I Don't Want To Be A Murderer [1/?]
Title: I Don't Want To Be A Murderer
Author: factualrealityy
Chapter: Chapter 1
Rating: R
Pairing: Jalex, mentions of Gabilliam
POV: Third
Summary: A violent Jack serves time in prison, constantly haunted by the memory of what he did.
Disclaimer: We would have heard if this had happened, and I'm kind of glad it didn't. I don't own these characters. I just like to use them as puppets.
Author Notes: I wrote this chapter at three am. no big deal, so it's probably shit. Also, all of my knowledge of how prison works comes from the Shawshank Redemption. =) I hope you all enjoy William the Sister.
The first night in the prison had been the hardest. Jack hadn’t slept; he had lain awake on the uncomfortable mattress, staring at where he would spend the next 15-25 years. He didn’t remember doing it….he never remembered. He remembered waking up one morning and seeing a paper thin cut around the circumference of Alex’s neck, and asking the other boy where the guitar had gone-but Alex had just said it was nothing and told Jack that he loved him. He remembered Alex’s face, swollen, red and purple-remembered Alex touching Jack’s cheek lightly and reassuring him that he had just taken a tumble down the stairs.
And he remembered waking up, blood on his hands, and bloody footprints backtracking from the bedroom he shared with the love of his life to the corpse in the living room floor, unrecognisable from the foot shaped hole smashed into its face. And Jack had screamed. He had fallen backwards and he had screamed until a neighbour had heard-a neighbour who had heard the night before, and who was smart enough to figure out exactly what had happened.
The cell was cold. The bed was empty. Jack needed Alex. He wanted to curl up with him and hold him while he fell asleep, just enjoying the feeling of Alex’s back against his chest, the sweet smell of the other boy’s hair…he’d never get that again. Somebody had killed his Alex…and Jack would never believe that he had done it. He had loved-he loved Alex more than anything, and he would give anything to have him back.
That was the first time he felt cold fingers ghosting across his skin before he fell into a shallow, disturbed sleep.
As all of the inmates lined up in the morning, Jack felt his heart racing in his chest. He didn’t belong in prison. He was weak. They’d kill him. Or worse-rape him. As the wardens passed by, Jack sucked in a breath and did the best he could to look presentable, earning a snicker from the thin man standing next to him. If Jack hadn’t have known better, he might have at first thought the man was a woman.
“You’re n-new,” The man said, his voice still sounding sure despite the stutter. Jack swallowed, glancing at him.
“What was your first clue?”
“I don’t recognise you.” He turned to face Jack, looking him over. His eyes were hungry, watching Jack like a predator. “I’m William. My friends call me Bill. Others just call me Beckett.” Jack nodded slowly. “You are?”
“…Jack.”
“Jack.” William smirked, tucking his hands into the pockets of his pants. “D’ya got a date for breakfast, Jack?”
Poking at the “food” on the tray in front of him, Jack had decided to just listen. The other men were bragging about what they had done to get in there, but none were as avid to talk about it as William.
“So I start seeing this big Uruguayan bastard. He was constantly fucking reminding me he was from Uruguay. Not Mexican, not Brazilian, not fucking Spanish-Uruguayan. Haha, big fucking deal.” The way William was holding his plastic knife made Jack uneasy, but he listened to his story closely and carefully, in case-god forbid-he had to remember it. “We start living together and he decides I’m suddenly his b-bitch. He expects me to cook, and clean, and most importantly, bend the fuck over when he asks me too. I might like a bitch, but William Beckett is not a bitch, okay?” His eyes glanced around the table as if daring someone to say otherwise. Jack watched, curiously, as the other men all nodded and agreed; Jack couldn’t help but notice the fear in some of their eyes.
He was terrified to think of what this man who looked like he couldn’t weigh more than 130 pounds had done to earn the respect and fear of every rapist, murderer and crazed sex maniac in the prison.
William turned his eyes on Jack. “Do I look like a bitch, Jack?” Every other person at the table turned to stare at Jack. Jack only stared back, feeling his mouth go dry. “Tell me the truth, Jackass…do I look like a bitch to you?”
“Y-you…d-do kind of look…girly…” Jack said weakly, his voice cracking. A still seemed to fall over the table, and Jack looked up at William. The man’s face was expressionless, impossible to read.
William nodded slowly. “I had a feeling you would say that…” His voice was cold, but still closer to emotionless than anything. He sat for a moment, just watching Jack, before the air of performance fell over him again. “-so I’m standing in the kitchen making Gabe his fucking salad because he didn’t eat any meat when he comes in and kisses my neck, and his hands are all over my hips, and he makes a comment about what a pretty girl I am.” His eyes darted to Jack, and a smile spread very slowly across his lips. “So I told him. I dared him to c-call me a girl one more time. To tell me I…kind of look…girly. And he did…so I stabbed him.” The smile spread into a sick sadistic grin, only made worse by the brown eyes that were now learing into Jack’s. “and he bled his Uruguayan blood all over my best shirt.” His thin wrist flipped the plastic knife in his hand, and Jack sucked in a breath. The moment lasted too long, and Jack wondered momentarily if William was attached to the shirt he was currently wearing, before William laughed happily and looked around. “And then I wound up in jail! Funny story, huh?”
The entire table laughed, like well trained dogs. They’d been through this before. Jack wasn’t stupid-he could figure this out. When William Beckett said laugh, you laughed. When William Beckett asked you a question, you answered it. If William Beckett wanted you to suck his dick, you dropped to your knees.
William’s eyes turned back to Jack, a different light in them. “What about you, new kid? What did you do to get in here?”
“Nothing…” He said a little too quickly, and William raised an eyebrow.
“Nothing? How does that work?”
Jack thought of a movie he had watched with Alex not too long before he was gone, a simple prison movie. Jack swallowed, and faked a smile. “Not guilty, the lawyer fucked me.”