I wasn’t sure if I was more hungry or horny when I woke up to the smell of bacon and eggs, and Allen’s wife prancing down the stairs in a sheer white robe that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. I had to give it to her, though; she had one of the fiercest bodies I’d ever seen. I still couldn’t believe my boy Allen was married to her.
“I hope that sofa wasn’t too lumpy. We do have a guest room.”
“No, this is fine,” I said, sitting up. “I need to be able to see the street. I’m paranoid like that.”
“A man in your position should be.” She gave me a knowing smile. “Anyway, I hope you slept well.”
Aside from the fact that I was on the run, she and Allen also hadn’t made it any easier for me to sleep. I’d had to listen to them fucking over my head half the night. I’d known that boy a long time, and I didn’t think he had that kind of fucking in him.
“I’m kind of a light sleeper,” I said.
“Well, then you must have been quite entertained.” Cassie gave me an insightful smirk, then made her way over to the sofa where I’d been sleeping. She picked up the plate and glass I’d left on the floor.
“Very entertained,” I said. As she passed by, I got a good whiff of her perfume, which was light and sweet but at the same time intoxicating. “Where’s your hubby?”
“He’s in the kitchen cooking breakfast.” She walked toward the kitchen, and I watched her ass sway rhythmically in her robe. If she was anybody else’s wife, I would have been on her like a jockey on a horse. “Come on in the kitchen. Allen usually takes off for work right after he makes my breakfast. I’m sure he wants to talk to you.”
Makes her breakfast? I shook my head. That damn Allen was always going beyond the call of duty. “I take it you don’t cook?”
She stopped abruptly, turning toward me with a raised eyebrow and a mischievous grin on her face as she placed the plate and glass on a nearby table. She then took hold of the lapels of her robe, yanking them apart to expose her completely naked body. It also allowed me to see her full-body tattoo for the first time. It had to be the most stimulating thing I’d ever seen. Not that he needed much encouragement, but my dick immediately sprang to life. Thank God I was still covered up with the blankets.
“Take a good look. Do you think he married me for my cooking skills?” she asked, letting the sleeves to her robe slide down her arms.
“Great googa-mooga.” I swallowed hard, looking every bit like a man who’d been locked away for ten years. “Now that you put it that way, I guess not.”
Cassie chuckled, closing her robe and leaving me sitting on that sofa like a little boy who’d just seen his first dirty movie.
It took a while for me to get the image of her nakedness out of my head and lose my erection, but I finally did, walking into the kitchen ten minutes later. Allen was sitting in a chair, dressed for work with his tie flipped over his shoulder, while Cassie sat in his lap, feeding him.
“Good morning, Al,” I said, trying not to make eye contact with Cassie.
“Morning, Jay. I made you a plate.” Allen pointed to a plate of eggs, grits, and bacon.
I sat down across from them, feeling guilty for wishing that his wife was sitting on my lap instead of his. “Thanks, but what I could really use is a good old-fashioned cup of coffee.”
Allen pointed to the counter. “The Keurig’s on the counter, and there are some K-Cups in the cabinet next to the fridge. You might wanna try this French roast. It’s the only one I’ll drink these days.”
I looked at him like he was speaking Chinese to me. “K-Cups, Keurig? What the fuck is that? Y’all ain’t got a coffeemaker?”
Cassie laughed. “Baby, he doesn’t know what a Keurig is.”
“Oh, wow, that’s right.” Allen joined her laughter. “It came out after he went to jail.”
“I’ll get it for him.” Cassie got up and my dick got harder just that fast. I slid my chair as far under the table as it would go.
I shoveled some eggs into my mouth to distract myself. When I felt my hard-on begin to relax a little, I spoke to Allen. “Hey, brother, I wanna thank you again for your hospitality.”
“It’s cool. I said I would help you, but how long is this gonna last, Jay?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged, sitting back in my chair. Cassie placed a cup of coffee in front of me. I gave her a thankful nod but never turned from my friend. “All I know is I have to clear my name, Al. I didn’t rape that girl, and I don’t want my kids living their lives thinking I’m a rapist.”
“What I don’t understand is why now? Kyle told me you had a parole hearing. If you just hung tight, you probably would have been out in the next few weeks.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “That parole shit is a joke.” I added some sugar and cream to my coffee. “Let me tell you about my parole hearing…”
The clinking sound of the metal was really starting to irritate me as I sat in that room, a closed-in little waiting area that could have stood for the air-conditioning to be pumped up. Sweat beads were rolling down my forehead, and huge damp spots had taken residence under my armpits. Truth be told, no matter how high the air could have been turned up, I still would have been sweating bullets. After all, my life was at stake here. Not just my future, but my present, because if my circumstances didn’t change, there was a good chance I would lose my mind. I couldn’t stay locked up another five years.
I pressed my hand on my knee to keep it from bouncing up and down. My nerves were eleven on a scale of one to ten, but I knew if I could stop my knee from bouncing, then it would stop the sound of the jingling metal.
“Crawford.”
I heard the name being called out, but it really didn’t register at first. My thoughts of what could take place in the next few minutes had me paralyzed.
“Crawford!” This time the voice was louder and agitated.
I looked up at Thomas, the CO who had just called my name, twice.
“You just gon’ sit there?” Thomas asked me.
I stood, slowly, still trying to gather my bearings.
“Man, bring yo’ ass on,” Thomas said, frustrated, yanking me by my arm.
It was wise that all inmates were cuffed when being transported. These COs made a nigga wanna go upside their head. My hands being cuffed kept me from doing so, though. Besides, I’d managed to control myself most of the time, and I wasn’t about to mess things up now when I was so close to freedom.
My feet were on a two-second delay from my mind, which realized the CO was pulling me and forcing me to walk. I almost tripped. That could have been disastrous, considering my ankles were cuffed and I would have fallen straight on my face. But I caught my balance and was able to regulate my pace.
Thomas led me into a somewhat larger room that had a six-foot table in front of a window. Behind the table were three chairs, each occupied at the moment. One occupant was an older white gentleman, and the other two were middle-aged women, one black and one white.
Across from them was a smaller table, about four feet in length, and two chairs. In one chair there was a white man that I recognized as my attorney. He stood upon my entrance.
“Good afternoon, Jay,” he said once the CO escorted me over to the table.
I nodded my greeting. The lump in my throat wouldn’t allow me to speak.
“Sit,” he said, offering me a chair as the CO made his way over to the door, where he stood like an armed guard, hands straight down and crossed.
I sat, as did my attorney. We both turned our attention to the three people at the table who held my fate right in the palms of their hands.
“I’m sure this has been a long-awaited moment for you, Mr. Crawford,” the black woman said, “so let’s just get right down to it.” She cleared her throat as she looked down at a paper in front of her. After a few seconds she looked back up at me. “So, Mr. Crawford, it says here that you have been incarcerated for just about ten years.”
I nodded, remaining silent. No need for me to confirm. The paper said it all.
“And it also says that you’ve been a model inmate since the last time you were in front of the parole board five years ago. You’ve really turned your life around.”
Again, I allowed her to speak. I would only speak if asked a question, and even then I’d made up my mind not to elaborate. The best thing to do in order not to say the wrong thing was to say nothing at all. If my experience with the prison system had taught me anything, it was that nugget of wisdom.
“From reading your file, Mr. Crawford,” the woman continued, “I would love nothing more than to parole you.”
I tried to hide the emotions bubbling up inside of me.
“I agree,” the other woman said. “You’ve set a fine example of an inmate who has truly been rehabilitated. Your work with the younger inmates and gangs has been credited with saving lives.”
In my mind, I was yelling out how I actually hadn’t been rehabilitated because there was nothing about me that had needed rehabilitation. I should have never been put in jail in the first place. Having been locked up for a decade, it was this place that I would now need to be rehabilitated from. Being behind bars for that long can really fuck with a man’s mind.
“I have to agree with these two ladies,” the gentleman said. “Your friend Kyle Richmond said some very gracious things about you. He even has a management position lined up for you.”
I about jumped out of my skin, but again, my instincts told me to play it cool. From the sounds of things, with all three members of the board in agreement that I no longer belonged locked up, I was going to be out of there before I knew it. I could whoop and holler all I wanted once I was out of that hellhole, but until then, I would remain calm and collected.
“We do, however, have one obstacle,” the gentleman added, and I felt my heart drop. “Your victim was here, and she spoke to the board.”
“My victim?” I snapped, unable to maintain my calm demeanor at the mention of Ashlee, the lying bitch responsible for putting me behind bars.
I saw one of the women at the table flinch subtly, and I realized I needed to dial it back.
My attorney was poking my leg underneath the table to let me know I was about to blow it if I didn’t calm down.
“Listen, Mr. Crawford.” The black woman took over again. “As you heard, we are all in agreement of you being paroled, and we are willing to sign the necessary paperwork for that to happen.”
I would have gotten excited all over again if I hadn’t felt a “but” coming along.
“But we need you to make that happen.”
I turned to my attorney for an explanation, but he looked as puzzled as I was.
“We need you now to take responsibility for your crime and admit your remorse.” The gentleman picked up where the woman had left off.
I felt my attorney nudge me. I looked over to him, and his expression had changed to a cheerful one. He leaned in and whispered to me, “That’s nothing. You can do that.”
I shook my head vigorously. “I can’t do that.”
“Pardon me,” one of the women said. “You can’t do what?”
I turned to face the parole board. “I can’t take responsibility for something I didn’t do. Isn’t giving up ten years of my life enough?”
The three parole board members looked back and forth at one another. When they all turned their attention toward me, the white woman spoke.
“Then, Mr. Crawford, we have no other option but to deny your parole.”
I thought this was all a joke, until she took a stamp and slammed it down on the papers in front of her. She then looked up at me. “Parole denied.” She placed the papers on a pile nonchalantly, as if she hadn’t just announced that my life was going to be put on hold for at least five more years.
Self-control became a thing of the past. “This is bullshit!” I said, jumping up out of my seat at the table.
“Calm down, Jay.” My attorney tried to pull me back down to my seat.
Before I knew it, the CO was over at the table and two more were on their way in.
“Let’s go, Crawford,” the CO said, pulling on my arm roughly. “Time to go back home,” he said with a sinister chuckle. “There’s no place like home.”
I looked to my attorney as the CO pulled me out of the room. “Fuck you! This is bullshit and you know it,” I yelled.
My attorney gave me a sympathetic look, raised his hands, and then allowed them to drop to his side. With no words spoken, he’d told me that his hands were tied and there was nothing he could do about the parole board’s decision. I’d made my own bed by not agreeing to do what they’d asked.
I was gritting my teeth so tightly with anger as I exited the room that my jaw muscles began to ache. Tears of anger formed in my eyes, blurring my vision. Even so, when we passed a gated corridor, I was able to make out the person walking down the hall.
“Son of a bitch, that’s her,” I said under my breath. “That’s Ashlee!” I hollered. She must have heard me, because she turned to look at me.
Hell, I’d already received my verdict. Being the model inmate hadn’t gotten me anywhere, so screw it. I let my emotions take over. “I’m going to kill you, bitch! Do you hear me? I’m not supposed to be here. I’m not supposed to be here! This is all your fucking fault!”
The CO put me in a bear hug as a couple others joined in his attempt to settle me down. “I don’t know what the fuck has gotten into you, Crawford!” the CO growled at me. “But this is gonna get you a month in the hole.”
His words made me lose it just that much more. “I don’t give a damn. Fuck you! Fuck this place! I’m gonna kill that bitch! You motherfuckers can’t keep me here. I don’t care what anybody says,” I yelled as the three COs tackled me down.