Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71444 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71444 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
I want to know more, not because I’m nosy, but because confirming what I’m dealing with could help me navigate the situation. But what’s the point? There are only so many options for terrible childhoods: cruelty, neglect, perversion. My heart breaks for the man wound up so tight he can’t stop moving.
“Are you worried about how he’ll treat me?”
Rock sighs. “He’s violent sometimes.”
A shiver passes through me, and I clench my arms closer to my body. “But do you think he’ll be violent with me?”
Rock's shrug isn’t reassuring, but his concerned expression provides some confidence. Hyde looks the closest to me in age, and he’s already been through so much. If men like Kinkaid and Rock are friends with him, he must have enough redeeming qualities to make his ups and downs worth enduring. They won’t let him hurt me. I’m confident of that.
“Maybe we should hang out,” I say. “Play a board game or watch TV together. Something where he’ll get used to me with you guys around. Then, when he’s more comfortable…”
I can’t even finish the thought. Will the halfway moments Kinkaid and Rock have had be enough for Hyde, or will he want more? Will he welcome my touch or pull away? If violence is part of his past, does it play a role in what gets him off? Our experiences shape us—sometimes in the worst ways. Most days, I feel powerless, like I’m coasting through life without purpose, just smiling through a job that’s half about pretending and half about swallowing other people’s shit. I work just enough to get by, barely surviving. So it wasn’t hard to walk away for a chance to do something real for Kennedy. And if I can ease even a little of Hyde’s darkness while I’m here, it’ll give me some sense of purpose, some proof I’ve made a difference. Even if it’s only for a moment.
“Yeah.” Rock slides his hand down my arm and links our fingers. My neck aches from tipping it back to talk to him, and when he tugs me to follow him, I take almost double the steps he does just to keep up.
Kinkaid is sitting next to Hyde, and he’s flicking through the channels on the TV. “What ya watching?” Rock asks.
“Nothing.” Hyde twists, eyes darting from Rock to me, to our joined hands, to my thighs, then back to the TV. His knee jumps, and he rubs it, trying to smooth it into inaction.
“There’s a chick flick on,” Kinkaid says. “Bridget Jones or something.” He smirks at me like that’s the kind of movie that’d appeal to me because I have a vagina.
“I like mafia movies,” I tell him. “And fantasy. Sometimes horror.” There’s something deliciously twisted about getting scared out of your wits and then turning off the TV with the comfort of returning to real life. It’s probably fucked up to need to be grateful that you’re not getting tortured or murdered. Kinkaid keeps flicking, settling on something gritty with a high-octane car chase, and then sits between Rock and Hyde. The chairs are uncomfortable, and Rock looks like he will break the back off his at any second. Hyde’s leg jitters, even with his heavy, tattooed hand pressed against it to weigh it down.
“See, that would never happen.” He points to the screen where a car is flying off the edge of a cliff and landing on a road below. “It’d fuck the suspension and probably shatter all the glass in the car. The airbags would all go off.”
“Yeah,” I say. “They always make it look like cars are bulletproof. You like cars?”
“Yeah,” he drawls. “When I get out of here, I wanna be a mechanic.”
“I bet you’d be good at it.”
He hums like he’s happy at my response. I turn to Rock, finding his face impassive. Kinkaid focuses on me, not the show, and I nod to let him know I’m okay.
“What’s your favorite car?”
“Dodge Challenger Hellcat.”
Yeah. He’d suit them with their aggressive stance and monstrous horsepower. They’re muscle-bound and brooding with the same raw energy as Hyde.
“I like the ’67 Mustang Fastback.”
Hyde turns in his chair to study me ignoring the show. His raw beauty takes my breath away, like one of those heartthrob actors from the nineties who died too young. He nods appreciatively. “That’s a classic. Beautiful lines, powerful, graceful.”
“Yep. She’s a beauty. I’d get one if I had more than two dimes to rub together.”
“Tell me about it. Gonna walk out of this place with nothing.” His hand flies to his face and rubs the bridge of his nose like the fact pains him. Years of wasted life, just waiting around, no chance to build anything. Men need opportunity and a chance to progress if they’re going to have enough self-belief and hope to leave jail and not turn back to the life that put them inside in the first place. But nobody in the system wants that. There’s no profit in redemption.