Post by Jack Graves on Jan 29, 2022 11:56:42 GMT
Trousdale Turner Correctional Facility
Hartsville, Tennessee
14 days after being stabbed and put into the SHU.
That's what he figured this was about. Either a checkup, or pills, or food.
Hopefully food.
He wasn't sure what time of day it was, how many hours it had been since he'd eaten last, or really what day it was. He'd counted the days since he'd woken up in the infirmary until now. It was fourteen days. So that would make it a... Monday? He'd been stabbed on a Tuesday. Or was it a Wednesday? It had all run together...
CO HENDERSON: Graves, get your shit. Your lawyer is here to speak to you and then you are being moved.
Get his stuff? Were they sending him back to gen pop? What did his lawyer have to do with that?
Jack blinked at the guard a few times as if he hadn't heard him correctly. Surely he fuckin' hadn't, right? There was no way in hell they were sending him back out to gen pop with those motherfuckers. They WANTED him to get another charge. Hell, maybe they were hoping he did them all a favor and killed the bastards. The problem was, he was afraid that he might if they put them back in the same place together.
CO HENDERSON: GRAVES! Let's fucking GO! Get your shit and let's move. We don't have all day, and we don't run on your schedule.
Shaking his head, Jack does what he's told. He gathers up his things, rolls everything up into the bed mat, and painfully carries it to the door. The guard takes the stuff begrudgingly, carrying it down the hall as he leads Jackie through the prison, and into the administrative building. It is a struggle the entire way, and if he'd had to carry the bedroll on his own he probably would've passed out halfway down the hallway. Jack was still weak from the blood loss and the beating he'd taken, but his mamma never raised a quitter, so he powers through the walk and collapses into a seat in visitation room 133. Henderson takes the bedroll out of the room and on his exit he is replaced by Jack's public defender. Marcus Rowe.
Marcus takes a seat at the table, and slides Jack over a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Jack gives him a funny look but asks NO questions. Trust when I say there is no hesitation as he scoops up the pack and lights one up. He doesn't even care that they are Camels. It had been so long since he'd had a cigarette, so this was like finding an oasis in the desert. Taking a few draws, he flicks the ashes right on the table, not even giving a fuck and he looks up at his lawyer.
JACK GRAVES: So what's the deal, Marcus? They came in saying I'm being moved. Am I going back to gen pop? If so, you might as well not even represent me because I promise you if they fuck with me....
MARCUS ROWE: Jack.
JACK GRAVES: I swear on everything that is holy I will...
MARCUS ROWE: JACK! Listen to me. I'm here because I have some bad news.
Jack goes silent and he takes another hit of the cigarette. Exhaling the cloud of smoke right into Marcus' face, he leans forward across the table narrowing his eyebrows at the lawyer.
JACK GRAVES: Then spit it the fuck out.
Marcus swallows hard, and scoots his chair back a bit in case he has to make a break for the door after delivering the news. It was probably a smart move.
MARCUS ROWE: Jack, while you were in the SHU, and recovering... Your mom.
Graves leaps to his feet, shoving the table back a few inches. He's towering over the man as he glares at him.
JACK GRAVES: Look, I'm not going to tell you again to spit it the fuck out. My mom what? My mom WHAT MARCUS?! MY MOM WHAT?! SPEAK MOTHERFUCKER! MY MOM WHAT?!
Marcus springs to his own feet now as Jack grabs him by his suit jacket, and he miraculously breaks away, inching back toward the door. Two guards come in quickly, and they put themselves between the lawyer and the felon. They restrain Jack, and Rowe steps forward to give him an apologetic look.
MARCUS ROWE: Jack, she passed while you were in the SHU. She was buried three days ago. Jack, I'm sorr-
A fiery rage builds inside of Graves as soon as the words sink in. He begins to shake, and the guards tighten up their hold on him, powering his hands behind his back to restrain him. Jack puts up a good fight though, and one of them goes flying back against the wall as three more guards come flooding in to restrain this beast of a man.
JACK GRAVES: NO NO NO NO YOU MOTHERFUCKERS! YOU FUCKING....AGGGGHHHHHH... YOU NEVER LET ME SAY GOODBYE... YOU NEVER LET M-- GET THE FUCK OFF ME! FUCK YOU!
MARCUS ROWE: Jack! JACK! You're only making this worse. Calm down before you get "assault on an officer" added to your charges. JACK! Listen to me.
Graves sinks down to his knees, sobbing. The guards show him a bit of compassion and step back for a moment, letting him come to grips with the situation. They are at the ready though, waiting to pounce if he lashes out again. Marcus takes a few steps forward and kneels down to pat Jack on the shoulder.
MARCUS ROWE: Jack, there is one more thing. You're being moved. Relocated to finish your sentence at Northeast Correctional in Johnson County. You're not going back to gen pop here at TTCF. The warden here doesn't think it's safe for you to be housed here with these men anymore after what happened and the judge agrees. You'll be leaving here in 45 minutes. The bus is waiting. We'll give you a moment to get yourself together and we'll load you up. It's a 5 hour trip, so they will be offering you some food before we leave as well if you want it and the chance to use the restroom. Jack... I...
Graves is checked out, he doesn't respond. Instead he stares forward into the void, jaw clenched and trying his best not to make a mistake that would ruin his life further. She wouldn't want that. But there was nothing he wanted more than to choke this motherfucker in front of him, pretending like he cared. It was a damn good thing they hadn't sent great value Harry Potter in here to tell him the news, because he might not have made it back out of this room on his own volition.
In an instant though, Jack seems to bottle it all up. The moment of weakness is gone just as quickly as it came. It was clear he was not alright, but it was also clear he was a young man who had spent his whole life maintaining these emotions under the surface and had become a pro at bottling them up. Keeping them under a mask, so that no one could use them or exploit them or think he was weak. Wiping his tears away, Jack pushes himself back to his feet, refusing the help of the officers. Taking a deep breath, he gives them a nod and picks the burning cigarette up off the floor to take two more hits before grinding it out on the table.
JACK GRAVES: Fuck it. Take me to the bus. I never want to see this fuckin' place again.
A short while later, he was on the bus headed down I-81 toward Johnson City. It was the middle of the night, which he never would've expected, and there was snow beginning to fall as the bus barreled down the interstate with him and two other guards as the lone occupants. He'd begged them to let him crack the window for a bit. For just a few more breaths of fresh air. But they told him that he was fucking crazy and they weren't going to freeze their balls off so he could enjoy a breeze.
All he could do was roll his eyes.
Resting his head against the cold glass of the bus window, Jack watched the other cars and the signs zip by quickly. After a while though his focus turned to the snow. He stared out into the darkness of the night, mesmerized by how it looked like a spaceship flying through space at warp speed in the darkness.
What he wouldn't give to be in space.
Or anywhere really. Just far away from here.
Hartsville, Tennessee
14 days after being stabbed and put into the SHU.
The familiar electronic buzzing of the door's locking mechanism roused Jack from his sleep and he groaned loudly, rubbing his eyes at the brighter light now flooding through the cell door. Pushing himself up off the cot with a wince, he held his midsection and limped his way over to spot on the floor where inmates had to stand in the SHU any time a CO entered the cell. It had been 14 days. 14 fuckin' days, and he was still in immense pain every time he moved. They had broken his ribs, put a hairline fracture in his arm, and oh yeah... there were the stab wounds. Luckily they weren't that deep and didn't hit anything vital. He had been taking antibiotics for the past few days in the hopes that it didn't get infected though.
Being in a filthy ass prison didn't help the odds.
Being in a filthy ass prison didn't help the odds.
That's what he figured this was about. Either a checkup, or pills, or food.
Hopefully food.
He wasn't sure what time of day it was, how many hours it had been since he'd eaten last, or really what day it was. He'd counted the days since he'd woken up in the infirmary until now. It was fourteen days. So that would make it a... Monday? He'd been stabbed on a Tuesday. Or was it a Wednesday? It had all run together...
CO HENDERSON: Graves, get your shit. Your lawyer is here to speak to you and then you are being moved.
Get his stuff? Were they sending him back to gen pop? What did his lawyer have to do with that?
Jack blinked at the guard a few times as if he hadn't heard him correctly. Surely he fuckin' hadn't, right? There was no way in hell they were sending him back out to gen pop with those motherfuckers. They WANTED him to get another charge. Hell, maybe they were hoping he did them all a favor and killed the bastards. The problem was, he was afraid that he might if they put them back in the same place together.
CO HENDERSON: GRAVES! Let's fucking GO! Get your shit and let's move. We don't have all day, and we don't run on your schedule.
Shaking his head, Jack does what he's told. He gathers up his things, rolls everything up into the bed mat, and painfully carries it to the door. The guard takes the stuff begrudgingly, carrying it down the hall as he leads Jackie through the prison, and into the administrative building. It is a struggle the entire way, and if he'd had to carry the bedroll on his own he probably would've passed out halfway down the hallway. Jack was still weak from the blood loss and the beating he'd taken, but his mamma never raised a quitter, so he powers through the walk and collapses into a seat in visitation room 133. Henderson takes the bedroll out of the room and on his exit he is replaced by Jack's public defender. Marcus Rowe.
Marcus takes a seat at the table, and slides Jack over a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Jack gives him a funny look but asks NO questions. Trust when I say there is no hesitation as he scoops up the pack and lights one up. He doesn't even care that they are Camels. It had been so long since he'd had a cigarette, so this was like finding an oasis in the desert. Taking a few draws, he flicks the ashes right on the table, not even giving a fuck and he looks up at his lawyer.
JACK GRAVES: So what's the deal, Marcus? They came in saying I'm being moved. Am I going back to gen pop? If so, you might as well not even represent me because I promise you if they fuck with me....
MARCUS ROWE: Jack.
JACK GRAVES: I swear on everything that is holy I will...
MARCUS ROWE: JACK! Listen to me. I'm here because I have some bad news.
Jack goes silent and he takes another hit of the cigarette. Exhaling the cloud of smoke right into Marcus' face, he leans forward across the table narrowing his eyebrows at the lawyer.
JACK GRAVES: Then spit it the fuck out.
Marcus swallows hard, and scoots his chair back a bit in case he has to make a break for the door after delivering the news. It was probably a smart move.
MARCUS ROWE: Jack, while you were in the SHU, and recovering... Your mom.
Graves leaps to his feet, shoving the table back a few inches. He's towering over the man as he glares at him.
JACK GRAVES: Look, I'm not going to tell you again to spit it the fuck out. My mom what? My mom WHAT MARCUS?! MY MOM WHAT?! SPEAK MOTHERFUCKER! MY MOM WHAT?!
Marcus springs to his own feet now as Jack grabs him by his suit jacket, and he miraculously breaks away, inching back toward the door. Two guards come in quickly, and they put themselves between the lawyer and the felon. They restrain Jack, and Rowe steps forward to give him an apologetic look.
MARCUS ROWE: Jack, she passed while you were in the SHU. She was buried three days ago. Jack, I'm sorr-
A fiery rage builds inside of Graves as soon as the words sink in. He begins to shake, and the guards tighten up their hold on him, powering his hands behind his back to restrain him. Jack puts up a good fight though, and one of them goes flying back against the wall as three more guards come flooding in to restrain this beast of a man.
JACK GRAVES: NO NO NO NO YOU MOTHERFUCKERS! YOU FUCKING....AGGGGHHHHHH... YOU NEVER LET ME SAY GOODBYE... YOU NEVER LET M-- GET THE FUCK OFF ME! FUCK YOU!
MARCUS ROWE: Jack! JACK! You're only making this worse. Calm down before you get "assault on an officer" added to your charges. JACK! Listen to me.
Graves sinks down to his knees, sobbing. The guards show him a bit of compassion and step back for a moment, letting him come to grips with the situation. They are at the ready though, waiting to pounce if he lashes out again. Marcus takes a few steps forward and kneels down to pat Jack on the shoulder.
MARCUS ROWE: Jack, there is one more thing. You're being moved. Relocated to finish your sentence at Northeast Correctional in Johnson County. You're not going back to gen pop here at TTCF. The warden here doesn't think it's safe for you to be housed here with these men anymore after what happened and the judge agrees. You'll be leaving here in 45 minutes. The bus is waiting. We'll give you a moment to get yourself together and we'll load you up. It's a 5 hour trip, so they will be offering you some food before we leave as well if you want it and the chance to use the restroom. Jack... I...
Graves is checked out, he doesn't respond. Instead he stares forward into the void, jaw clenched and trying his best not to make a mistake that would ruin his life further. She wouldn't want that. But there was nothing he wanted more than to choke this motherfucker in front of him, pretending like he cared. It was a damn good thing they hadn't sent great value Harry Potter in here to tell him the news, because he might not have made it back out of this room on his own volition.
In an instant though, Jack seems to bottle it all up. The moment of weakness is gone just as quickly as it came. It was clear he was not alright, but it was also clear he was a young man who had spent his whole life maintaining these emotions under the surface and had become a pro at bottling them up. Keeping them under a mask, so that no one could use them or exploit them or think he was weak. Wiping his tears away, Jack pushes himself back to his feet, refusing the help of the officers. Taking a deep breath, he gives them a nod and picks the burning cigarette up off the floor to take two more hits before grinding it out on the table.
JACK GRAVES: Fuck it. Take me to the bus. I never want to see this fuckin' place again.
A short while later, he was on the bus headed down I-81 toward Johnson City. It was the middle of the night, which he never would've expected, and there was snow beginning to fall as the bus barreled down the interstate with him and two other guards as the lone occupants. He'd begged them to let him crack the window for a bit. For just a few more breaths of fresh air. But they told him that he was fucking crazy and they weren't going to freeze their balls off so he could enjoy a breeze.
"This ain't the fun kind of road trip, Graves. We aren't going to Disneyland"
All he could do was roll his eyes.
Resting his head against the cold glass of the bus window, Jack watched the other cars and the signs zip by quickly. After a while though his focus turned to the snow. He stared out into the darkness of the night, mesmerized by how it looked like a spaceship flying through space at warp speed in the darkness.
What he wouldn't give to be in space.
Or anywhere really. Just far away from here.
JUST OFF I-81
ROANOKE, VA
Saturday, 1/29/2022 5:30AM
ROANOKE, VA
Saturday, 1/29/2022 5:30AM
Which was another 4 hours of drive time from NYC to Boston.
Of course he'd chosen the weekend that the whole east coast was going to get hit by a winter storm to decide to go home and grab his things too. Sounds about right. Classic Jack. Always flying by the seat of his pants and never stopping to make a plan, or check the weather, in this case. His mind was in a thousand different places as he pushed onward though, tired and weary from the trip already. He wanted to push as far as he could before stopping because he had 8 hours left on the trip at least, and stopping to sleep meant more snowfall. Which always made things a bit more treacherous. But one could argue that driving while sleep deprived in the snow could be just as dangerous.
Chugging the last of his Bang energy, Jack puts the empty can in his cup holder and rubs at his eyes with a yawn as he does his best to focus on the road. According to the GPS, there was a motel coming up that he could crash at for a few hours and then get back on the road but it was still a few miles away. As he fought sleep and mental exhaustion, Jack couldn't help but find himself thinking about things as he drove. He thought about about what Rayven might be doing currently, and the events that had transpired between them before he left. He had a ton of questions, and his brain had been on overload since he'd met her, but he couldn't keep himself away from her if he tried.
Was he a bad person for wanting to home wreck a married lady? Yes. He never disputed that. But like Bex had told him when they spoke about the situation, "Anything worth fighting for can be yours." To him? This gal was more than worth fighting for. But for some reason he just couldn't shake the doubts. The feeling that he was just going to end up a regret for her. The worry that he just wasn't good enough for someone as fucking incredible as her. He worried that shit was gonna change between them or she was going to tell him they couldn't see each other anymore. That thought tormented the shit out of him the most.
Soon his train of thought shifted to his new job. He thought about the match this week at Freedom, and how his debut had gone. This week he had to face two real motherfuckin' killers in The Pride, and he wasn't sure if he could count on Hilary to show up for him after their banter back and forth on Twitter and the way the match had gone. She'd made some jokes on Twitter about just walking out and leaving him to fight The Pride alone...
A 2 on 1 situation would be brutal. But could you imagine if Jack Graves beat Jacob Daniels and Chase Hunter by HIMSELF? He'd be one of the hottest topics in Liberty. His name would rise in stock exponentially. He didn't think she would take such a cowardly route though. Underneath it all, she wasn't as bad as he made her out to be. He'd underestimated her abilities and she had proved that she wasn't just a pretty face when she came roaring out of the crowd with an elbow to his jaw.
He had to make a name for himself though, with or without her. That's why on Monday night, "Gentleman" Jack was going to go out there and bring a FIGHT to The Pride, the likes of which they have rarely seen in their careers. He had a lot to fight for, and he was hell bent on proving to everyone that he belonged here. Most importantly, he was going to finally prove to himself that he deserved this job, the girl, the money, the fame, the gold... everything. All of it.
But first he had to get his ass back up to the North East and make it to the show in one piece.
Spotting the Motel sign ahead, Jack slows down and turns his radio down so that he can see to pull into the parking lot safely as the pavement is blending into the ditch that runs along both sides of the road due to the darkness and the snow.
Yes, he turned down his radio so he could see. We have all done it. Don't try to deny it. It's some weird thing humans do and if you say you've never done it you don't drive much or you are a liar.
Luckily, the black lifted Chevy avoids the ditch, and Jack guides the truck safely through the parking lot, and into a parking space near the office. Shutting off the engine, he takes a moment to close his eyes and savor the fact that he was done driving for the next few hours. He'd promised to call Ray and let her know when he stopped for the night, but she was surely asleep. Either way, he didn't want to suffer the wrath if he didn't check in.
Pulling out his phone, he sends her a text instead;
Hey, just stopped for a few. It's getting a little rough out. I'm going to rest my eyes and give them time to run the plows so I can keep going. I'm okay. I didn't want to call and wake you up but I knew you would kick my ass if I didn't at least text you. Talk to you soon.
Hitting send, he gives it a moment before stuffing the iPhone into his pocket. Braving the arctic winds outside of the truck, he heads inside to get a room so that he can get a few hours of sleep before heading out again.
One thing was certain though. Although he was driving through a winter storm on a race against the clock to get back in time to wrestle, this shit still beat being locked up by a long shot. For that, he was thankful. All he needed to do now was prove that he had what it took to make it worth all this.
He'd start with Jacob Daniels and Chase Hunter on Monday.
One thing was certain though. Although he was driving through a winter storm on a race against the clock to get back in time to wrestle, this shit still beat being locked up by a long shot. For that, he was thankful. All he needed to do now was prove that he had what it took to make it worth all this.
He'd start with Jacob Daniels and Chase Hunter on Monday.