Break Me ~ Chapter Two

Break Me is a dark prison drama rife with rape and violence. In order to keep the story realistic to the prison setting and dynamics, derogatory racial slang will be used through out. This does not necessarily reflect the feelings of the author. If you are easily offended by this please do not continue.

"Break Me ~ Chapter One" 


Chapter Two
Erin stepped from her cell for morning count with a strange combination of eagerness and apprehension. Butterflies fluttered in her empty stomach as she watched the stern faced Correctional Officers stroll down the block, calling out each prisoner by number and name. She could feel the weighted stares of the block. Trying to meet their gazes evenly, she felt relieved when most merely seemed curious about the new girl. Erin made special note of the few exceptions.

After count the residents of "A" block were escorted single file to the cafeteria for breakfast. Erin moved easily through line, collecting two pancakes, a sausage patty, fruit cup, juice, and coffee before looking around for a table. Looking at the rows of long tables and benches she couldn't help a rueful smile thinking of the movie Shawshank Redemption. She felt nearly as much a fish out of water as he must have. However, unlike the Tim Robbins character in the movie, Andy Dufresne, she was as guilty as they came. She was jostled out of her daydreams as others exited the line and headed for their tables. With a sigh, she chose an empty table and set to eating.

Erin barely caught her tray as some one tried to sweep it from the table with a loud spate of Spanish. She looked up blankly at the group of Spics. A pretty Latina, apparently the mouthpiece of the group if not the leader, didn't miss a beat in her gesture filled verbal assault.

"Are you fucking stupid or deaf, Chica? Move your scrawny white ass!" the largest of the group said, catching a hold of the back of Erin's gray hoodie and hauling her off the bench.

Erin stumbled to her feet, clutching her tray in one hand.

"If wet back Barbie would speak English I would have understood her the first time, CHICA." she snarled, batting the bitch's hand away. She nearly laughed as eyes flared comically wide and a collective gasp escaped all within hearing.

"What the fuck did you call me?" the livid Latina gasped in disbelief.

"Well...what do you know, Mexicali Rose DOES speak English!" Erin sneered derisively, refusing to back down. Her Irish was up, and as her daddy had always told her, It's not the size of the dog in the fight...it's the amount of fight in the dog. She would likely get her ass kicked, but they were going to know she had been there. A person only had one chance at first impressions and she had a feeling they mattered a lot in prison. Erin tensed as she caught the slightest of movement behind the other woman's back. She couldn't see what, but was pretty sure the Latina palmed something.

"Is there a problem here, LADIES?" CO Washington inquired, baton already drawn.
The tension crackled in the air as the three women waited...sizing one another up.

"What are you a Mick now, Washington?" The pretty Latina sneered.

'Yeah, Martinez. I'm BLACK Irish. Can't you tell?" the African American Amazon muttered with a sarcastic smirk.

Turning to Erin, she motioned to another table with her drawn baton, the end of it swinging perilously close to Erin's freckled nose.

"I would suggest trying to fit in with your own kind, Murphy," Washington stated, disdain lacing her voice at the newbie's ignorance.

Keeping an eye on Martinez and her crew Erin backed away with an affirmative nod to the female CO and a respectful,

"Yes ma'am."


The table grew silent as Erin approached, every eye on her. She kept her features carefully neutral, not sure of her welcome. A statuesque red head caught her eye, holding it for several long moments before a small smile curved her perfect lips. With a slight nod, she indicated an empty spot next to her. Hoping it wasn't an invitation to prison bitchdom; Erin moved around the table and took the proffered seat.

"Erin Murphy," she said, offering her hand to the red head.

The other woman smiled, eyes as green as Erin's own sparkling in humor.

"Oh I think you have made yourself known, Murphy," she said, drawing laughter from the tables other occupants and breaking the ice. "Mara O'Hare," she added, her voice a throaty purr with its soft brogue.

"You certainly believe in making an entrance, eh Murphy?"

"Wet back Barbie...priceless."

"What are you in for, honey?"

"Did you kill some one with that wicked Irish wit?"

"I heard you drew Sully's ire already. Be careful of that one."

"Sweet Jesus, Murphy, you really know how to make friends and influence people don't ya?"

Erin glanced around the table as the Irish Clan welcomed her with their good-natured banter. She counted twelve "sisters of the shamrock" at the table. She made lucky thirteen.

"Sully?" she softly questioned O'Hare.

"Head CO Sullivan," O'Hare answered seriously. "You do not want to cross him, Murphy."

Erin merely nodded, dropping her eyes back to her tray. She pushed the food around with the fork, her appetite suddenly gone. Nervously, she rubbed her chin against the front of her white t-shirt, remembering the feel of his thick fingers digging into flesh and bone. She shuddered, recalling the eerie glitter in Sullivan's dark eyes and the ominous timber of his voice as he had growled...Do yourself a favor, little girl, and DON'T piss me off.

Erin was jerked from her thoughts by a touch on her hand. She glared at the older woman across from her as she raised her hands soothingly.

"Hang on hothead. I don't mean you any harm," she said with a chiding grandmotherly smile.

Erin blushed.

"I'm sorry. I'm just a little..."

The woman smiled, waving away Erin's apologies.

"If anyone understands, it's me honey. I will soon celebrate my fortieth anniversary behind bars but I won't ever forget what that first night felt like," she said softly, sadness dimming her lively blue eyes.

There was an uncomfortable moment while Erin searched for something to say, but before she could, the old woman closed the door on her haunted past.

"Forgive my manners. I'm Maggie McCarthy. Murphy was my maiden name. We will have to sit down sometime and talk kin, little one."

Erin shook the offered hand politely, smiling despite herself.

"O'Hare is right. Sullivan can be a devil when he's crossed."

The sick knot in Erin's stomach grew. With as much indifference as possible, she tried to shrug it off.

"Thanks for the warning. I will stay out of his way," she said, pushing her food around a bit more.

"Oh child...it is too late for that in your case."

Erin's head jerked up at the frightening definitiveness of Maggie's tone.

"Wha...what do you mean by that?" she stammered.

"Sullivans already cut you from the herd. Washington wouldn't have been so quick to separate you from Martinez and her crew if that wasn't the case. She's not the den mother type."

Unable to face the worry she saw in Maggie's lined features, Erin glanced to O'Hare who only nodded in solemn confirmation.

"Tell her about Carrie, Mags," one of the others urged.

Maggie's face crumbled for a moment but she waved concerned hands away. When she started to speak, her voice was in a quiet monotone and she didn't look up from her wrinkled hands.

"Carrie came in about two years ago now. She was a little thing but a real spitfire. She had been in a gang in Chicago and grew up on the streets. She thought that prison life would be a real cakewalk, three squares and a roof over her head. She might as well have drawn a bull's-eye on herself. That cocky attitude just begged BREAK ME."

Erin nearly threw up her breakfast, hearing the same words she had so often whispered in the dark.

"She drew Sullivan's attention alright, but the crazy girl said he wasn't her type," Maggie sighed and shook her head sadly. "We all tried to tell the stubborn girl that this weren't the dating game, that she didn't have a choice. Carrie wouldn't have any of it. She bragged about tagging him a good one in the family jewels and told that ornery Irishman she would report him if he didn't back off, but hard to get just fuels a man like that. It wasn't long after that I found poor little Carrie, all broken like, in a supply closet off the Laundries. She had been beaten and raped so violently the animal busted her pelvic bone, severing her spinal cord. She was all tore up inside from the savagery. Nearly every tooth in her head was broken out, and her cheekbone shattered by that devil's heavy fists."

"Jesus," Erin whispered, remembering all too well the size of Sullivan's hands. She stared at Maggie, fear and questions whirling through her mind.

Knowing her fear and questions too well, Maggie continued.

"No, of course I weren't in the room so I never saw that black hearted devil do these things to poor little Carrie, but I KNOW Murphy, we all do. They pinned the atrocity on poor simpleminded Charlie but we all know the truth. Charlie was a janitor that worked here for years, simple as a child he was. He didn't have a violent bone in his body but they found Carrie's bloody panties in his lunch box. The authorities bullied him into a confession for something he was no more capable of than..."

Maggie's voice trailed off, though Erin thought she had been about to say "you or I." Somehow that wasn't such a reassuring comparison anymore. One never knew what they were capable of until pushed into a corner.

"And Carrie?" Erin asked, her voice breaking on the question.

It was O'Hare that answered, the bitterness evident in her husky voice.

"Carrie survived, if that is what you want to call it. She's housed in the "special needs" wing off the infirmary, a paraplegic. The assault was obviously too much for her mind to deal with. She never spoke again. We can only guess at what goes through her head but the girls that work in there say she just screams and cries for hours until the nurses either drug her or smack the shit out of her."

Erin jumped as a buzzer sounded, cutting through the sick tension surrounding the table. Blindly, she stood and followed O'Hare to dispose of her tray before heading back toward the cellblock. She half listened to the redhead give a rough itinerary of the day as she struggled to calm her jangled nerves. It seemed her survival instincts had served her well last night. She had figured Sullivan for a sadistic bully but hadn't truly realized what a sick fuck she was dealing with. If he was responsible for the assault on Carrie...a SMART sick fuck she corrected herself. That made him all the more dangerous.

"Showers in ten if you're interested."

The six little words penetrated Erin's thoughts and she froze.

O'Hare's laugh caught her off guard.

"Welcome back," she purred. "As I was saying...you made yourself a few enemies today with Martinez and her crew. We Irish stick together. We may be one of the smaller contingents in here but we hold our own through heart, smarts, and good old-fashioned Irish stubbornness. Clan mentality is one our people should be used to. We hit the showers in ten if you're interested."


Erin paused uncertainly in the doorway finding her cell occupied by a scowling Correctional Officer she hadn't seen before. Her heart sank. What in the hell could she have done to piss off yet another of the brutes in blue?

Cicirelli eyed the hot little number, a sadistic rage building to a near boiling point in his chest. She brought to mind the quintessential Catholic School girl in many of his favorite "films." The saucy pixie cut of her pale hair only added to her sexy air of vulnerability. She was so damn tiny; he just knew the bitch would be an exquisitely tight fuck. His cock hardened as he admired the alluring pout of her perfect bow lips, picturing them wrapped around his hard shaft, tears in her pretty eyes as he...his face twisted in rage as the image of her sucking off that fat bastard Sullivan flashed through his mind, effectively killing his desire and making him want to snap the stupid little whore's neck. She was going to pay dearly.

"Want to explain how this came to be in your cell, Murphy?" he sneered, holding the Snicker's wrapper tauntingly between two fingers.

Erin shivered at the slender man's predatory sneer. She struggled to stand her ground as he slowly circled her. She heard the clank of her door close behind her and closed her eyes tight for a moment.

"Come on, Murphy. I don't have all fucking day here. You went through a full body cavity search and delousing before your sweet little ass was thrown in here so where the hell did the candy bar come from?" He stepped closer, getting in her face. "You already trading it up to the night shift? You're new here so I will give you a break. You tell me his name, just between you and me, and I don't write you up this time."

Erin wasn't sure if she should laugh or cry. The only thing she was sure of was ratting out Sullivan, WASN'T an option.

"It was in my cell, Sir," she said lamely.

Cicirelli stared at her incredulously.

"Do I look stupid to you?"

Sure that it was a rhetorical question to which the CO had no reasonable expectation of an answer, Erin wisely kept her mouth shut.

"Let's make it simple for you, Murphy. Either you tell me where the contraband came from or I write you up and you lose commissary privilege for thirty days," he crowded closer to her, nearly nose to nose. "Things could get very "messy" for a woman without commissary privileges, you just a newbie with no friends and no stash. Think carefully."

Erin had to hope clan ties extended to feminine hygiene products.

"I found it in my cell, Sir."

Rage darkened Cicirelli's face, veins bulging grotesquely in his forehead. His smile was even more frightening as he drew his baton.

The first blow caught Erin unprepared as Cicirelli buried the handle of the baton in her gut, effectively knocking the air from her. She hit her knees hard, weakly raising an arm to try and cover her head but the baton thudded against her ribs instead, bringing a breathless cry from her lips. A vicious kick sent her tumbling into the front corner of her cell with a sob.

Cicirelli stood over the cowering bitch, feeling his dick throb painfully in its strict confines. His lips twisted in a sadistic sneer as he snapped his fingers impatiently, drawing her attention. The tears illuminating the wide emerald pools of her eyes sent his desire blazing. Pointing to his feet, he demanded,

"Come here." When she struggled to stand up, arm clutched tight around her aching ribs, he shook his head.

"Nuh uh, bitch...CRAWL."

Crawling the yard or so to his feet, Erin couldn't help but wonder if all Correctional Officers were sadistic pricks or if these two were merely embroiled in a twisted game of one-upmanship? The ominous sound of his zipper turned her already queasy stomach. She flinched as he let his cock spring free, slapping sticky and damp against her cheek. Revulsion etched her fine features as he purposely rubbed the weeping head against her tightly sealed lips. Turning her head to the side, she instinctively wiped her lips against her t-shirted shoulder with a grimace of disgust. A hiss of pain escaped her lips as he grabbed her ear, forcing her face back to the heat of his crotch and his probing member.

"Don't be stupid, bitch," Cicirelli ground between clenched teeth. "Suck my dick like a good little slut or you will be taking your meals through a straw."

Erin's Irish ire burned hot, temporarily silencing the screaming voice that always told her to "submit and survive." With a growl, she gnashed her teeth, snapping at his vulnerable manhood.

"Jesus!" he howled in disbelief as her sharp teeth grazed his dick before sinking into his tender thigh. Viciously backhanding the bitch, Cicirelli stumbled over her footlocker as she let go, his knees buckling as they contacted the foot of her bunk. He sprawled on the bunk for a moment, stunned by the little bitch's audacity and the disconcerting venom in her emerald eyes. Their gazes locked, hers filled with defiance even as his narrowed threateningly. A roar of laughter from the door broke the stalemate.

"Problems, Cicirelli?" Sullivan asked in genuine amusement.

"Fuck you, Sullivan."

'You can't even handle Tinkerbell here, Cicirelli. I doubt I have much to fear," Sully chuckled, wiping a tear from his eye. "You might want to get your little boo boo looked at. It would suck, or maybe NOT in your case, if you got a staff infection."

"Is the sight turning your fat ass on or what?"

"It would take a WHOLE lot more than that, JR."

"You just made a big fucking mistake, bitch," the slender CO hissed as he fastened his uniform pants and headed for the door. He paused behind Sullivan and held the infamous Snicker's wrapper up between two fingers, running a taunting thumb across his throat as he backed out of sight.

Silence hung heavy in the cell. Fear pressed down oppressively as Erin crouched shivering on the concrete floor, waiting for Sullivan to speak. She stared at the toe of his wide, black, Doc Martin shoe, fighting an almost over powering desire to press her lips to it, begging the big man's forgiveness. Shane had instilled fear in her but the terror she felt in the presence of this man was all consuming. Some how she knew with an eerie certainty the pain she had dealt with at her husband's hands was insignificant compared to the unfathomable nightmare that faced her should she cross Sullivan.

Erin raised her wide eyes as a low chuckle rumbled from Sullivan.

"So Goldilocks...were you holding out on Cicirelli in hopes something bigger and better would come along? If so, you should have played the lottery honey, because it's your lucky day," he murmured. The weight of his stare never left her as he pulled the door shut.

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