Page 32 of Petty's Crime

CHAPTERELEVEN

Petty

I’m so ashamed of myself and harbouring such ambivalent feelings toward her, I can’t face Britney. Instead, I turn on the shower, step under the water and let the flow beat down on my head. Even multiple passes with the soap doesn’t wash away the filth that I feel from her unwanted touch.

Why couldn’t I control my body?My fist hits the wall, and then again and again, moving to some rhythmic beat as I mentally berate myself for being so weak.

She’d taken advantage.She’d gotten me to the point when although my mind said no, my body was unable to stop.Christ!

I feel so dirty. It doesn’t matter that I continue to scrub until the water flows cold, I can’t get clean. I’ll be forever stained by the knowledge of what we’ve just done. I can’t even consider the implications which might tie me tighter to her.

When I turn the water off, I sink to the floor, put my head in my hands, and only just manage to swallow a sob.

How have I come to this?

I’d upset my friend when I never mentioned I was married to Roller after we’d shared almost everything else. He and I had clicked when we were put on the same team and forged a strong bond on those long boring nights when we weren’t quite sure whether either of us would still be alive in the morning. He’d told me about his life, and I’d told him about mine. Except for the fact I had a wife.

Britney had been like an addiction to the most addictive drug there is. One hit and I just kept going back for more. At the start, I’d have done anything to keep her by my side. Looking back, I can’t be proud of the man who I’d become. Whether I’d ever have broken the habit if she hadn’t been arrested, I haven’t a clue. Maybe going out on another tour would have given me that welcome time apart. But whatever, when she’d been sent down, I’d initially been lost, adrift without my rudder.

I’d been desperate to make contact with her, but every message, every call, every attempt to visit, was ignored. At first, it fuelled my dependency on her, and I could barely function for myself.

I’d been a different man when I was with her. Free of her, the ties that bound me gradually began to drop off, and I started rediscovering the man I truly was. When I’d realised the damage she’d done to me, I didn’t want to think, let alone talk about her. So I kept her a secret and put the entire episode behind me.

Now she’s back. And… fuck. Now I’ve made a colossal mistake. I should have stopped us having sex. But I’d slipped back under her thrall just as I’d done so many times before, as if no time at all had gone past.

The cool droplets of water on my body make my skin form goosebumps, and I start to shiver, but still I stay put. For some reason, maybe just as a meal ticket, Britney clearly wants me and she’s got no intention of letting me go. And when she wants something badly enough, she can be devious about getting it. Believe me, I know. She tried to trap me.

She might have my kid.

It would be hard enough to walk away from her. But from a child? There’s no way I could leave it with her.

If, fuck it, if my seed bears fruit, I’m imprisoned worse than she’s ever been.

I don’t know how long I stay ruminating in the shower, but it’s long enough that when I eventually turn the water off, I can hear her in the kitchen. The clattering of plates suggests she might be getting breakfast. My stomach threatens to rebel again and I’m uncertain I could eat anything she could dish up.

I grab a towel and wrap it tightly around my waist, wincing as it comes into contact with the bruise Britney left on my back, then step into the bedroom which I at least know is vacated to get my clothes, feeling like I’m putting on armour.

The pair of jeans I was wearing earlier I discard into the laundry basket. They smell of her, and the scent makes my nose wrinkle in disgust. The feeling of being used just won’t leave me.

I can’t stay here like a coward, hiding from her all day. I grab a t-shirt, put it on, then pulling back my shoulders I go into the living room and pick up my cut. Wearing it will hopefully remind me I’m a tough biker.

Yeah. Right.

“I’ve made breakfast.” Britney looks over and smiles, the very epitome of the perfect wife.

I look at the plate of over easy eggs and strips of bacon on the side and have to turn away fast. I don’t want to talk to her. Don’t want her to crow about what she’d stolen from me in the night, and certainly don’t want to discuss the implications.

“Red wants me at the clubhouse.” I tap the phone in the pocket of my cut as if to suggest I’ve had a call from him.

Her eyes narrow. “I’ve got an appointment with my parole officer.”

“Let me know the time, and I’ll get a prospect to take you.” While it’s not fair to get Meat and Owl to ferry her around, the benefits of being a full member means they have to do what I want, and the less time I spend in her presence, the better.

Her eyes now become slits as she realises I’m palming her off onto someone else. I brace for the blast of anger, but instead, she asks, “You working tonight?”

Unlike myself, Britney seems to have worked up quite an appetite. She sits down and soon is shovelling eggs into her mouth. She makes a little hum of appreciation, probably as they’re better than prison food, but the sound she makes turns me right off.

“Yeah, I’m working.” Belatedly, I answer her.

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