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Whenever she leaves, a crucial piece inside of me withers and dies, only to come alive again when she’s back. I trace her neat features, the way her hair helixes at the ends and the crease she has in the middle of her lower lip. She used to wear gloss, coating her mouth with it until I asked her not to do it. I want to see her mouth be naturally sweet as it makes me think of where else she’s naturally sweet...
“It hurts,” Porsha whispers and my eyes flare, “hurts not being able to be fully yours.”
She squirms, the discomfort obvious in her body and the only thing that can make it go away is me. Hell...I feel powerless, can’t even give her cheek a damn stroke without there being repercussions. Once I get out, she won’t even be able to breathe. I’ll be on her like a shadow and not let her leave the bed unless she begs me.
“You will be,” I promise her. “You’ll be mine so much, I might even make you regret it.”
Porsha lets out a soft laugh. “I doubt that...”
Does she? I need her to be crazy about me. So crazy about me she accepts me even out in the real world with a smile on her lips.
“Time’s up,” the guard says and Porsha twitches, her face twisting from distress.
“So soon? But I have more questions.”
“Yeah, not my problem. Move it.”
A pulse pounds in my temples. “Watch how you fucking talk to her,” I hiss and it gets the guard to take a step back, his eyes narrowing in caution but then he reaches for his baton and Porsha tenses.
“No...I’m going, I’m going...,” she murmurs, getting up but her shoulders are slumping and I don’t like seeing her like this. A door unlocks behind me, my own guard about to enter and I take a deep breath.
“Smile for me before you leave me,” I say and Porsha turns, mustering a pale smile but its good enough. Tells me she’ll manage without me if halfheartedly, but I’m coming for her soon and then I’ll look after her. Then I’ll look after her so good, it’ll make her toes curl. Once she’s gone, the whole room feels like someone just threw a large cloak over it.
There’s no shine anymore. She takes all of it with her. And it’s as if all the stars on the sky suddenly went out.
With a pit in my stomach, I rise once I’m unshackled from the table and I follow the guard through door after door until we’re at my cell. He unlocks the cuffs and my cell opens.
“You have a pleasant evening now,” he grins gleefully and I mutter afuck offunder my breath before entering my 9X6 box. I frown when I catch my cellmate standing in the corner, his body language stiff and he’s facing the wall. If I was interested in being decent to him I’d ask what the hell his problem is but since I’m not, I don’t say anything.
Walking over to my bed, I shove my hands under the pillow to pull out the letters I keep from Porsha. Reading her affections will put me in a better mood but I grow cold when I don’t find them. I react before thinking, grabbing my cellmate around the shoulders and shove him back. He stumbles, falling onto the floor and he drops the envelopes he had in his hands and letters with flowers in the corners and girly writing spread across the floor. The paper smells of Porsha, raspberries dusted with sugar because she spritzes them with her body mist and now that scent has been sensed by another man.
He’s read the words she’s written to me. Private words about how she’s saving herself for me, counting the days until her body is mine and there are photos of her, of her smiling face and one where she’s wearing a top with a red heart on. There’s no bra underneath. The only thing covering her modesty is her hair and I grind my jaw, looking down at my cellmate.
A hump pokes against his pants and I nearly blackout from rage. Pulling him up by his collar, I slam down fist after fist him until he twitches like he’s being electrocuted. He screams for the guards but I don’t stop. I don’t care what they do to me because this fucking pervert is about to get an entirely new face...
“Enough!” a guard shouts, entering the cell and he’s trying to pull me away with little success. I’m running on pure adrenaline, ready to take on ten men if needed. He tugs at me, looking down at the floor and seeing the reason for my reaction, he lets out a surprised chuckle. “Fuck, I wouldn’t be too hard on him if I were you, Buchanan. That girl’s got the whole prison drooling...”
Whipping around, I land my fist on his jawline and he lets out an exploding sound of pain. I dislocated the bone and other guards run into the cell. Chaos erupts, fists flying, kicks to the ribs and then someone manages to use a Taser on me. Hell...
Grabbed on both sides, I’m dragged out of the cell and I know where they’re taking me. Isolation. Thrown into a dark pit, I slide down the wall, burying my face in my hands. I’m still shaking from fury and the only thing lowering my blood pressure is thinking about Porsha. It doesn’t matter what they do to me, I’ll always find a way to get to her. Even if they kill and bury me, I’ll rise from the dead.
I’ll bulldoze. I’ll slaughter. I’ll even swallow my pride and plead. There’s no me without Porsha. She’s mine and I’m hers. And the more she slips away from me, the tighter I’ll hold.
3.
Porsha
Wednesdays are so not my favorite day. I can’t think of anything worse than being at the prison and not seeing Giggs. I try to tell myself to have patience, that I’ll see him on Friday and that at least I’m in the same building as him but it only helps a little. Arranging my papers, I begin writing my notes into an open document when the director clears his throat behind me.
“Yes, Mr. Kowalski?” I ask, turning around. “More coffee?”
He shudders. “No more caffeine, gives me the jitters and apparently it makes me lose my head too.” He pulls his glasses down. “I’m sorry, Miss. Picaut but there’s something I forgot to mention.”
“I’m listening,” I murmur, perking my ears and he pulls at his tie before opening a window and the busy street smells flood the room.
“Unfortunately we’re going to have to make some new arrangements. I’m afraid the work you’ve done with prisoner 05 is going to have to be cut short.”
My heart starts smashing and I clutch the back of my chair. “Is he sick?” And I’m ready to rush over to the hospital building, not caring about the consequences...
