Fandom: The Riches
Character: Dahlia Malloy (mention of Wayne Malloy)
Notes: The most recent fandom in my trip through the MMOM alphabet. Slightly experimental for me, in terms of doing a first person in dialect. Concrit apprehensively welcomed.
Thanks to Beta Goddess Carol, who again dives into the unknown.
It ain’t easy gettin’ off in prison, I’ll tell you that much. And I ain’t talking about no big-assed bull-dagger inmate thinking she’s gonna go poking around down there or using your mouth like it belongs to her or nothing like that. I managed to avoid that stuff. Mostly.
I mean, it’s crazy. You can go getting yourself wasted on practically any old kind of shit right in front of the guards, but if one of them correctional cunts gets the idea you’re just having a little moment with yourself, just so you can feel good for a few seconds and forget that you’re in that hellhole, then it’s ‘whoa Nellie,’ sound the alarms and maybe beat you up a little bit while they’re at it. Man, I hate those bitches.
But you know what? Just ‘cause it’s hard don’t mean you stop trying. Sometimes you just gotta, you know what I mean? I coulda paid my cellie, Chunkie K, to be on look-out. That girl could never resist a couple of Hershey bars and a pack of cigarettes, but I didn’t need her in my business like that so I had to wait until she fell asleep. Man, Chunkie snored like a steamship or something, but at least I knew she wouldn’t be waking up anytime soon.
I still had to be real quiet, which don’t come easy to me at a time like that. No sir, I’ve always been a screamer. But when you’re risking so much just for a little time with Rosy Palm, you manage. I’d just get curled up under my blanket, and get my two fingers in there and rock back and forth against them, and all the time think of me and Wayne going at it in a big ol’ bed, whooping and hollering, me on top of him, going up and down and up and down and damn, it was hard not to scream right then. Felt like I was gonna die from it, and the hardest part was letting my breath out just a little bit at a time against my pillow so none of them snoops in the next cell could tell what was going on.
That’s why I can’t go back there. Not for Wayne; not for the family. Not for anybody.