The Bars Between Us

55. Tension

The darkness encloses around me, and I just let the tears come for a moment. Although I would admit I trust Nixon, the idea of staying in a prison over night, with other inmates I have no idea about, scares me. I also wouldn't say I'm scared of the dark, but the pitch black cell does nothing to quell all the fears rising inside me.

Nixon doesn't move toward me, and I'm grateful to have some space to myself in the small cell. No matter what happens, tomorrow morning when Roman arrives to get me, it won't matter the state I'm in. All possible outcomes are bad, and end up with him not trusting what I tell him. If I'm injured, he'll be angry at Nixon, and if I'm not he'll be angry at both of us. No matter how much I protest, he will think something happened. There's no way out of this.

My back is against the door, and I'm sitting on the stone floor curled into a ball as much as I can with the pencil skirt I'm wearing. I don't know how long I stay in the position crying, with no light from the outside world to tell me, but eventually my tears have dried, and I can look at the situation with a much more level-head. I gave up hoping for Roman to come back for me pretty quickly, but my mind went elsewhere. To thoughts I definitely shouldn't be having.

Will he be ok without me there for the night? He's not totally unable to live on his own, but he relies on me so much that I can't help it. Even in this situation I'm worrying about the repercussions that could come at me for not being there, and his welfare. Every time I try to distance myself from him, and delude myself into thinking I don't care for him, there's always something that tells me otherwise.

"You OK, Kitty?" A gruff voice calls from outside our cell. With the nickname, I know it to be another inmate, and the thought embarrasses me. In all the time of Roman and Nixon's confrontation, I forgot about other witnesses.

"Shut it," one of the guard yells down the corridor, and I hear a responding grumble from the inmate and then nothing.

My eyes tired and blurry from crying still haven't adjusted to the darkness, so when Nixon appears seemingly out of the dark, it sends a jolt of surprise through me.

Wordlessly, he pinches my chin between his finger, lifting me to look at him. He uses a knuckle on the other hand to clear my face of tears. My heart beats erratically in my chest, all of my attention currently on where his calloused fingers are touching me.

"Affie?" he whispers. The dark shadows of his form give him a menacing aura, but the hand on my face, which is drastically different to Roman earlier, gives me some form of comfort. I'm not alone. He's here. Someone cares for me. It doesn't matter in what way. He just cares.

"I'm ok," I whisper wondering if that's what he's asking. I seem to satisfy him because instead of responding, he reaches the knuckle that was making each tear disappear and raps it against the door behind me in a series of beats.

After the first couple, I realize he's sending a message. It's not Morse code, because there's no dashes.

.... ... .. ... . ..... .... ... / . . ... . .... .. .. .... .. .. .. ... .... ....

It's silent for a moment, before a knocking replies.

.. .. ... .... ... .... . ....

I marvel at the ingenuity, and the fact that Nixon, and the other inmate both know the code. More knocking starts from around the corridor, and I realize more people know it too.

The silence only being broken by the rhythmic knocks for a while soothes me. Soon enough, the knocks die down, and it becomes so silent that I can almost hear the breathing of the guards at the end of the hall. My eyes have begun to slowly adjust to the dark, and when Nixon reaches down for my hands to pull me up, I see the shapes of the tattoos marking his hands. He clasps my shoulders, in yet another touch, and my head naturally falls back to try and look up into his eyes.

"Everything's going to be alright, Affie. I would hope you trust me, but I also understand that your asshole of a husband has probably royally fucked with your head." I want to say that I do trust him, that I know he would never hurt me, even though I don't really know him. But, when I go to form the words, my throat closes up not allowing a sound out. I try to play it off as fear of being wrong, and not the fact that if I were to admit that to him aloud, I would probably open myself up to a lot more than I'm ready for. The distance I've put between us, to differentiate what's just a fantasy and what could happen in reality, will possibly shrink and I don't want to allow myself to believe something that could come around and bite me on the bum. Instead, I go for changing the subject.

"What was the knocking about?" I ask.

"Tap Code. They wanted to know if you were ok." It surprises me, so much so that my head rears back slightly. "They agreed your husband's an asshole, among other things."

"Thank you," I whisper, it just slipping out. There's so much that I want to thank him for that I can't put it into one meaningful sentence. He stays silent for a moment, before pulling away from me, his hands dropping from my arms. He doesn't acknowledge my apology, or even confirm that he heard it in the first place. He turns on his heel, and walks a few steps until he's covered by the darkness again. I think it better to walk into the cell, than wait by the door, so I venture forward.

Although the darkness seems to have lifted slightly, I still can't see my way fully. The old stone floor of the cell has eroded in places with use, or just poor craftsmanship, and as such it means that my footing is unsteady in places. Most times I can catch myself, but eventually one of the spots takes me by surprise, and I stumble to the side.

Two strong hands catch me, my shoulder meeting the hard chest of my savior. His touch surrounds me, and a thrill goes through my body like a bolt of electricity at him touching me. There's been small touches here and there, but now I'm in his arms my body thrums to life. It's an alien experience.

I've only been in close proximity with Nixon a couple of times, and with every new encounter, I realize how magnetic he is to be around. Everything around me falls to the wayside, and he's the only thing that matters. It's almost as if I get sucked more and more into him every time, and now that we're alone in the dark, with every passing moment, those feelings only get stronger. Roman was 'worried' that I would be destroyed when he came back for me, and now I do too. Not for the reasons or in the way he thinks. The tension between us will either destroy me, or it will be destroyed.

Glossary:

Tap Code: Supposedly created by 4 prisoners of war in the Vietnam war, Tap Code is commonly used for prisoners to speak to each other. As was seen in the part they will tap the bars or walls of their cell, sounding out each letter with two numbers. The numbers correspond to where the letter is on the five by five square (the letter C replacing K). It's like a grid reference. The square looks like this:

X     1     2     3     4     5

1     A     B     C     D    E

2     F     G     H     I     J

3     L     M     N    O    P

4     Q     R     S     T    U

5     V     W     X    Y    Z

So if we take Nixon's message as an example, the first letter is 4 knocks then 3. The first number relates to the row. Row 4 starts with Q, and then count three across we get to S.

This code would be for messages you don't mind getting intercepted, as it's a relatively simple code, and as such easily decipherable. It's easier than Morse Code, because there are no dashes. If you want, you can have a go at deciphering the message, and then checking to see if you got it right with the translations on the next page.

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Tap Code Translations:

Nixon's: She's alright.

Inmate: Good.