Rating: +18 (sex, language, mild violence…)
Pairing: Dominic / Hanna (OFC)
Summary: I’m really a mess concerning this task in this fic and any summary I can come up is blowing my own story line. So I guess you must discover along the way.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Domicic Toretto or any other character you can recognize from the movie TFTF. You’re going to find characters that are real. Obviously they are not mine either. My intentions are pure and not damage are intented. This is just for fun and I’m not making money.
Feedback: Always, as long as it’s your honest opinion.
Archive: ask me first, you already know the deal. To your PC? Sure and without asking though.
Author’s note: This fan fic is after the events of TFATF, but because I’m the author I took the liberty to change those events slightly, so I can fit my own story line. Let’s pretend that Brian never existed, Letty was Dom’s girlfriend but he cheated on her at every chance he had and we add my OFC in the middle. However, you’re going to know about those events through flash backs. The story is written from Dom’s POV.
As a side note I have to add that this fan fic is my first attempt to write in first person and in present time. For all of you who already read any other of my stories you know how much I love flash backs and how essential those are for the story line, so you’re going to find them along the way. All those flash back are the only parts that are written in past time.
I would like to give thanks to my beta E who is the one responsible from this new crazy dream of mine, so let’s hope I’m not too much of a trouble for her. Thank you, E.
Ok, with that said, I hope you like it. Thanks in advance.
For security, safety and sanitation reasons the Bureau limits the amount of property I can have as well as the type of publications I can receive. Jewelry, books, magazines and photos are limited. Funny how I always considered myself a person who never gave relevance to all of that shit, but suddenly they seemed more than just essential in here. Other items such as shoes, personal items, food items and recreational clothes can be purchased through the commissary.
Me, as an inmate, can only possess those items if I am authorized to have them upon admission to the institution. Items issued by authorized staff, items purchased by myself from the commissary, or items purchased or received through approved channels. All other items are considered contraband and will be seized and disposed or destroyed in accordance with Bureau regulations.
Contraband that threatens the security of the institution may result in disciplinary action and/or criminal prosecution for the inmate.
The only packages I’m allowed to receive from home, as an inmate, are those containing release clothing. Release clothing may only be received with prior approval by my inmate unit team or authorized staff member within the last 30 days of confinement. Well, that’s not my concern right away. I’m not even close to my release date, so…
According to the Bureau of Prison visiting helps inmates to maintain morale and ties with family members, friends and others in the community. Inmates are permitted face-to-face visits with approved family and friends on Saturdays, Sundays and holidays. By law, an inmate gets at least four hours of visiting time per month, however, the Warden can decide to restrict or extend the length of visits. And, this fact is really important, the visitors must appear in a pre-written list that I have to write up and like an unavoidable rule those visitors have to have a relationship with me prior my incarceration date.
Hmmm, in my case the list is really short because there are just two names written down. Mia Toretto and Hanna Miles. There’s no one else to add and while I’m writing those names on that piece of paper I realize about how wrong I’ve been concerning both of them but for different reasons.
The prison guard who was at my side chuckled when he read the second name on my list and I had to swallow the impulse to punch him in the face. Who was that fucker to judge me?
However, I don’t know exactly why I added her name. Was I really expecting for her to come and visit me when she knew that I put her on my visiting list? Did I want to see her again? Did she want to see me? I knew back then I was struggling with myself, fighting an internal battle and for a second I almost crossed out her name but I didn’t, and I wonder why I couldn’t just draw a line through her name, with that simple act the page would be marked forever, moving on.
I frown deeply, searching for a plausible reason to explain my, according to what most people would say, insensible behavior, and the only idea that pops in my mind is because we have unfinished matters. That’s it. Hanna and I are not done yet. Anyway, I don’t want to think about her right now, so I shook my head, forcing myself to think about my sister. Mia Toretto.
Mia. She’s the only person who still gives a damn about me, who still has faith in me. And it’s painfully funny because not even I have faith in myself anymore, so I guess that that fact makes her an even more valuable human being. Mia Toretto, my kid sister.
Mia. The day she was born we lost our mother, but I won Mia. She always took care of me even though I’m the older brother and a man. Mia has been always the strong one, the wise one, the responsible one, the sensible one…anyway, of the both of us, Mia is the adult one.
Since the day our dad died, I proclaimed myself the macho man and I decided unilaterally that I was going to be the one in charge of everything concerning the both of us. My God, how wrong I was back then. Mia just smiled and played along, but now I know that she was the only one in charge and I was the one who just let her guide me.
Now that I’m thinking about it, I’m realizing about one thing that always passed unnoticed, unseen. We were constantly surrounded by the other members of my team but we always managed to have time for both of us alone even though sometimes we weren’t aware of that fact. I think it’s because we lost our parents that the necessity of real affection and physical contact grew stronger between the two of us.
Now, like the inmate I have become, I have limited physical contact to handshaking, embracing and kissing always within the bounds of good taste and only at the beginning and at the end of the visit, and only if there is no clear evidence that such contact will jeopardize the safety or security of the institution. Damn! I never thought that an embrace or a kiss would mean so much for me until Mia came the first time to visit me.
I couldn’t help but cry when she pulled me to her, holding me against her chest. Me, the macho man, crying like a little baby while Mia was soothing me, whispering that she loved me and will always love me. I left her alone for a second time, I failed her, again, but she still loves me.
I know Mia is facing all the shit I left behind, she’s standing up through the hell I made of our lives and she is doing it alone. Mia is as alone as I am myself, but she’s not going to admit that fact to me or anyone, not even to herself. Yeah, I did always underestimate Mia. Not anymore.
My telephone calls are monitored, only those made to my attorney aren’t monitored but only under certain circumstances. This measure ensures that inmates do not have the opportunity to use phones for criminal or other inappropriate purposes.
That’s a hell of a supposition because I practically have to sweat blood just trying to reach the damn phone, so when I finally can make my call, I’m not exactly thinking about criminal purposes, I’m just thinking about hear my sister’s voice at the other side of the line, telling me something, anything. I really don’t care as long as I can hear her voice.
Concerning my correspondence it is classified as either ‘general’ or ‘special’. General correspondence is opened and inspected by staff; special correspondence is equally opened, but only in my presence. Sometimes, Mia sends me letters, with short stories she writes in her free time. She says that way I have something to read before I go to sleep apart from my car magazines and my only two books.
I couldn’t agree more with the Bureau, yeah, Mia’s letters are ‘special’ correspondence. At least for me they are really special. Did I say I love my sister? Yes, I do. I love Mia.
In 1930 the Department of Justice authorized and established a Commissary at each Federal Institution. The Commissary was created to provide a bank type account for inmates’ monies. The purpose of individual inmate Commissary accounts was to allow the Bureau of Prisons to maintain inmates’ monies while they are incarcerated. Family, friends and/or other sources may deposit funds into these accounts.
Funds may be sent to Federal inmates, like myself, via the United States Postal Service or via the Western Union Quick Collect Program. In either case, there’s just one rule: I must physically be housed at a Federal Bureau of Prison’s facility. Of course, what’s the point to send funds to an inmate if he’s not an inmate?
The deposit must be in form of a money order made out to my full committed name, Dominic Alfredo Toretto, and complete eight digit register number. Oh, yeah, I forgot to mention that small detail. Now, I’m also an eight digit registry number. Yup. No more Dom, Dominic or Toretto. From now on and until my release I’m also inmate number 25710290.
The eight digit registry number has a hell of a lot of relevance because if the sender makes a mistake and sends them to the incorrect register number and/or full name, the funds may end in another inmate’s account and, consequently, the funds may not be returned. Fortunately or unfortunately, I’m not too sure about this point yet, I haven’t got that problem because Mia is the only one who sends funds to me and she knows as well as I do my eight digit registry number not to mention my full name.
Yeah, there are no friends anymore either. Not one. All of them just vanished the minute the judge read the verdict of the jury. That’s the ones who were still alive of course. All those who considered me a living legend, a leader, almost a living God, just turned around and left the court room, but not before they said to me and Mia that we can count on all of them for anything. Yeah, sure, for anything? My balls.
The inmates’ skills. Yeah. My skills. Let’s talk about them. Through the Inmate Skills Development (ISD) initiative, the Bureau is focusing on building the kinds of skills essential to reach my successful reintegration – ranging from activities of daily living, such as budgeting, to cognitive skills, such as the ability to maintain self-control.
Concerning my skills I have to say that I’m a hell of mechanic. I’m able to identify which part and/or piece of an engine is failing just listening the sound of it. I don’t even need to pop the hood to detect the breakdown. I’m more than just good at this. I’m the best. So, I hope my skill is somehow useful in here. I don’t know yet. I’m thinking about the different vehicles they have here or something related with maintenance. Let’s see.
Concerning my cognitive skills, such as self-control…Just a glance at my profile and anyone can see that I have self-control issues, or it would be better to say the lack of it. Well, I think that the fact that the first time my ass landed in here was because I beat the shit out of a guy with a wrench is not exactly a good example of self-control.
Of course, the fact that that guy was the one responsible for my dad’s car accident while he was a racer at NASCAR doesn’t mean shit to anybody else apart from Mia and me. That guy is still walking around. Ok, he’s totally fucked up because my lack of self-control, but at least he’s still alive while my dad is dead. Do I regret what I did to him? That’s another question I don’t feel like thinking about right now.
The process involves identifying inmates’ strengths and weaknesses using a standardized assessment tool, linking the program used to specific deficit areas, and tracking my progress on my individualized plan throughout the incarceration.
Actually, I don’t need a standardized assessment tool to identify my weakness, I do know them, well my only weakness. I’m a hopeless case, an egocentric, a self centered fucker. And that’s exactly what brought me here for second time.
Naturally, the Bureau expects this coordinated approach will help me to increase the transition upon release and to achieve my optimal re-entry outcomes. Of course, they expect as well that this collaborative effort will increase my opportunities for a career – oriented employment.
The prospect of having to search for meaningful work upon release from prison can be a daunting one also, particularly for inmates who have been out of the labor market for a number of years.
Well, I’m going to spend four years in here. I wonder if four years can be considered a number of years. Of course, many inmates nearing release in today’s society need to re-learn, or perhaps for the first time learn, how to effectively “search for a job.” I can’t help but wonder if this is my case also. Well, hell, I had a job, a life, a family, a woman…
The Bureau provides me as well with essential medical, dental, and mental health services by professional staff. The Bureau provides a full range of mental health treatments through staff psychologists and psychiatrists. Psychologists are available for formal counseling and treatment on an individual or group basis. In addition, staff unit is available for informal counseling.
I figure I should give a second thought about making use of those services. Not because I think I need a psychologist to help me get over the fact that sometimes it’s hard for me to control my rage and pain, but maybe I would be able to understand why I acted the way I did. However, I really hope they are not expecting me to be a lab rat in their fucking mind games. I’m not emotionally unstable, I’m just pissed off. Pissed off at the world, but mostly at myself.
The Bureau promotes environmental health for staff and inmates alike through its emphasis on a clean-air environment and the maintenance of safe conditions in inmate living and work areas. What a fucking irony.
The fights are constant around here. The gangs are always trying to reach and keep the power in the little part of the world they can control inside of these walls. Hispanics, Blacks, Muslims, Jews and/or Catholics. Someone might ask what the fuck are they going to control if at the end they are all locked in a prison? Well, if I have learnt something since I became an inmate it’s that the prison is just the reflection of the society we are living in.
The prison is like a micro world organized on different levels of power, just minimized. Inside of these walls there is exactly the same kind and amount of racial discrimination, power conflicts and vested interests like outside in the ‘real world’.
Here, I have to work my way up from the bottom, using the little I have in my reach. So far, I’ve done pretty well. I’m half Italian, half Cuban, half white and half black. My skin colour is too pale to be considered an Afro-American, but at the same time is too dark to be considered a Caucasian. I’m multiracial, so I’m a bit of everything and a lot of nothing. I guess that that fact puts me in the middle and in some bizarre way it provides me with some amount of immunity.
The more time I’m locked up, the less scared I am. The less scared I am, the more respect I gain. The most respect I gain the more things I can get. And I’m not talking about power, I’m talking about the most importance items, such as extra pair of underwear, socks or shaving gel. I’m talking about porn magazines and cigarettes. I don’t smoke, but I have to admit that a couple of packs can work magic, literally. I’m not talking about privileges, I’m just talking about being left alone.
The Bureau’s food service program emphasizes heart-healthy diets, nutrition education, and dietary counseling in conjunction with certain medical treatment. Now this is really funny. Whatever they put in the food, I can assure with out a doubt that it’s everything but healthy and I really don’t feel like going into specifics. Sometimes it’s better not to think too much about certain things.
Now, the last part is really, really funny. The Bureau’s philosophy is that release preparation begins the first day of incarceration. From the minute I became an inmate I only could think about how I was going to survive what was awaiting for me inside these walls. There is no one simple inmate user’s guide, manual or handbook where they talk about the nightmares, the fear, the regret or the loneliness of an inmate.
I made a promise to myself, a promise I meant to keep. I promised to myself that I would never end in here again, but here I am. Locked in Lompoc surrounded by all kinds of inmates. Men who are guilty of many crimes. My crime? I met Hanna Miles, I fell in love with her and now I’m fucked.
Ok, if I have to be honest with myself then I have to admit that’s not fair, or at least that’s not the whole truth. My crime was that I wanted to have a better standard of living and I wanted it fast and as much as I could get. My crime was that I dragged all the people I loved and cared about with me in following that goal, following my self centered concept of life. My crime was that I jumped consciously down the rabbit hole and I didn’t care about the consequences. My crime was that I acted like a selfish bastard and now I’m fucked. Which brings me back to Hanna.
“I want to tell you something, Hanna.” I said as I pulled her to me, encircling her waist. She frowned deeply and I felt unease at the shadow of concern that crossed her face. But it was just for a second, then I felt her slim fingers tracing the contour of my shoulder and it wasn’t there anymore, so I let it go.
I loved the touch of her fingers on my skin, the way she stroked me, so soft, so gentle, as if she was expecting that at any time I was going to vanish in front of her eyes. She wasn’t an aggressive woman concerning sex and I knew the reason why. I could notice the hurt in her eyes, the shame of her past.
She told me everything concerning the sexual abuse her father inflicted on her when she was a kid. Hanna cried on my shoulder remembering those painful memories a few weeks after we met because she wanted to make me understand why she didn’t want to fuck me. Hanna wanted to make love with me and surprisingly I found myself wanting to show her that sex had nothing to do with her previous terrible experiences. I wanted to make love to her. And since that morning, I knew she trusted in me. She knew full well I wasn’t going to hurt her or force her to do things I knew she didn’t want to do.
“I’m listening, Dominic.” She teased me, grinning and pulled me out of my thoughts.
She knew that I didn’t like too much hearing anyone calling me by my full name, but she knew better that she was the only one who had said it since the very first time we met. That’s the reason why she always called me Dominic, instead of Dom when we were together, alone. Specially when we had had the most fantastic, mind blowing sex on earth. I figure out that it was for her like a sign of identity. Hanna was the only one. Not even Mia, my kid sister, called me Dominic anymore and I didn’t let anyone else call me by my full name after Hanna said it the first time.
“I never thought that to love somebody would be like this, you know?” I murmured locking eyes with her. Hanna smiled sadly and I would had swore that she was fighting back tears. Just thinking about her crying, made me tighten my embrace around her, breathing in her scent. A sweet mix of lilacs, cinnamon and arousal. Suddenly I felt the need to tell her what my heart was screaming at that very moment, so I plunged ahead. “I love you, Hanna.” Not even had my words slipped through my lips, when there it was again that light frown, that shadow of …. guilt?
I watched how she swallowed hard as if she had an invisible knot in her throat, a heavy sigh escaped her lips before finally her voice came out in a hoarse whisper.
“Promise me something, Dominic.” Hanna said, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. I frowned deeply, looking at those green beautiful eyes, soft grayish gleams sparkling around the pupil. I fell in love with those eyes the very first time they held my intense gaze.
“Anything.” I replied fiercely, putting as much reassurance as I could on that simple word, and I did know Hanna noticed that my voice didn’t hold any doubt. But the shadow of guilt was suddenly more visible and I started to feel more than just unease at that guilt.
I couldn’t help but wonder why Hanna was feeling guilty while I was saying that I loved her. I knew for sure that she loved me as much as I loved her. Then, why?
“No matter what happens in the future to us, I want you to not forget that I do love you, Dominic Alfredo Toretto. Please, promise me that you won’t forget that. Promise me that, Dominic.” She demanded, her voice deadly serious. In response, I found myself nodding ‘yes’ unable for a second to say a word in return as I swallowed hard my own invisible knot that appeared from nowhere, closing my throat.
“Nothing is gonna happen, Hanna. We’ll be together always. I love you.” I blurted as I leaned slightly, capturing her lips.
Suddenly I didn’t want to hear her, talking in that tone of voice. Suddenly I was scared I was going to loose her. But, Hanna had other plans, she desperately needed to hear me promising her that I did believe her when she was saying that she loved me. And I did. I did believe in her words and in her gaze, showing me as clear as a sunny day her feelings. So when Hanna broke the kiss and locked eyes with me, begging me. I said it, I actually promised her.
“I do, Hanna. I do promise you. No matter what happens that’s not gonna change ever.” I replied and then I kissed her like I never had kissed her before. I put all my heart and soul in that kiss, saying much more than mere words, sealing my promise.
When I released her lips, they were trembling in the aftermath of my passionate kiss and I was a silent witness of two single tears rolling down her temples. Just then and there I felt my heart clenching painfully inside of my chest and I made that same promise to myself.
“I will always love you, Hanna.”
End Flash Back
Little did I now know that in saying those words, I not only sealed a promise, but I linked my own fate to Hanna’s forever.
I was Dominic Alfredo Toretto. I had a garage, a café and a mortgage. I had a team that was more than just friends, they were my family; I had a girlfriend, Letty and I had Mia, my kid sister. I was street racer and I used to give the best fucking parties ever. I had different bank accounts and I was happy.
I could phone, write and visit whoever the hell I wanted and I could shake hands, embrace and kiss as many times as I felt like it. I could fuck for endless hours with my girlfriend Letty and with each and every single slut who crossed paths with me too. I could spent all the time I needed to talk with my sister Mia. I could have all the magazines, books, clothing, shoes and jewelry I could pay for. I could race with my car and during those ten seconds or less I felt alive. And I could have all those things because I was free.
Now, the only person I can kiss and embrace is my sister Mia and only eight times a month during her one hour visit each Saturday and always surrounded by prison guards. My clothing is the prison uniform and my shoes are sport shoes. I have a limited amount of car magazines, two books, the Holy Bible and The Count of Montecristo, and three pictures, Mia’s, the team’s and Hanna’s. Why I keep a picture of Hanna? That’s a good question because she’s the only woman I love and hate with the same fierce intensity.
Now, I’m Dominic Alfredo Toretto, inmate number 25710290 and I have ahead of me a four year sentence at the Federal Prison of Lompoc. The only way I can reach my parole is if I’m a good inmate and that possibility is still far away from the present date because it’ll only happen two years from now. It’s that or wait patiently for an unexpected event that makes me reach my freedom before that time. Who am I kidding? I do believe in God, but I don’t believe in miracles.