23. Rhys

Eventhoughtheair between Marcus and me has been cleared, after he left Lexi’s on Friday night, I became a brain-dead zombie, incapable of conversation, so we went to bed. I can’t remember the last time I went to bed before 11pm on a Friday night, but even when I woke after eight the next morning, I was still exhausted.

My Saturday is spent moping around at home. I told my mum—I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to saying that—about having a chat with Marcus, and she understood my low mood and declared that we were going to have a movie day. It’s not often that Cynthia Rogan, the pristine principal of Fox Pines Catholic, doesn’t bother getting dressed, so I was thankful for her small sacrifice.

A message from Julie on Saturday night reminds me that I have to lie to my parents and tell them I’ll be with Tillie for all of Sunday and Sunday night. And like the shitty friend I am, I ask Tillie to cover for me. She typically does this anyway on Sunday nights so I can go to Vixen’s Lodge, but that’s not what’s going on today, and I wish I could tell her the truth at least, but I can’t.

The train ride into the city isn’t too bad, and neither is the one out of the city on the west side, but the two town buses I have to catch just to get to Allansdale Prison is a pain in my arse. Mainly because they are jam-packed full of perverts who either ogle me or try to hit on me. It’s safe to say I’ve entered a sketchy part of the outer suburbs of Melbourne.

It’s around one in the afternoon when I reach the prison. The cliff height walls are surrounded by open fields, with section upon section of high-security fencing. I get a chill as I walk up the long path after I free myself from the bus, which has nothing to do with the black pleated skirt and baby pink sleeveless top I’m wearing. With each step towards the Allansdale entrance, I want to turn around and run in the opposite direction.

I’m nervous about seeing Brian, the man that groomed me. A shiver travels up my spine as I remember what he had me do when I was only eleven years old. I didn’t know it at the time, but it was wrong, even though I clearly remember liking it. A chill runs up my spine, knowing that the dark, sick part of my mind has been embedded there by the man I’m going to visit today.

Before I reach the entrance, where other visitors are streaming in, I get a message on my phone from Tyler.

Skipper

?

Kitten

**thumbs down emoji**

That very brief conversation translates as Tyler asking me if I need to be added to the guest list for tonight’s Feast at Vixen’s Lodge, and my response is no. I can’t go tonight. Not after what went down with Marcus at school. And especially not after I visit with my child molesting ex foster dad. My head isn’t in the right place, and I’m trying hard not to give in to the need to seek out a high in order to make myself feel better.

Walking through the visitor’s entrance of the prison is a strange experience. First, there are metal detectors, followed by some sort of x-ray screen, and then I have to empty my pockets and lock my backpack and belongings in a keypad locker. Separating myself from my phone makes me extremely anxious, even though I do it every time I go to the Feast nights. It’s different today. I’m entering a prison to see someone I never wanted to see again. Ugh, I should turn around and go home now.

That would be the smart option. Am I smart, though? No. Nope. Not at all.

Julie’s threat of consequences lingers in the back of my mind, which is the only reason I’m here, obeying her request.

I take a seat in the waiting area, nervously looking around at the other visitors who pay me little attention. By the time the corrections officers come in to announce that we can enter, I’m a jittering mess with trembling hands. Even when I stand to follow the flow of visitors, my legs feel like they’ll give out from under me. I try to steady my breathing and focus on something else to calm my nerves. Tyler pops into my head. Then Shaun, Simon, Marcus and Garrett. Jesus, I’m a horn bag!

“Patrice George?”

The sound of my birth name sends all thoughts of my guys away, and I step out of the cue to see who called out for me.

“Is there a Patrice George here?” A corrections officer stands at a different entrance scanning the line of visitors.

“Uh-I’m Rhys George. I mean, Patrice George.” I take a few steps closer as the tall man looks down his nose at me, even from where he’s standing.

“This way. Your visit is private.”

“W-what? Why?” I don’t move, even when he turns to walk away.

“This way Miss George.” His tone brokers no argument, so I follow, glancing back at the other people in line, going into the visitor’s room. Why the hell is my visit private? Is that even a thing? Surely there will be people around… right?

A hot sweat breaks out over my nape, and my heart races as the sounds of the visitor’s centre fades away. It’s quieter the deeper we move down the passage, and when the officer stops in front of a door, he turns to me.

“No touching, and stay on your side of the line.”

I have no fucking idea what he’s talking about, but the next second he unlocks the door, swinging it open. I freeze as time slows, my eyes locking with the familiar dark eyes of Brian Bates. He’s older than I remember. His dark hair has streaks of grey, and his brown eyes have lines framing them.

When I don’t move, the officer urges me forward with a hand on my back before shutting the door and locking it. Frantic, I glare at the door, wanting to pull it open and bolt. It’s too late now. I’m locked in this room with nowhere to go and no choice but to turn back to the man I once thought cared about me.

“Patrice. Thank you so much for coming to see me.” His voice sounds the same. Maybe a little older than I remember, if that’s even possible, and his smile opens up a thousand memories in my mind that I’ve worked so hard to keep buried. “Please, take a seat.”

With his hands in cuffs resting in his lap, Brian gestures to the empty chair in front of him. It’s sitting about two metres back from a thick yellow line that runs through the centre of the room, dividing us. On shaky legs, I move to the seat, gripping the back to steady myself before easing into it. I keep my eyes trained on Brian the whole time, not daring to risk losing sight of him. Not even for a moment.

“Wow. Look at my little girl. All grown up. Such a woman now.”

“What do you want?” I snap. I’m not here for social chitchat, so it’s best he knows that from the get-go.

My question makes his jaw tick, but when he speaks, his tone doesn’t show the frustration he’s clearly feeling.

“I’m dying, Patty. I have cancer, and I wanted to see you before I die.”

“Well, you’ve seen me now. So I guess I’ll be going.” I stand as I snap the last word, and he frowns momentarily before a sinister grin tugs at his lips.

“Now, now, Patty. Julie won’t be happy if you don’t stay and chat for a while.”

Translation… if you don’t stay, Julie will still dish out the punishment.

Biting the inside of my cheek, I take a deep breath before lowering myself to the seat again. Julie never told me what the punishment would be for not coming to see Brian, but knowing her, it won’t be good, and I’m not sure I’m willing to find out.

“I just want to spend a little time with you. That’s all. I’ve missed you so much.”

Bile rises in my throat, so I slowly suck in air, trying to find some calm. I don’t want to vom in front of him. I don’t want him to know how he affects me.

“How have you been, Patrice? Are you doing well in school?” Brian’s smooth tone is friendly, instantly taking me back to the time we had together. His friendly nature was always calming to me. He made me feel safe. I didn’t care that I had very few friends at school or that I never seemed to please Julie. None of it mattered when Brian was around. He cared for me in a way that even my own birth mother had never done.

“I’ve been fine. I’m doing ok at school.” My tone is flat as I wearily eye him. His gaze shifts to my lips as I speak, something I remember him doing when I lived with him.

“That’s wonderful. What’s your favourite subject?”

I shrug, “Photography, I guess.”

Brian beams. “You kept up with the photography? You have no idea how happy that makes me. We had so much fun taking photos together.”

A shiver rolls up my spine at the reminder. When I was first removed from Brian’s care, I kept taking photos, knowing it was something we did together, and I’d hoped we would be reunited and I could show him the pictures I took for him. Then, as time went by and I started to understand that what Brian did was wrong, I stopped taking photos for him and started taking them for myself. It was something I was good at. Something I really enjoyed. Maybe I shouldn’t have kept doing it, knowing he was the one to teach me in the beginning.

“Do you have some nice friends, Patrice?” Brian asks, sitting calmly in the plastic chair, not moving anything but his head.

“I do. They’re great.” I answer honestly.

“That’s so wonderful. How about a boyfriend? Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Yes.” I lie. I don’t know why I do that, but my answer causes him to frown, his eyes darkening as he glares at me.

“Do you play our games with your boyfriend, Patrice?”

My heart starts racing, and I dart my eyes to the door. Surely, it’s time to finish up?

“Uh-uh, Patty. You’re not leaving yet. Julie won’t like that.”

I shoot him a glare as I drag my gaze from the door back to him.

“Answer my question. Do you play our games with your boyfriend?”

“No!” I snap, raising my voice as anger washes over me. Brian doesn’t seem to mind, though.

“Have you spread those creamy thighs for anyone else, Patty?”

“No!” I spit again, and Brian bares his teeth and hisses.

“Don’t lie to me! How dare you lie to me, Patrice, after the love and care I gave you!”

Then he does the unthinkable. With his face red in anger, he shifts on the seat, sliding his hands down the front of his pants.

“What are you doing?” I bolt up off the chair, moving to the door.

“Sit back down, Patrice, or Julie will make you regret it!”

My bottom lip wobbles as I stay rooted on the spot, not knowing what I should do.

“Stop. Please.”

“No!” He growls, his hands moving at a slow pace in his pants. “I’m sick, Patrice. Dying. I need you to make me feel better, just the way you used to.”

“Stop.” I shake my head.

“If you don’t sit back down now, Julie will make you pay.”

My head swirls with images of when I was twelve years old, in his care. I feel like I’m back there—that little girl who only wanted someone to love her.

With great reluctance, I ease back down in the chair, trying not to look at what he’s doing, yet unable to help myself. As he tugs on his dick, he manages to shift his pants down a little, the head of his cock straining out the top of the waistband. I should scream for help, but I can’t. I’m frozen on the spot, only able to watch.

“Patrice, sweetheart. Make Brian feel better. Poke out your tongue for me.” When I don’t move to do as he asks, he adds, “Trust me, Patrice. Doing this for me is better than what Julie has planned for you if you disobey me.”

Nausea sweeps through me as I do as he asks and slowly push my tongue out between my lips. Brian groans when he sees it, his hand picking up pace.

“That’s it, Patty. Such a good tongue you have.” He moans again. “I still remember how it felt gliding up my shaft. You always knew how to suck me, good Patty. Just like a lollipop.”

Even though I know I shouldn’t be giving him what he asks for, I can’t help it. Something in me heats, and that familiar feeling of desperate need slams into me. I’m sick. Just as twisted as the man before me, because the next thing I know, I run my tongue over my bottom lip and then my top lip, repeating the action a few times.

“That’s so good, Patty. Remember how good it felt to make me feel better? Remember how I made you feel things too?” Brian asks, his face going red as his fists pump in his pants. “Remember how you liked the way I touched you between your legs? You used to tell me you loved me every time I did that to you, and I took your ache away. Do you remember?”

“Stop.” I whimper, my voice nothing more than the twelve-year-old that endured this. I hate the way my body is reacting to his words. To the memory of how it felt.

“Do you feel that ache now, Patrice? Do you need Brian to touch you there? To rub over that sensitive little mound and slide my fingers deep inside?”

I shift on the seat, feeling the betraying ache grow in intensity. This is so wrong. I know that, so why does my body want more? Why am I like this?

“Come closer, Patrice. If we are quick, I’ll be able to touch you and take the ache away.” Brian whispers across the small space, his hand moving faster as his hips start to rise and fall.

I shake my head. “No. You aren’t allowed across the line.”

Finally, my brain does something right.

“Then lift your skirt a little, so I can see. Help Brian feel better.”

At his words, I’m suddenly no longer sitting in the prison but back in the house we lived in together. We are in his games room, where he would take me to protect me from Julie and make me feel better. It was our special place. Julie never came into that room. I was safe there, away from her and under the protection of Brian.

We would play games. His favourite was the hospital game, where I would dress up as a nurse, and he would be my patient. It was my job to help Brian feel better, to take his pain away.

I feel my legs part, and I lift my skirt, bunching it up around my waist so he can see my panties. He always liked me to start like this. Sometimes he would ask me to show him when we were out of the room, behind Julie’s back when she was cooking dinner or cleaning the house around us. I liked that we had that secret from her. Sometimes, when we would watch movies at night on the couch and Julie would fall asleep next to me, Brian would play quiet games with me, and the rule was that we had to be so careful and quiet that we didn’t wake up Julie.

A loud moan works like a bucket of ice, and I snap out of my past and into the present. The guttural noise comes from across the small space, and I realise Brian has just come.

What have I done?

“Let me out!” I scream.

Bolting from the chair, I slam my fists on the door. “Let me out!”

“Your behaviour isn’t acceptable, Patrice,” Brian growls, but I ignore him, slamming my fists over and over.

“Let me out!”

I hear a click, and the door starts to open, so I jump back in time to dodge it as the officer from before pushes it wide. I scramble from the room, ignoring the officer, and beeline to the reception area. I don’t stop as I go to the locker to retrieve my things, my hands trembling, barely able to work. Once I have everything I walked in here with, I run like a bat out of hell from that God awful place that holds the perverted man that has ruined me forever.

Even though I’m crying, none of the prison officers stop to see if I’m ok. In fact, they fucking ignore me. Fuck them and fuck this place! I’m never coming back again! I should never have come here in the first place! Julie can threaten me all she wants. There’s nothing she can do to me that will be as bad as having to go back to see that man.

By the time I reach the bus stop, I can’t stop myself from hurling what little food I’d eaten today. My body is vibrating with repulsion, mainly for myself. Brian will always be a molesting bastard. But me? I thought I’d worked on this side of myself with the therapists. I thought I’d taught myself that what he did was wrong and that even though I enjoyed it at the time, I shouldn’t have. Yet here I am, soaked with need after submitting to him and giving him sickening things.

I am a sick person. I will never be free of my vile need for sex. Ever!