𝐌𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬

17 | My Contraband is Better than Yours

Y/N

Prison is designed to humiliate and diminish you in a myriad of ways. It strips you of your humanity, reducing you to a number. It reduces your self-worth and creates a feeling of helplessness that is exceedingly hard to rebuild.

I think back to my short lived days in psychology, bluffing my way through my tests and exams, falsifying documents and using corrupt connections to get me into the industry. I worked with jail inmates quite often, listening to their inner turmoil as I had to sit with a straight face, nod politely and write down notes for their impending trials.

I think about those inmates now as I open the back door of my car to retrieve my things, rifling through the zips to find my old security badge that I had kept since being fired all those months ago. Pulling out the badge and my jacket that was shoved into the bag, I noticed a brown leather shoe left in my car that had fallen to the floor. I picked it up with my jacket and badge and threw the shoe into a nearby trash can in the car park before I made my way into the jail facility.

I checked in through the security checks just as last time. I had my belongings raided, I was patted down and I had my old security badge in between my phone and phone case. If they saw my badge at this point, they'd check the schedule for any foreign staff checking in and they'd find out I was faking it. Once I was in however, I could use the badge to my advantage.

My old colleague Marco had managed to tip off one of the visitation guards and let him know I was coming; the three of us figuring out how to pull some strings inside the prison. I met Marco's friend who let me through to parts of the jail visitors were not allowed to enter, telling me that he could only get me this far.

"Dr. L/N here for Inmate 78301. Can you please fetch him for our session?" I asked another guard as I was let into the health ward and into the therapy room. It was a lot nicer than the ones I had worked in previously, it made me happy that the worse prisoners had the best facilities. It wasn't always like that in these systems.

I helped myself to a blank notepad and a pen, hearing a knock at the door as the guard asked if I wanted him to be handcuffed for the session. This was standard, if we had any fears of dangerous prisoners they could be detained. Quite often what I did back in the day though, was say no so that the inmate felt I was more trusting; then I got stabbed.

"You can send him in uncuffed," I said politely, seeing Tom walk around the corner rubbing his wrists and staring at me with squinted eyes and furrowed brows. The guard closed the door and he looked around the room, obviously never have been in here before.

"What the fuck is happening?" He whispered.

"I pulled some strings, I'm Dr. L/N again today," I said walking quickly over and throwing my arms around him in a large hug.

"Oh I'm never letting go Darling," he said as he exhaled into my shoulder, squeezing me against his chest as his hair covered half of my face.

"You need a haircut oh my god," I laughed, rubbing his back gently before stroking his hair.

"I was waiting until Mum's visit... I can't believe I'm getting to see you without a glass screen between us. You smell exactly the same," he said still holding me tightly.

"We have about an hour but I can take my badge off afterwards and get another hour with you as a normal visitor in the cubicles," I said fiddling with his hair between my fingers playfully.

He finally let go of me and wiped his hand against his eye, trying to hide the fact he was tearing up in front of me. I told him that it was fine to cry and he laughed at me, telling me I wasn't his 'jailbird therapist'.

"This room is actually kind of nice, I should come see the therapist just to change up my daily activities," he laughed.

"Anything exciting happen lately in the life of Tom?" I asked, smiling as he held my hands over the table and rubbed his thumb over my knuckles.

"Apparently someone died the other week and then they moved me to maximum security. So that's like, really fucked but also nice because I get a better room," he shrugged.

He then explained that a mafia associate in a different crime group was bludgeoned to death in his cell by someone and that the jail administration thought Tom and another different mafia mobster would be safer in maximum security due to his involvement with mafia groups. He seemed to be unfazed by it, he was moved to a different wing, had a better room and better facilities.

The downside, was that he didn't have free reign over the jail. He had to stay in his room for majority of the day, that's why 'Maxies' had better rooms. They had a proper mattress, a tiny television, a window next to a small couch and a desk. They were allowed to keep library books in their room and they were allowed out each day for supervised exercise. They even had a semi-private bathroom in their cell which just meant there was a little brick wall next to the toilet and sink. But they had a private shower.

He seemed a lot happier. Still miserable, but less miserable I guess.

"Who killed the mafia guy? Like, another mafia guy?" I said screwing my face up. In the whole time I had worked in the prison system, I had only encountered two deaths. It was pretty rare.

"I dunno, they can't tell us so it's just all different rumours flying around... Tell me about you though, how's life in the open world?" He smiled, leaning over the table and resting his head on his arm, staring up at me like a puppy in love.

I told him how I had been meeting with Jen the Lawyer each week, revising and tweaking any and all information we had on the potential case. Because he hadn't been set a trial date, it was near impossible to appeal yet. I told him about his house renovations and that the emails his interior design team were sending through looked great. I explained how Robyn and Haz had already started painting the walls of their new nursery, going for a 'minimalist chic' theme for the baby regardless of gender.

"Why the fuck are they doing minimalist chic for a newborn baby? That's not colourful or stimulating or remotely fun," He scoffed jokingly.

I laughed, telling him that although I wasn't allowed to bring my phone in with me, that I brought him some more photos to keep in his room. These images however, were not approved by security.

"Oh fuck me... How'd you- How'd you manage to sneak this in?" He said holding the small stack of Polaroid photos in his hands and clearing his throat.

"You forget I know a lot of people Tom," I chuckled, watching his face react to seeing the nude photos I had taken specifically for him. There were only about four or five; some in lingerie, some without, but I figured he needed something to fantasise with at night.

"How long are we alone in here?" He asked, raising an eyebrow at me and looking behind him at the closed door.

"About half an hour left now, why?"

"Three months has been way too fucking long and the last time I touched you you kicked me out of your house... C'mere, I need to taste you again Darling," he smirked.