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“You can’t protect me from everything,” I tell him in a gentle tone but it only makes him frustrated and for a second it looks like he’s about to break from his cuffs to prove me wrong, so I quickly add, “You ready for some questions?”
That distracts him at least, and I go through the queries I have prepared. He doesn’t mince his words, answering honestly and that’s the thing about Giggs. He’s an open book, a rough around the edges, hardworking man.
An innocent man.
And not to mention protective. And it was that protective streak of his that got him in this mess in the first place. Glancing at the guard who’s watching us like a hawk but with a bored look on his face since he can’t hear us, I murmur, “You have one year left in prison.” I lick my lips and take a sip of my water, “What’s the first thing you plan on doing once you’re out?”
That’s actually not one of the official questions but I’m asking anyway.
Leaning in closer, Giggs rasps, “I’ll look up a girl first thing I do,” he begins and I stop breathing, “I’ll knock on her door and if she’s kind she’ll let me in. First thing I’ll do is look up a girl whom I think about day and night.”
Our eyes meet, embracing even though we can’t and impatience rips in me. I want him out now!
“And once she lets you in?” I whisper. “What will you do then?”
He tilts his head to the side. “What makes you so sure she’ll let me in? A man acts differently when he’s not caged.”
I gulp. “I just know. She won’t hesitate.”
His broad shoulders ease and he tilts his chin. “Then I’ll do whatever she wants me to do. I’ll pull her close and I won’t let go.”
My knees cave and I’m lucky I’m sitting. Clutching the edges of the table because I can’t touch Giggs, I pleadingly say, “One year isn’t a lot. You’ll be out soon.”
His eyes darkly flash. “And then I’ll be there on your threshold. Begging you haven’t forgotten about me.”
Never. I’ll never forget him. The internship will be over within two weeks but I’ll keep writing to him, I’ll visit him whenever I can. A year will go by fast. And I don’t want him to ever doubt my feelings about him.
This internship wasn’t just a coincidence. I chose this prison and I chose Giggs on purpose. I did it because I wanted to be close to him, though this isn’t close enough.
But it will be one day. And then...I’ll welcome him with open arms and I too won’t let go.
2.
Giggs
What does a man have to do to get a little mercy around here...I was told prison would be hard but nah, it’s a piece of cake. What’s hard is being cuffed while the girl who wanders around my thoughts nonstop is sitting across from me, dutifully writing in her little notebook with a serious expression on her face.
Porsha Picaut...I’d kill for you, honeychild.
She’s grown up so much since she was seventeen. Then she was a scrawny kid with tangled hair and an oversized school uniform because as she later told me, there weren’t any smaller sizes. I went to prison when she was at that age, spent two years in this hellhole without hearing a single titter from her. Not even aI’m good, don’t you worry about meso I worried, wondering what had happened to her. Then I began getting letters. Pretty letters and the kind only a girl can write and they eased my spirit, made this place bearable. We wrote to each other consistently and then came the day when the little college girl was supposed to do an internship at a prison.
At first I was firmly against it, didn’t want her anywhere near a penitentiary and I had forbidden her from visiting me. But she stood up to me, insisted and I figured that if I didn’t let her come to this prison she’d have to go to another one, which would have been even worse.
And now she’s here. I’ve seen her regularly for nearly two weeks now and she sure as fuck isn’t seventeen anymore. She’s a grown woman, with flowing locks of auburn and eyes the color of a cloud before rainfall. My eyes roam down the body she always keeps covered up in starchy dresses or little cardigans or frilly blouses. She fills them out nicely the fabric always straining over her hips and bust as if it’s eager to be as close as possible to her skin. I know the feeling. Hell...do I know the feeling. Grinding my jaw, my body can’t help but strain whenever she lets out a small sigh. I need that breath of hers on me, need to know the fever in her skin and whether her heart speeds up like mine does whenever we’re in the same room.
These fucking prison guards think they have me shackled but they don’t have shit. What truly shackles me is her. With one glance from Porsha I come undone, with one pucker of her lips, I turn into a man on flames. Me being locked up while she’s out there is torture. But would I have done what I did all over again if I had to...
Hell yeah.
Her wellbeing is what comes before everything, before my comfort, before my freedom. Thing is though, I never expected anything from her, didn’t think she owed me anything. There was nothing stopping her from turning eighteen, finding a nice boy to marry and live happily ever after him but Porsha refused. Instead she’s waiting for me, with the patience of a soldier’s wife and it makes me go down to my knees in my cell every night in gratitude. Fuck knows what I’ve done to deserve her but I’m wary of jinxing it.
Every moment of my existence I’m terrified she’ll open her mouth and tell me she’s giving up on me. That she just doesn’t have the patience and that she needs to move on with her life. So far those words haven’t come out yet and she assures me they never will. The more she leans on me the more she becomes mine. And being mine, means being nobody else’s.
If Porsha ever turned around and went with another man, at this stage, I’d break out of prison, hunt him down and rip his head off. This girl has all parts of me to herself and I need to have the same in return. Within a year I’ll be out...
Our eyes meet across the desk and she’s thinking the same thing as I am. Fuck, it’s gonna be beautiful, beautiful enough to bring a grown man to tears and my fists clench, my spine straightening and I lean over the table, trying to get closer and she lets out a soft, frantic gasp...
“Buchanan, keep your distance,” the guard orders and I scowl. If only I could get my hands on him, I’d make sure he never interrupts us again and I stretch my neck in frustration. The ticking of the clock gets on my nerves, the more seconds that pass, the closer Porsha is to leaving.
