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"Wait, let me stop you right there. Do you hear yourself, Ker? This man is serving a life sentence for murder and you're willing to overlook that just because he's hot? I don't know what's going on, but now I am more convinced than ever that you need to get the hell out of there. Come to me."
"Thanks, girl—you know I appreciate it. I'll give it some thought, okay?"
Brie decided that answer was sufficient for now and we both promised to keep in touch before we hung up.
My mind snaps back to the present. Maybe Brie is right. Maybe a change of scenery would do me some good. And why am I allowing myself to get hung up on an inmate? The old me would have never done something like this. But this man is different—I swear there is an intensity and—despite what he is incarcerated for—a gentle honesty about him. And I have no idea where I would be right now if he hadn't have walked in on my attacker. For that I owe him.
I look at the clock and see that it's time for me to take my lunch break. I grab my bag and decide to head to the Alcove. At least there I can get lost in my thoughts and not worry about anyone finding me. When I get there, I find that I am still so conflicted. I should leave. There's no use hanging on to something that does not have a future. Shit. Why does this have to be so hard? I dig in my bag for a pack of cigarettes. I'm not a smoker, but I keep a pack for emergencies—situations where nothing else will calm my nerves. I look around, making sure no one is nearby and I flick the lighter on, inhaling until I see the orange glow. The smoke fills my lungs and I lean back into the wall. I exhale, and bat away a cloud of blue with a wave of my hand—I don't want anyone to see me. I close my eyes but the feel the presence of another person and quickly open them again. There's no one in front of me, but when I look to my left, I see a silhouette. It's an inmate standing at a distance. His eyes are looking at me intently and there's a palpable intensity in the gaze. He steps closer—slowly at first, unsure of what to say or how to approach me. I put my cigarette out and tuck my bag under my arm. He's now close enough to touch me and I see that it's Lucien Stone.
Lucien
As I approach, I open my mouth to speak to her, except that I don't. Nothing comes out. I'm not sure why I don't just say what's on my mind—that something about her drives me wild, that I think she's the most beautiful woman I've ever fucking seen. No, I guess that's not true. I do know why I'm not saying these things; it's because this is the first time in years—or, maybe ever—that I've cared this much about a woman. Unbelievable, right? I don't know—I guess I feel like I need to protect her. From what? Besides the assholes in this place, I don't really know.
I can see it in her eyes. She feels something too. Maybe I should end it all now and do us both a favor. By getting involved with her, I am opening her up to all kinds of bullshit. All it takes is for someone to snitch this out to Billy and the gang—and believe me, word travels faster than you can blink—and they wouldn't hesitate to hunt her down. I don't want to put her in that kind of danger. From the looks of her journal, she's dealing with enough shit in her life. She doesn’t need to add more.
But all of these rational thoughts disappear when I step closer to her and breath in her scent. All of a sudden, I find that I can't shut the fuck up because she's so hot.
"Are you a camera?" I ask, and then almost kick myself for being so predictable, but it's too late; I've got to go with it.
"What are you talking about?"
"I just ask because darlin' every time I look at you I smile."
"Is that the best you've got?" she says.
"Oh believe me, I'm just getting started."
I can see that's making her smile, and it spurs me on.
"No wonder the sky is grey today because all of the blue is in your eyes."
"Are you in the habit of meeting women in dark alcoves and throwing your cheesiest pick up lines at them?"
"Nah, just one woman in particular."
I can see her blush for a moment, but then the look on her face grows serious and she says, "I'm glad you showed up."
I wait for her to say more but she doesn't. I keep my eyes locked on hers and for a moment there is just the two of us, and silence. I gently reach out and touch a curl of her hair and her cheek with my fingers. The tenderness of the moment makes me open up. "I had a life outside of here, you know. I wasn't always this person in an ugly khaki jumpsuit, believe it or not. I'm not saying I've ever been perfect—sure, I've fucked up plenty, and I've made more mistakes than I'd like to admit, but I want to be a better man. You make me want to be a better man. If I was half the saint you are—"
"Let me stop you right there. I'm not a saint."
"Oh sure, because normal people would stop and give their last hundred dollar bill to the homeless man sitting on the street corner? I don't think so."
"How did you know about that?"
"I read your journal—and look, before you yell at me about that—I get it. I never should've taken it from you. I'm sorry. See, I told you I've made mistakes, and that was one of them. That's why I brought it back."
"So, why exactly are you in this place?"
This question takes me by surprise. I wasn't expecting her to ask me about this—I thought maybe she'd go on about that private journal of hers and what an ass I am, but no, she's not, and I'm not sure how to answer her. She's throwing me in the deep end. I mean, what should I say—do I just come out and casually say, darlin' I'm in her for a double murder? I'm sure she'd take one last look at me and run the hell out of here. But I want to be honest. I lean against the wall, resigned to it all. I realize that I have to be honest because now is my chance, and I exhale deeply before continuing.
"I've said it before, but I'm innocent—not innocent of being a bad man at times—but innocent of the charge that has me in here for life. It was a setup. I was framed for murder, and there isn't a day that goes by that I don't wish I would've been in a different place that night. The sounds, the images, the people—it all haunts me. I never should've been involved with that gang, and I shouldn't have been in that apartment."
She reaches out and puts her hand on my arm. It's a soft touch, but for the first time, I feel like there might be a person in the world who believes me.
"Did you have a wife back then?"
"Never been married—was always too much of a coward to put a ring on anyone's finger."
