What Happens in Prison

Ti hit the ground hard, his head spinning, the pain only registering once he remembered how to breathe.

What just happened?

His jaw felt numb, his nose throbbing.  Suddenly, he was back in middle school, Tommy Jenkins calling him a faggot in the middle of the parking lot, punching him across the face when Ti tried to fight him over it.

Oh.  That’s right.

He’d just been punched in the face.

Ti tried to sit up but his equilibrium wouldn’t allow it, the whole world tilting out of focus for a second, a siren of pain ringing in his ears.  He put a hand to his head, licked his lips, tasted blood, spit a glob of it onto the linoleum floor.  Suddenly, Durden was in his line of sight.  Ti blinked.

“Did I just get punched in the face?” He heard himself ask, but it sounded distant, muted by the ringing. 

Still, he could see Durden’s lips move in response, could mostly hear him reply, “Yeah.  You did.”  And despite his confusion, Ti could still comprehend one thing with complete certainty. 

Durden was livid.

Ti struggled to his feet, Durden holding his arm to offer some support.  And yelling.  Durden was yelling.  Ti shook his head, wincing in pain at the motion.  Why was Durden yelling?  Who was he yelling at?  Ti sniffed, the action sending a stream of blood down the back of his throat, which he reacted to with a cough and a panicked hand to his face.  The blinding pain that came with touching his nose was mind clearing, Durden’s shouted words suddenly making sense.

“He wasn't even fucking doing anything!” Durden growled at the towering, bandana wearing Muscle Man perched with his posse in front of them.  If Ti thought hard enough, he could remember seeing the guy in passing, most likely in the cafeteria.

Right.  Okay.

He’d been eating his lunch with Durden, nothing out of the ordinary or threatening about it.  But then, Muscle Man had stalked up, asked if his name was Tiberius, and then punched him in the face.  It didn’t make sense.  Unless…

“Just wanted to test the rumors myself.”  Muscle Man scoffed, his cronies chuckling with him as if preprogrammed.  “But there’s no way this pussy took out Da Vinci.”

Ah.  There we go.

Ti’d actually expected something like this sooner, the rumors of him killing his cellmate spreading like wildfire the first week before surprisingly, worryingly, falling silent.  He’d almost stopped looking over his shoulder, wondering when someone was going to ask about it.  Or worse, challenge him over it.  He’d almost stopped expecting the worst, and then-

“I didn’t take him out,” Ti spat another mouthful of blood onto the floor at Muscle Man’s feet, glancing up at him with the same sort of anger fueled stupidity that had possessed him in middle school.  “It was self-defense.”  Durden’s grip on his arm tightened this side of painful, but be it a newfound sense of invincibility since things starting picking up with Durden, or that punch knocking something loose in Ti’s head, Ti just kept on going, actually going as far as to take a step forward.  “I wasn’t just going to let him rape me.”  Ti narrowed his eyes into the fiercest glare he could manage.  “Or kill me.”

Muscle Man must have taken the unexpected bravado in offense, his eyes fiery as he pulled back his fist for another blow.  Which was when Durden yanked Ti back hard enough to knock him to the floor, Ti barely catching the moment when Muscle Man’s punch landed squarely across Durden’s jaw.  And just like that, Ti’s bravado catapulted to a dangerous level, Ti scrambling back to his feet and charging at Muscle Man in a fit of rage. 

Which, thanks to two things, barely lasted more than a minute or so.  The first, after a particularly noticeable scrimmage, being a severe right hook to Ti’s temple.  The second being the onslaught of officers that filed in to break them up, two of them pulling a fuming Muscle Man out of the cafeteria by force.  But not before he got the chance to yell back at Ti.

“You got lucky with Da Vinci, but you won’t be so lucky next time!”

And then the cafeteria went quiet.

Death threats were a common occurrence at Penton.  Someone’s usual chair being occupied by a fresh, unsuspecting face was commonly met with a, “Move if you value your life.”  Whispering during the monthly movie got multiple variations on, “Shut the fuck up or I’ll rip out your voice box.”  And even simple things like bumping into someone in the hall or looking someone in the eyes was enough for an overly dramatic, “Who the fuck do you think you are, huh?  I’ll kill you, motherfucker!”  Or something basically along those lines.

But this time, this threat, was different.  This one had a merit that couldn’t be ignored.  Because this threat had backing.  Ti had killed once already, holding his own in a prison full of murderers, rapists and general convicts, and that place had to be challenged, proven, defended.  Or else.  No one backed down from threats like those.  Because they were real.  Because if you didn’t, you were dead.

But Ti didn’t know that.  Not completely anyway.  So, when Durden grabbed him by his upper arm and forced him out into the hallway, the mixture of anger and concern on his face threw Ti off.  Even more so when the first words out of Durden’s mouth were, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Ti pulled his arm out of Durden’s grip, automatically defensive.  “What?  He was being a dick!  He punched me in the face, Durden!  Was I supposed to just let him-?”

“Yes!” Durden cut him off, running his hands over his face and groaning in frustration.  “You let him think whatever he wants because giving him attitude?  That shit will get you exactly what it got you.”

Ti frowned, crossing his arms.  “Which is what exactly?”

Durden frowned right back, making sure the words were filled with enough venom to appropriately sink in.  “Another Da Vinci.”

Though he tried not to show it, Ti paled, the reality of the fight in the cafeteria not quite registering yet, but getting there.  When Ti spoke this time, his voice was less agitated, more worried.  “You don’t think he’ll-" 

“Yes, Ti.  I do.” Durden sighed, shaking his head as he walked up closer to Ti, reaching out to brush his fingertips lightly over the bump on Ti’s nose.  Which still hurt like hell.

Ti hissed, knee-jerking away from Durden’s hand and replacing that touch with his own.  “Did he break my nose?” Ti asked, looking worriedly at Durden.  Which reminded Ti that Durden had been attacked too.  By jumping in the way of a punch meant for Ti.  Ti offered Durden a look that he hoped was as apologetic as he felt.  “You took a hit for me.”

Durden scoffed.  “I took more than one.”  But then, his eyes softened.  Especially when Ti reached forward and placed a hand against his cheek, running a thumb along Durden’s busted bottom lip.

“You did… Didn’t you…”  Suddenly, everything began to settle into place.  And Ti felt dangerously close to saying three words to Durden he would probably regret.  He swallowed them back and replaced them with another three instead.

“I’m so sorry.”  He whispered.  “I wasn’t thinking.  I just… couldn’t stop myself.  I felt like I was back in middle school being bullied by another group of homophobes and I just snapped.”  Ti shook his head, reminded at once of the massive headache he was sporting.  “I’m so stupid.”  Durden didn’t deny it, which made Ti feel slightly worse, but then Durden was reaching for him again, running careful hands tenderly over new bruises and cuts, and just like that Ti felt better again.  Just like that.

“You look terrible.” Durden smirked. 

Ti smirked right back, leaning into Durden’s touch.  “You don’t look so hot yourself.”

Durden’s smirk grew into a full-fledged grin.  “You don’t believe that.”

Ti blushed, but his smile grew wider too.  “Not even a little bit.”

“Tiberius Altridge?” A voice interrupted their banter, both guys turning to look at the approaching officer, Durden’s hand still on Ti’s face.

“Uh, yes?” Ti cleared his throat, reluctantly taking a step away from Durden’s touch.  The officer directed his attention to Ti without so much as a glance in Durden’s direction.

“Come with me.”

“Um, okay.  Sure.”  Ti glanced nervously at Durden and then back.  “What for?”

The officer offered him a look that was impatience incarnate before answering.  “You have a visitor.  Just follow me.”

Ti and Durden shared a final glance before Ti did as told, following the officer down the hall and wondering why on earth his mother would be visiting in the middle of the week.

---

Only it wasn’t his mother, as it turned out.

“Hey, kiddo...” Robert Altridge spoke into the receiver on the other end of the thick, plexi-glass cubicle.  Ti was speechless, couldn’t think of anything that could possibly be worth saying after five years, figured that since he had nothing nice to say he’d do best with saying nothing at all.  So he sat there in dumbfounded silence, trying with every fiber in his body not to succumb to the anger that was slowly and steady bubbling to life inside him.

Either his dad didn’t notice or chose to go on by sheer persistence, but Robert was talking again, explaining things, and Ti could barely stand to listen.  In fact, most of what traveled through to Ti’s receiver sounded like the adults in those old Charlie Brown cartoons, only bits of phrases and select words making it past his filter of rage, the rest shredded by it, reduced to an unintelligible drone of sounds he didn’t want to hear.

No.  That wasn’t right.  He did want to hear what his father had to say.  He wanted to hear what his father had to say about everything.

“I’ve already talked to a lawyer and if we can get them to reopen the case-”

“How did you know I was here?” Ti cut him off, tone monotone but seething.  Robert paused, thrown off track, but true to his nature, he bounced right back in, reminding Ti at once of too many lost arguments, too many nonsensical debates, too many childhood memories marred by a lack of teenage ones.

“Your mother told me what happened.”  He replied, straight faced.  Brutal.  But Ti settled back into his role just as easily, expressionless and to the point.

“Since when do you two keep in touch?”

“She called me yesterday,” he said simply.  “For help.”

“So she had your number this whole time?”

“Since our last move.” Robert held Ti’s gaze, the same way he used to when waiting for Ti to read between the lines.  “It was in the Christmas card we sent two years ago.”

This time, Ti paused.  He barely heard the word leave his mouth.  “We?”  Finally, as if breaking the spell of painful nostalgia, Robert looked away.  It was answer enough.  “So you sent Christmas cards.  And birthday cards too, I’ll bet.”

“Every year.”

“And you didn’t stop to think that maybe, just maybe, I didn’t give a shit about some card?” Ti hissed.  “That maybe I’d want a dad instead?  Or at least some attempt at one, the reminder of one?”  Ti pinched hard at the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes tight against how badly he wanted to scream, settling rather for a harsh and piercing stage whisper.  “You need to go.”  Robert didn’t speak, didn’t move either, but Ti didn’t expect him to.  That’s just the way his dad was.  Unmoving, unchanged in that way at least.  “Now.” Ti tried harder, looking at his father through narrow, hate filled eyes.

“I never meant to hurt you.” Robert pressed on.

“But you did.”

For some reason, the hurt that flashed briefly across Robert’s face, so briefly Ti could have convinced himself it hadn’t, actually made Ti’s stomach clench.  “I know I did.  And I don’t expect you to forgive me.”  Robert sighed.  “I haven’t.  But I can help you, Tiberius.”

“I don’t want your help.” Ti got up, aiming to slam the phone back into its hold, but the sound of his father’s next words were too true to ignore.

“No, but you need it.”

Slowly, and after an inner turmoil that left him with a growing headache to add to his cuts and bruises, Ti lowered himself back into his seat, clutching the phone until his knuckles went white.  “Tell me something first.” 

Robert nodded.  “Anything.”

“Why didn’t you come back?”  Ti let the pain in his voice bleed through the fake glass window and seep into Robert’s chest, his hands, his face.  Ti looked at him then, really looked at him.  He was older, yes, but not by much.  And he still looked the same.  Except different somehow.  Little things had changed: His gut had shrunk from an alcoholics’ to a simple beer belly.  The ginger hair Ti had inherited was still making an impressive home atop his head, only now it was perfectly groomed, parted to the side in a way that made his face seem sharper, more handsome.  His clothes seemed nicer, his eyes brighter, his face less haggard, less tired.  He seemed happy, Ti realized.  Not in a smiling or even a content sort of way.  Just… happy with life.  Happier with his new life than the one he left behind.  Ti’s stomach clenched tighter.

And then, underneath his fancy business jacket, Ti recognized the old, worn-once-too-many-times Tommy Bahama button up Ti’d given him for father’s day five years ago.  Their last father’s day.

“I wanted to.” Robert spoke carefully, softly.  “I even tried to a few times.  But I couldn’t face you, Tiberius.  Not after that.”  He shook his head.  “But I promised myself I would.  I promised myself every night before I went to bed that tomorrow would be the day I met you after school or swung by the house or even called but…  But the longer I hesitated the harder it became.  Until I hated myself too much, convinced myself that you were better off not being reminded of the terrible father who put his own selfish confusion before the needs of his son.  And before long, I believed it.”  Robert looked his son in the eye, an apology so fierce in his gaze that Ti had to look away.  “I still believe it.”

So do I, Ti wanted to say, automatically would have if not for the way his father was looking at him then, eyes more honest and open and practically pleading with him that it left the words lodged in Ti’s throat, so much so that he found he couldn’t say anything at all, just stare in awkward and uncomfortable silence.  Because he hadn’t forgiven his father by any means, probably wouldn’t for a long, long time, but sitting across from him like this, seeing him like this, listening to him like this, Ti realized something dumbfounding.

He didn’t hate him.

Maybe at one point he had, in the beginning.  Or thought he had.  But right now, he could honestly say he didn’t.  And that was something, at least.  But it wasn’t enough.  Not nearly.

Ti sat back a little, giving the man on the other end of the cubicle a once over, comparing this Robert Altridge to the one in his memories.  It was like trying to compare an old photograph with a digital picture, the lines fuzzy and worn on one and sharp and almost too perfect in the other, making the photograph pale in comparison.  His dad did look happier.  And, though it took a lot to admit, Ti liked seeing him healthier, not in a constant state of semi-intoxicated or buried beneath a hobby he had no real interest in just to keep his hands busy, his mind busy.  Ti understood why now, attached his adult reasonings to his childhood memories of Robert bent over a model ship or up to his elbows in cake batter or covered in dirt from the garden.  Because it’s easier to distract yourself then stop and ask yourself why you need distracting.

And that’s when it clicked.  Ti didn’t hate him because he understood why he did it.  Sometimes, when it’s something that big, you have to rely on yourself to figure it out.  And staying behind with the family would have been too complicated, too tempting maybe.  It’s not like it hadn’t crossed Ti’s mind before, but it had never struck home like this either.

But just because he understood it, didn’t mean he had to like it.

Still, Ti sighed, the grip at the center of his chest loosening just enough for him to say, “So who is he then?”

It was obvious by the look on Robert’s face that the topic chance was unexpected, and in all honesty, Ti had no idea why he’d chosen that route himself, he didn’t even care really, but it was said, and Ti found he was actually curious.  If not only on a spiteful, “Let’s see if we can’t point out some flaws,” kind of way.

Robert cleared his throat and reached into his pocket, opening his wallet up on the counter to dig out a picture.  Ti tried to ignore the spark of happiness that tugged at him when he noticed his middle school photo taped to the inside flap.

“His name is Neil.” Robert said softly, grabbing Ti’s attention back when he placed a photo against the thick plastic wall between them.  Ti leaned in for a better look, aiming for a snide remark, some sort of sarcastic comment, but nothing came to mind.  Not when the man in the picture looked so happy, so full of life, so unlike the man he remembered his father to be, the familiar smirk not hinted with agitation or sadness or some other negative emotion he’d become so good at covering up.  No.  This man smiled and meant it.  This man in the picture didn’t need to pretend to be happy.  He actually was.

The picture was taken on a beach, his dad mid-laugh, his arm around another man’s shoulders, dragging him down a few inches to Robert’s level.  The man was nice looking, actually.  Attractive in a sporty kind of way.  And he was smiling too, but not at the camera.  The man was smiling at Robert, one of those warm, all encompassing, nothing else exists kind of smiles Ti’s mom used to have before Robert left, the kind of loving, caring, longing smiles that Ti could only hope to have for someone one day.

For a split second, one so small and involuntary that he could have convinced himself it didn’t exist if it hadn’t made his breath catch, Ti found himself thinking of light blue eyes and angular features and spiked brown hair, of a bare chest pressed against his back, of a hand following the spray of water down his stomach and lower, of chocolates on his pillow on Valentine’s Day…

Ti swallowed, leaning back in his chair.  “He looks nice.”  He started softly, adding after a beat, “You two look cute together.”  And then something happened that Ti’d never seen in all fourteen years prior to his father’s leave.  Robert Altridged blushed. 

“I like to think we are.” Was all he said, clearly out of his element.  His father had never been good at talking emotions, and strangely enough, it made Ti feel a little better to see that that, at least, hadn’t changed all that much. 

Suddenly, Ti felt more at ease, his chest releasing the stranglehold it had on his heart, his haze of anger lessening some, giving way to simple curiosity, a genuine desire to know.  To understand more than just how much it had hurt.  Still hurt, maybe, but not as much now.  So Ti opened his mouth to ask.

And was cut off at once by the already familiar sound of Officer Hardass’ authoritative baritone.

“Visiting hours are over, Altridge.”  Giordano was hovering over Ti’s shoulder, offering a curt nod in Robert’s direction.  “Say goodbye to Daddy and get going.  After your little fight today, I think it’s best you forgo break for some library time, don’t you?”  Ti narrowed his eyes, but nodded either way, not realizing how much he’d tensed up under Giordano’s stare until the officer had left them, Ti letting out a breath of relief.  Until he saw the look in his father’s eyes.

“So it was a fight, then.” Robert practically whispered, Ti touching absently at his nose, the tender spots on his jaw, puzzled at the look of concern tinted just barely with relief on his dad’s face.  It took what Robert tried to say next for Ti to realize why.  “I didn’t want to bring it up.” He looked away angrily, disgusted.  “I didn’t know if, maybe…”

“I wasn’t raped, dad,” Ti cut in, if only just to put an end to the fresh bout of uncomfortable tension, not really sure if he was trying to dispel his father’s worry or rebury his own.  “Some guy was just being stupid, trying to prove that the rumors about me were true.”

Robert’s eyes narrowed, brow furrowing.  “What rumors?”

That I killed someone… Ti almost said, almost but not quite, because all at once Ti realized just how desperately he didn’t want his father to know. People change, it’s only natural to, but not this way.  Not like this.  He could never know.  No one outside of Penton could ever know.  If they ever did… There was no going back from that.  So-

“That I’m gay,” Ti said instead, floored, if only for a brief, reflexive second, when his father just nodded in understanding, apology set deep in his eyes.  It was almost too much to handle after everything else, so Ti looked away and got to his feet, mumbling half-heartedly, “I should get going then.”

“Y-Yeah, of course,” Robert cleared his throat, getting to his feet as well.  “I’ll take care of this, alright?”

“Sure,” Ti swallowed, still not looking at him.  A moment of silence passed that felt practically tangible, heavy and dense and so close to shattering.  So Ti took it upon himself.  “Thanks for coming.”  It was sped through, tight lipped and hardly believable, but he’d said it.  Because, despite the melee of mixed emotions that came with it, Ti was thankful Robert had come, thankful that, at the very least, when he’d needed him most, his dad had been there.

It took five years, two murders and a life sentence, but his dad had finally shown up.

“I’ll come visit again soon,” Robert offered as Ti turned to leave, an officer already waiting at the door, a solid look of impatience on his face.  “If that’s okay,” Robert added softly, almost to himself.  Ti took a step forward, aiming to walk on, but thought better of it, glancing over his shoulder instead to offer one stern but accepting nod. 

---

Ti felt like he was dragging his feet through mud all the way back to the library.

Did that really, legitimately just happen?  My father.  My dad.  Five years...  And then he just shows up?  I guess he had good reason, but…  “Did that honestly just happen?”

“Did what just happen?” Durden walked past him carrying a box of books which he let drop onto the table at the center of the library.  Ti hadn’t even realized he’d said that out loud.

“Nothing,” He mumbled in response, but all it took was a, “You expect me to believe that” eyebrow raise from Durden and Ti couldn’t help himself.  “Just…” He tried again, walking up to the box of books and taking one from the top.  It was a collection of Sherlock Holmes novels.  “It was my dad.  Visiting, I mean.  He was here.”  Ti suddenly felt kind of dizzy.  He put the book back into the box, putting a hand on the table to steady himself.  “I just talked to him.”

Durden was silent for a moment, then walked up behind him and put a hand on Ti’s shoulder.  “What did he say?”

“Sorry,” Ti whispered, more to himself than to anyone.  That’s really what it had amounted to, wasn’t it?  Everything Robert had said, everything he was trying to do now, even just showing up could all be boiled down to an apology.  A long over do one, but an apology nonetheless.  Durden nodded in a solemn sort of understanding. 

“Better late than never?” Durden offered as a joke, not really aiming for a laugh but getting one anyway, Ti softening under his hand, his smile, his caring gaze.  And then he remembered something else.

“Dad wants to reopen my case.” Ti said the words in a sort of shock, the reality of it sinking in, becoming suddenly more clear, more tangible.  Ti turned to face Durden in a mixture of surprise and involuntary excitement.  Hope.  “He’s already talking to some lawyer about it.”  Durden’s eyes widened just briefly, a look Ti couldn’t identify flashing across his face so briefly it was impossible to translate.  Then he smiled, pulling Ti into a hug, lips moving softly against Ti’s neck.

“Congrats, Ti,” He squeezed him tight once before pulling back, grin brighter, more legit.  “I hope it works out for you.”

Something cringed at the center of Ti’s chest, a dull and under-evolved panic at the back of his head.  He blinked, putting a hand at the back of Durden’s neck and pulling back in, kissing him deeply, mouths wet and hot, before pulling away.  Which is when the thought struck him.  “Maybe he can get you off too!”

Durden raised an eyebrow in mock confusion.  “I don’t know, Ti.  I’ve never even met your dad, and what if he’s not into that sort of thing?”

Ti frowned, hitting Durden in the shoulder none too gently, but playfully nonetheless.  “You know what I mean.  Maybe…  Maybe he could get your case reopened too.”

Durden stared at him for a long, indescribable moment before shaking his head, smiling sadly past a sigh.  “That’s sweet, Ti,” he whispered, putting a hand beneath Ti’s chin and lifting his lips up for another kiss, one that was simple and sweet and too short.  When Durden released him, taking a step away and turning back to the box of books, Ti felt like he’d been left behind a wall, blocked off.  Even more so when Durden added, “It’s not gonna happen.”

“I’m sure my dad can figure something out.”  Ti pressed.  “At least get them to look at the evidence again or-”

“Stop it, Ti.” Even with his back to him, Ti could see the frustration in Durden’s shoulders, the annoyance in the tense set of his posture.  “It’s not going to happen.  So back off.”

“Durden…” Ti took a step forward but stopped himself.  He’d never heard Durden’s voice sink so low, so menacing.  And tired.  Just in those last three words, like an aggravated plea, he sounded so exhausted it ached to hear.  Before Ti could stop himself, before he even realized he’d spoken at all, Ti mumbled, “What happened?”  Durden flinched but said nothing, taking one book at a time out of the box and stacking them on the table methodically, absently, distracting himself.  So Ti pressed further, knew it probably wasn’t the best of ideas, but did so anyway.  If he was being selfish, it was because he was curious, because he thought he deserved to know the kind of man he was sleeping with, the kind of man he was possibly even falling for.  But on the other hand, it had helped Ti, in some strange way, to just get what he’d done off his chest.  Maybe it would help Durden too.

“You never bring it up, even after I told you about…” Ti paused, moving to Durden’s side and following suit with the almost rhythmic motions of emptying the box.  “And, I mean, I respect that and all, but…  You can tell me, you know.  If you want to.  I won’t judge you or think less of you or-”

“You can’t honestly believe that.” Durden scoffed.  “That there isn’t anything I could have done that wouldn’t change your opinion of me.”  He looked at Ti then, all dark seriousness and intensity.  “What if I said I raped and murdered a little kid?”

Ti swallowed, held back the squeamish automatic responses that come borderline involuntarily with the thought and replied, “Is that what happened?”

Durden stared at him for a long time, too long for comfort in Ti’s opinion, but eventually he looked away again.  “No,” he replied in a low monotone.  Ti held in his breath of relief and continued.

“I didn’t think so.”  Ti grabbed Durden’s hand as he made to reach back into the box, holding it in place between them instead.  “And for the record, I don’t think you could ever do something that sick.”  Durden just shrugged, but Ti ignored him, intertwined their fingers together and kissed the back of Durden’s hand.  “You don’t have to tell me.  Your past is your own.  But I’m here for you.  And I want to help you get out of here if I can, so…”

Durden sighed, a long exhale filled with a deep set weariness Ti felt he couldn’t even begin to understand.  And then, he pulled his hand from Ti’s, ruffling his hair before tugging him into a warm, firm embrace.

“You have to understand something first.” Durden’s voice echoed close to Ti’s ear, the words straining the more he spoke them.

“Okay,” Ti whispered back, wrapping his arms up Durden’s back and tightening his grip on his shoulders.

“My real name’s Michael Penton,” He said quickly, as though he was afraid he wouldn’t get it out otherwise.  Ti’s mind automatically flashed back to big, bold letters at the entrance to the prison, and then beyond that to various banks, law firms, corporations and hospitals, skyscrapers decorated with that name all across the city.  Penton.  It was the name the city was built on.  Before Ti could think on it any further, connect the dots around what his name had to do with his sentence, Durden was speaking again, a whisper into Ti’s hair that was breaking and broken and held together by a thread all at once. 

“My step-mother murdered my father and framed me for it.”

---

A/N: Well that took seventy million years!  Sorry about the upload delay, guys... It's been a tough couple of weeks what with grad school prep and regular college work.  But I finally managed a few hours to sit down and bust this rest of this out, so I hope you like it!  I'm not all that pleased with the way some parts turned out, but hopefully it comes across well enough.  And don't worry.  The full story of Durden's sentence will be explained next chapter.  Which I'll do my best to get out sooner lol so stay tuned!  xD

And to everyone who read my Valentine's Day drabble, thanks for the comments and the love!  Lisa, I'd love to be your Valentine ^_~

Thanks as always my lovelies!  I'll try to update in a more timely fashion, but thanks so much for sticking with me.  It really means the world and a half.  Cheers ^_^