and I added cardigans to my dreary prison uniform of slacks and shirts, I dredged up the courage to ask him about his crime.