Chapter 1

Everyone's eyes were on her, and she felt her mouth open as she tried to look for an answer on the accusation. She wouldn't be the first to break under that kind of glare from a judge. She had known a lot of inmates who had admitted to crimes they had never even committed merely because they couldn't take the pressure any longer. She was sort of innocent, too. Sort of. Franky and she hadn't engaged in any kind of intimacy, after all, but dear heavens, had she wanted to do so.

"Francesca Doyle and I have never engaged in any which kind of intimacy," Bridget stated after several seconds in a calm, measured tone, as she looked the half-bald middle-aged judge right in his clear blue eyes. When he didn't react, she took in a big gulp of air and, with it, gathered all of her courage to tell them what she wanted to say. "Maybe it is too easy to mistake general concern for the women's well-fare and a real desire to offer them the help and the support they need for more than what it truly is, namely my job, in an institution like Wentworth. I can imagine that that is definitely true when I'm compared to Miss Bennett or, even worse, Miss Ferguson, whose interests lie with the power that comes with the position rather than the position, itself," she stated.

The judge sat back in his high chair with a pensive look written across his pale face. "What exactly is it you mean, Miss Westfall?"

Bridget let her clear eyes travel to Franky for one brief moment, as the 'criminal' stared at her from across the room. A small smile was on her lips, warning and concern in her eyes. She knew that she shouldn't push too far until she had proof. Franky had to be released then, too, so Ferguson couldn't fuck with her parole anymore, her freedom. "I have merely stated that I feel I have other intentions than most of the staff in Wentworth Correctional Centre. I believe time and position has changed a lot of people's perspective."

"Do you have specific examples?"

Bridget only managed to shake her head before she answered, "No, Your Honor. It is just my opinion, and you're not at all obliged to bear it in mind. I can only tell you from several years of experience with this kind of things that Franky Doyle is ready to be a part of society again, and that my opinion isn't clouded by feelings that I'm rumored to have for her. I'm not at all interested in Franky Doyle otherwise."

The judge sucked in a deep breath though his nose and appeared to weigh Bridget's words for a moment. He glanced down at the papers upon the desk over the rim of his spectacles. He mouthed a few key words just to himself while he leafed through them as he considered the decision that was expected of him to make that day.

Meanwhile, Franky cast a pained look in Bridget's direction, and in that moment, Bridget's hard words had sounded so very sincere she really began to doubt whether she had truly interpreted the Master in Psychology's feelings correctly. She had said that if all that the blonde wanted was fuck her, she could live with it, but that had been a lie... and a big one at it. She wanted more than a fuck, or repeated fucks. For the first time in her life, Franky Doyle wanted to have an actual relationship, like the one she had thought her parents had had back when she was still very young, before she was old enough to know what exactly was going on... and before her father had left her and her mother had resorted to continuous abuse.

She only barely heard the decision about her parole. It was only when the sounds of several voices suddenly erupted in the previously quiet court room and her lawyer shook her hand and congratulated her that she realized what had happened. When she blinked and looked at the seat Bridget Westfall had occupied moments before, she realized that she was gone already.