Behind The Wall: A Novella Read online

  His lazy gaze slid to me as I held my breath, his expression a mixture of surprised and wary.

  Please let it not be anything that changes what I think of him. But the boundaries were blurring, and something that would have been a large STOP sign two months ago, was now proceed with caution. What was I okay with? What could I tolerate? Was robbery excusable? What about drug offenses? What if it was rape? What if his story was filled with rage and violence?

  I shouldn’t be asking him . . .

  He turned his eyes to the book on the desk in front of him, mumbling, aware of Officer Wilson watching us closely.

  “Cars. I have a . . . weakness for nice cars.”

  “As in stealing them?”

  He was a thief.

  I didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved that it wasn’t something worse. My moral ground trembled under my feet.

  He shrugged.

  “I just like driving nice cars. I didn’t crash them or anything.”

  I turned to stare at him in outraged disbelief. But then I saw a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

  “Oh, you!”

  He grinned, looking younger and boyish again.

  “I thought stealing from rich folks would pay better—turns out they have nicer cars and better security.”

  I returned his smile and raised an eyebrow.

  “Lesson learned?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he grinned. Then his expression became serious. “I was young and poor and stupid. I’d already been in juvie for fighting, and I was angry all of the time. I’d been smoking weed . . .” he shot me a quick look to measure my level of shock, but I just cocked my head to one side, listening. “I’d gotten it into my head to drive to the ocean. I’d never seen it, and I wanted to. So, I thought I’d take this guy’s car and drive there. Try to sell it later, I guess.” He shrugged. “I got caught before I’d driven a mile, and I punched one of the police officers who arrested me. I don’t remember too much about that. I’ve paid for it. Fuck, I’ve paid for it. But I’m not that kid anymore either,” he said, his voice low and urgent, begging me to believe him. “And I’m not coming back here. Not ever.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” I said quietly, resting my hand briefly on his arm. “Very glad.”

  “Are you?”

  He gave me an intense look, so many questions in his dark eyes. I wanted to tell him it was going to be okay, but the lie burned on my tongue. I wanted to give him some sort of reassurance, but confusion and cowardice kept me silent.

  Then before he could say anything more or I could answer, the other prisoners arrived and it was time to start the lesson.

  His frustrated expression matched my own. We never had any time, we never had any privacy. I wanted both—a thought that scared me half to death.

  At the end of a long, exasperating day where nothing seemed to go as I wanted, I was happy to shake Nottoway dust from my shoes and head out for a drink with Becky.

  “How’s it going in stir, sista?” she asked in her best Orange is the New Black impression.

  “Fine,” I mumbled.

  “Fine as in I-broke-both-my-legs-but-don’t-worry-about-me fine, or fine as in today-sucked-ass-and-I’m-feeling-sorry-for-myself?”

  “Probably the latter,” I said, unable to stop a tired smile appearing on my face.

  “Come tell Aunty Becky all about it, but not before you’ve had at least one Mimosa.”

  “Honestly, I don’t really feel like drinking. I’ll just get all weepy and mopey.”

  She shook her head and pushed a glass toward me.

  “So get weepy and mopey. How’s it going with Mr. Hottie-con?”

  “He’s . . . doing well. He makes a great teacher’s aide—better than I could have hoped. The other prisoners go to him in between classes. They’re all making so much progress.”

  “That’s good then.”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing.”

  “So, you’re not fantasizing about the length of his . . . parole?”

  “Becky!”

  “I’m right, aren’t I? You’re totally crushing on your jailbird boy toy.”

  “He’s 30. And he’s not my boy toy.”

  “But you’d like him to be?”

  I took a slug of Mimosa, tossing it back like I was doing shots. Then my head dropped to my hands and I let out a groan.

  “Oh my God, Becky! He’s the hottest guy I’ve ever met. Handsome, sexy, total brooding bad boy. But sweet, too. How can an ex-thief be sweet? And I don’t even know if he’s an ex-thief—not really. And when he looks at me, all dark and intense . . . and I haven’t had a boyfriend since Nathan. I haven’t even had a date. And now my B.O.B. needs new batteries.”

  She choked on her drink then burst out laughing.

  “There’s no harm in having a little down time thinking about doing the nasty with a hot felon. As long as that’s all it is.”

  I sighed. Becky knew me too well.

  “I like him.”

  She screwed her eyes shut.

  “Oh glory, I was afraid of that. You’re so predictable, El. You see something broken and you want to fix it. It’s admirable in the right circumstances, but this isn’t one of them.”

  “I know. I know you’re right, but it’s chemistry, or magnetism, or pheromones, or . . .”

  “Lust?”

  I looked down at the drink in my hands.

  “Honey, the guy is hot and off-limits and the original bad boy. Of course you’re lusting after him. Just promise me that you won’t do anything stupid.”

  “As if!” I huffed.

  “Hmm, well, tell me this. If he was paroled tomorrow, would you date him? Introduce him to me? To the rest of your friends? Would you take him home to meet your parents? Can you honestly see a future with an ex-con?”

  I shook my head.

  “I’m his teacher. Nothing is going to happen.”

  But the truth was, it already had. I was falling for Prisoner 97813. It was reckless and stupid, maybe even dangerous.

  And I couldn’t stop myself.

  Garrett

  I WAS GOING crazy. I didn’t think I could take another lesson of sitting so close to her, smelling the warm scent of her skin and not being able to touch her. Sitting there so hard that my dick was ready to leap out of my pants every time I breathed. And when she moved, the warmth of her body heating the air between us, I had to press the palms of my hands onto the sharp corner of my desk to distract myself. I’d considered quitting the class, just to get away from the chaos of feelings that could never be returned.

  It was haunting, taunting, teasing me. I couldn’t rest, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t damn well think!

  I had to know the truth. I had to know if everything I was feeling was just an illusion, just inside my head.

  Hudson was watching me pace up and down our 8 x 6 foot cell.

  “Jesus, Garrett! You’re giving me a fucking stress headache!”

  I ignored him, and carried on pacing, needing to release the restless, zinging energy born of frustration and uncertainty.

  “Look, man, if we was on the outside, you’d tap that sweet ass and be over it, right?”

  I shrugged. I didn’t think Ella Newsome was the kind of woman a man got over, but there was no point saying that to Hudson.

  “Well, we’re in here, so you can’t—although you’ve been jerking off so much, I think I’m gonna go blind.”

  “And your fucking point?” I snarled.

  “You gotta find out if she’s really into you.”

  I laughed viciously.

  “You’re a fucking genius. Sure, I’ll just go up to her in front of Wilson, or maybe the whole class, and ask her if she’s into felons, and if she thinks I look good in orange. Fuck me!”

  “That’s exactly what you do,” Hudson said, grinning like an idiot. “And before you go PMSing on me, you do it at the end of the lesson after everyone has left. I’ll get
into it with that prick Fisher in the corridor—it’ll be my extreme fucking pleasure. Wilson will come outside to break it up, and you’ll have about ten or fifteen seconds to find out if she’s dick-happy for you.”

  I thought about it. The idea has possibilities, except . . .

  “You’ll end up in solitary for that. Loss of privileges for a month.”

  He shrugged.

  “Nah. Wilson isn’t that much of an asshole, but if I do—whatever. It’s gotta be better than watching you being a sad little bitch.”

  I thought about it. I thought of all the reasons why it was a bad idea, and what it could mean for Hudson—or for Ella—if we were caught. I didn’t care what happened to me—I hadn’t for a long time now. But a kernel of hope had been planted, and I was having a hard time uprooting it.

  If she blew me off, fine. I’d just fantasize about her and that would be it. The sweetest, most caring woman I’d ever met. But if, if she gave me some sort of acknowledgement . . .

  After that, my thoughts went blank. It seemed so impossible, I couldn’t imagine anything. Nada. My chest burned with horror that there might be nothing out there for me in the world. Just a life of struggling with my past, always labeled an ex-con. Mistrusted and despised. A barely literate felon with a shady history. A dead-end life.

  I must be crazy if I thought Ella would want someone like me. Fuck, she’d have to be nuts herself.

  I turned to Hudson.

  “Let’s do it.”

  Ella

  THERE WAS A weird energy in the class today. The students seemed restless, like wild animals trapped in a cage, and I was reminded more than usual that they weren’t here of their own free will.

  I was very happy to stay behind my desk and let the men come to me, and I was very glad to have Officer Wilson’s calm presence beside me.

  Garrett didn’t look at me once, keeping his eyes on the textbook in his hands.

  The man who sat next to him, Hudson, kept looking across at another prisoner and smirking. And that guy, Fisher, was an irritation—one of the few men who still made inappropriate comments about me.

  I didn’t know what was going on, but it felt like a storm was brewing.

  Despite my misgivings, the class passed without incident. I handed out the homework assignments and dismissed them.

  They filed out quietly, and I was happy to hear several of them discussing the class. I noticed that Garrett was hanging back, and my foolish heart lurched at the thought he wanted to talk to me.

  Suddenly, there were raised voices and the sounds of fists meeting flesh outside the classroom, and Officer Wilson rushed out.

  Leaving me alone with Garrett.

  He stood up quickly, and in five long strides, he pushed the classroom door shut and was at my side.

  “Ella,” he whispered, his face filled with hope and anguish.

  He swallowed several times, looking toward the door and back at me.

  “Ella, I have to know. Am I feeling this alone?” and he gestured between our bodies. “Tell me I’m a fucking idiot and I’ll leave you alone, I promise. But I have to know—I’m going crazy with . . . with hope.”

  I was shocked, stunned to my core. Joy burned fiercely, a comet scorching across my heart. Burning too hot to be touched or tamed.

  “You’re not alone,” I stammered. “I feel it, too. I . . .”

  But whatever words I might have said were lost.

  Garrett pulled me toward him, his rough hands gripping my wrist and waist. My chest collided with his, my softness giving in to his hardness.

  I thought his mouth would crash down on mine, assaulting me. Instead, he waited, his eyes questioning, his lips reluctant, until I freed my hands and tangled my fingers in his unruly hair, pulling his head lower so I could take what I needed, what I’d longed for.

  I was the one assaulting him, hot and urgent, my body burning fiercely, all the truths I thought I knew about myself lost in the erotic madness of our kiss.

  A low, feral moan rolled up from his chest, and I tasted his desire and urgency as his tongue swept into my mouth. I could hear his breathing, harsh in his chest, his eyes wild and dilated, and they were staring at me as if they could burn a path into my soul.

  He pulled me tighter, forcing his leg between my thighs, showing me the way I affected him, solid and thick.

  An alarm blaring jerked us apart, and Garrett peered through the window in the classroom door.

  When he turned to look at me again, there was a new tension in his jaw.

  “They’re going to riot,” he said sharply. “We have to get out of here. Do you trust me?”

  Trust. Such a small word with such a big meaning. Could I trust a convicted felon? Could I? Dare I trust a man whose simple words stole my heart from the very first moment he’d shown me his true self? Foolish, foolish heart.

  “Yes, I trust you.”

  A surprised smile flashed across his face, then he shook his head.

  “We have to get out of here. It’s not safe for you.”

  Panic shot through me, but then Garrett grabbed my hand and I felt instantly soothed.

  He peered around the door, paused, then squeezed my fingers without looking at me.

  “Get ready to run, Ella.”

  I took a deep breath, and then we were racing along the brightly lit corridor, the alarm even louder, almost drowning out the pounding of our footsteps.

  Garrett dragged me along with him, urging me to go faster. I felt his own panic as he tried door after door, but all were locked. The sound of rioting seemed to follow us, and I thought I could smell smoke.

  Then we ran out of corridor, and Garrett swore loudly, his eyes darting wildly. He dropped my hand and kicked at the nearest door, smashing it repeatedly until I was sure either the door or his leg would shatter.

  Finally, as sweat poured down Garrett’s face, the door’s weak lock screeched and broke, and he fell into a large storage closet.

  “In here!” he hissed, his face contorting with pain as his hand reached out to mine.

  I followed him without thinking, needing him near to feel safe.

  As soon as I was inside, he wedged the door shut, and we sat with our backs against the wall, breathless. Only a faint illumination came through the cracks around the door frame until my eyes adjusted to the darkness.

  Garrett was watching me warily.

  “Are you okay?”

  A small, hysterical laugh bubbled out of me.

  “Am I? I don’t know! Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  So much emotion in that one word. I felt his longing, shared it.

  My hands cupped his face, using the darkness as permission to explore him slowly. His eyelids drooped and he breathed in a shaky breath.

  “Ella, I don’t . . .”

  “Shh,” I whispered, pressing my lips against the soft skin of his neck, breathing in the faint scent of plain soap and sweat.

  His body shuddered as my fingers explored further, adrenaline and shock making me bold. We’d been gifted this one chance and I wasn’t going to waste it.

  I’d imagined that hard body so many times, imagined the layer of solid muscle and silky skin that overlaid a tall, lean bone structure. My impatient fingers pushed under his prison uniform, discovering a trail of coarse hair that led from his chest to the waistband of his pants.

  My impulsive fingers drifted lower, and I felt the groan in his chest as I closed my hand around his hot, heated shaft.

  “Ellaaaa!” he moaned my name with reverence, a plea.

  I squeezed, not gentle, and the movement broke him.

  He rolled to his knees, pressing his body above mine, forcing me to the floor.

  “If you don’t want this, for fuck’s sake, stop me now, because once I start . . .”

  I shut off his words with an impatient, claiming kiss, that told him, showed him, exactly what I wanted. A harsh growl rolled up his throat, and his body pressed harder on mine, one hand squeezing
my breast, pinching the nipple harshly.

  I wanted more. Sweet Garrett, gentle Garrett, the man with those dark, questioning eyes, the man who watched me and wanted me—and now I wanted the whole man.

  I pushed his hands away and pulled my ugly t-shirt upward, but within a heartbeat, he’d ripped it over my head, unsnapping my bra with one hand, his tongue plunging between my breasts as he sucked and licked and bit and feasted.

  We fought to rid ourselves of clothes as fast as possible in the cramped, dark, smelly storeroom, bleach and dirt burning my nostrils.

  I couldn’t get my slacks over my sneakers, the fabric caught below my knees. I hissed with frustration.

  Garrett was quicker, kicking his loose pants over his shoes, his utilitarian boxers gone in a second.

  Those long, beautiful fingers, those artist’s hands, pressed against my core, gathering my wetness. I was shocked and aroused when he thrust his fingers into his mouth, his eyes rolling back in his head as he tasted me.

  The alarm wailed louder, shrieking DANGER! DANGER! and the shouting grew closer.

  “Garrett!” I whispered, my voice shaking with fear and desire.

  “God, I want to make love to you,” he grunted, “but we’ve got to be quick. Say yes to me, Ella. Say it now!”

  “Yes!” I gasped.

  Without asking permission again, he gripped my waist and tossed me to my hands and knees. I whimpered softly, his strength and possessiveness soothing the bruises that were sure to be visible on my knees by morning.

  I felt the moist, blunt tip of his erection positioned at my entrance, and a second later he was inside me. No condom, no barrier, no safety net.

  I nearly screamed as I felt like I’d been split in half, but his rough hand clamped over my mouth. I pushed my ass backward, taking more of him, feeling the wild slapping of his balls against me as we rutted in the dark, two animals fucking away our fear.

  His hand moved from my mouth, and he rubbed my clit furiously, skill gone, speed essential.

  My whole body shuddered as his chest pressed over my back. His hot breath seethed into my skin as he bit my shoulder, my neck, and when he came suddenly, his lips kissed away the pain.