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“She will because I said so.”
“Do you need a special thank you?” Her eyes met mine. I smirked and leaned over the desk. God, my hand needed something to do before I hauled her up out of the seat and into my lap to spank her myself. All these inappropriate thoughts were dangerous and I skirted the line like never before. I had a job to do, boundaries to maintain and this slip of a girl-well, it wasn’t her fault I was attracted to her and it wasn’t my place to get involved in something insidious. What was it with the women I interacted with today? Instead, I reached for a retractable pen on my desk, clicking it twice before tossing it down.
I let the thank you remark go for now.
“So why did you it, Ms. Cruz?” I picked up the manila folder with her name and inmate number on the tab flipping through papers skimming them over.
“Curious?” She sat back in the chair, her hands clinking from the shackles she currently wore from shaking.
“The file says you hit him.” I flipped the pages to the investigative report provided.
“Thirty-three times.” Her voice dropped low, and her gaze went back to the fucking window, ignoring me. If she kept this up, I would shut the blinds to force her attention.
“In the head.” I clarified wondering how long she would remain impassive.
Still nothing, and I said, “I imagine it was a fucking mess.” The blood splatter alone would have landed everywhere covering her. Had the detectives found soiled clothes? I rummage through the report but nothing was mentioned. For some reason it bothered me. A lot of things bothered me, apparently.
“I imagine it was.” She attempted to cross her legs, right over left, but the shackles prevented her from moving. It was then I noticed her shoes were wet and beginning to leave a small stain on my dark carpeted flooring. It must have been from the incident in the cafeteria, but she held her head high, queenly and I admired the steel of her spine even if I found myself wanting to spank the tacit defiance out of her.
“Did you do it?” I asked her. I watched a plethora of emotions cross her face before going to that blank expression I identified so readily with her in the few minutes she was here with me.
“I was convicted. It doesn’t matter.” Maybe it didn’t matter to her, but it mattered to me, and I was struck by how much I cared. I shouldn’t care, but the bleeding heart in me was making a mess of this introduction.
“Hmm…” I dropped the file, wondering how long she would do this dance with me. Round and round, avoiding questions.
I made a show of smelling the air in my office. “What is that?” I pretended to look around watching her shift uncomfortably in her chair.
“What?” Her guarded face told me she was on to me.
“That smell.” I pointed to her feet watching her face get red.
“Oh.” She remained quiet a moment before beginning again. “My shoes. I spilled milk on them at lunch when I stepped in the meat patty you call a hamburger with no cheese. But don’t worry; I wasn’t going to cry about it.”
“I didn’t think you would, but I’ll see if I can get you a new pair.” I took out a pad of paper to make a note about replacing her shoes, but she stopped me.
“I’d rather you didn’t. The smell keeps people away, and I’ve sort of grown accustomed to it.”
That smell was going to get worse and if anything it would get her ass beat in no time. I was definitely getting her new shoes whether she liked it or not.
“You don’t have to make your time here more difficult, Ms. Cruz.” I made the note to find her new shoes despite her protest and maybe a few other things she would need. I had no idea if she had funds deposited into the commissary for use yet. Probably not.
“Don’t I?” Hardened, her eyes glared at me.
“I can make this easier on you.” I said trying to be kind but missing the mark. Her eyes sparked and she must have read that as an innuendo I hadn’t meant to imply, at least not out loud.
“I’d rather you didn’t. I’d hate to grow soft with longing for things I shouldn’t.” Our eyes met again, and I wanted her to be soft. It made my job easier, but she was determined to go the hard route. So be it.
I muttered more to myself than to her. “Day one and you’re already anti-social.”
“At least I’m not medicated or withdrawing.” She muttered.
“No, do you need to be?” I teased and the corner of her mouth lifted but nothing more. I thought about the addicts in here and th
e psychiatrist on staff who seemed awfully willing to pop pills and shoot them up if it kept them compliant. I didn’t want that for her.
She shook her head and answered my earlier statement.
“Isn’t that what they tell you to be in here? Be strong and keep to yourself. Do the time; don’t let the time do you.” She folded her arms around her middle protectively. Her bravado was all for show. There was a lot to admire about her right up front.
