Page 20 of Butterfly

“I’ll go get your meds,” Pichard said, pulling a key from his pocket. “Don’t walk into the gate while I’m gone.”

Ollie cracked a smile. “I’ll try not to.”

“And don’t drop anything else.”

He pressed a finger to his lips, signalling for Ollie to keep quiet.

Pichard unlocked a gate, one that Ollie would’ve never admitted he hadn’t noticed. The other gates were painted green, but this one was white, the exact same colour as the wall behind it. Pichard locked the gate behind him, then turned a corner out of sight.

Ollie perched on the edge of the bed again, waiting for Pichard to come back.

He heard it then.

The sound of someone breathing.

Only one of the three cubicles had the curtains drawn completely around it.

Ollie swallowed, willing Pichard to hurry up and return.

The breathing got louder, until it rasped, wheezed.

Ollie slipped off the edge of the bed just as a shadow pressed against the curtain separating them. Whoever was stood there was a big man, wide and tall; his panted breath dampened a patch on the curtain.

“I…I didn’t mean to wake you.”

The curtain was yanked open, startling Ollie back.

Ollie had never seen the man before. He was intimidatingly large with a slack jaw, and clouded eyes. He was completely naked. Seeing naked men on a daily basis was something Ollie had adjusted to, but he didn’t know this man, and this man, he washard.

Blatantly hard.

Unashamedly hard.

Bruises covered the man’s arms and torso. One of his eyes was swollen shut, but his other was wide, bloodshot and crazed.

A cannula bled at his inner elbow.

“Sorry,” Ollie mumbled. “I…I…”

“How sorry?” the inmate asked.

“Reallysorry.”

“This sorry?” The inmate pointed at his cock. “Get on your knees.”

“No.”

Ollie had been unable to keep the revulsion from his voice.

“What do you fucking mean no!” The man tugged the curtain, pulling it off its rail.

“I don’t want to get on my knees for you.”

“What you want has nothing to do with it!”

Ollie spun around, clawing at the gate back to the wing. Before he’d had a chance to yell for help, a callused hand pressed over his mouth, keeping his squeal of terror locked inside. He was dragged backwards, not to the bed he’d sat on while Pichard examined him, but the inmate’s bed, covered in stains and reeking of body odour.

Ollie was shoved against it and fell to his knees. Before he could call out, a brutal slap sent him to the floor. His teeth caught the inside of his cheek, and blood coated his tongue. When he righted himself, he was slapped again, falling onto his other side.

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