My Sweet Bully

I hear the windows rattle on his house as the front door crashes closed. A light pops on behind crooked curtains, and I’m left sitting in a puddle of arousal.

My panties are soaked, and I’m sweating profusely. It’s dripping down the back of my neck, tracing my spine. My heart is hammering inside my chest, and my lips tingle.

Reaching up, I touch my mouth. Letting out a slow breath, I start to cough for air. I’ve been holding my breath and didn’t even know it until my lungs started burning.

Glancing up at his house one last time, I throw the car into drive and pull away.

He’s angry with me, and that’s all right. I can see a side of him no one else can and I think it makes him uncomfortable. I don’t feel bad for it, and I won’t let myself, either.

Because people can be a lot of things. They can be good. They can be evil. They can be upright and docile and even go astray.

But there’s one thing people can never be. . . And that’s without light.

We can all be led in the wrong direction.

But we can all find our way back home.

Sometimes, people just need a little help getting there.

5

Max

The bus doors open, and I stand on the top step for a second, looking up at the sky. I step out under a cloud of gray and a light drizzle. It’s misting, the water is cold as it hits my face, making me shiver slightly.

Adjusting my jacket, I look right and left before crossing the street. My feet are heavier than usual, and there’s a tightness in my chest I can’t get rid of. It happens every time I come here. Visiting my brother never gets easier.

The long driveway to the prison always gives me the fucking creeps. I hate the walk up to the doors, and I hate the walk into the building. There’s a cloud of dread that weighs down on my shoulders.

I feel like I’m behind bars too. I have no control over my life, just like my brother has no control here. Without my brother, life hasn’t been the same.

At least when we’re together, I don’t feel so alone. He understands me, he understands our life, our past—everything. I don’t need to explain a damn thing to him. But with him in here, I have no one.

My feet crunch over the gravel, echoing in the silence around me. Tucking my hands into my pockets, I force myself forward one foot at a time. My eyes drift up the wall that’s keeping people in, and in a way, probably keeping people out too.

The walls are brick, double fenced on the inside, and lined at the top with barbed wire. Guards are peering out from two towers at the corners, while the front of the prison is speckled in two foot by three foot square windows, with ghostly faces begging to be set free.

I can’t see much, no defining features, nothing to really identify the person inside, but the eyes. I can see each set, their gazes like ghosts.

I can’t fucking believe my brother is here.

It’s her fault, it’s all her fault.

Clenching my teeth, I crook my jaw in frustration as I approach the front the gate. It angers me that he’s here. It angers me that I’m here. It makes me so fucking mad that this is my life right now.

As if either of us haven’t already been through enough. Now, we have to deal with this.

Not once have I ever felt like I’ve had any control over my life. It’s always been in someone else’s hands, being led by someone else’s decision.

The giant gate buzzes, gliding open as I approach. I go through the motions. Dropping my stuff into the small tray as I walk through the metal detector, the guards pat me down, and I wait for them to check my shit. Grabbing the pen, I sign my name in the book, same as I have for the past two months.

I take a second to check the register, quickly running my eyes over the names, but I don’t see anyone else I know. It’s habit at this point, I check every time I come. I don’t know why, it’s like I keep expecting to see our father’s signature.

It’s stupid. He’s never going to come.

I shouldn’t be surprised, I already know I’ll never see our father’s name in this book, no matter how many times I search for it. I’m the only person who ever comes to see Harlow. Just me.

We really only do have each other.

Another buzzer goes off, and another barred gate slides open. I’m ushered into the visitors’ room, busy with wives and kids as they talk to their loved ones or wait their turn. Some women are crying, others are yelling, the sounds blocked by thick glass partitions.