Innocent (R.S.L/ R5)

T w o

It's been two days since I entered, and I'm already going crazy. We're allowed to read newspapers, and sometimes books, but that's about it. I still have a month until my trial, up to which I'm spending the majority of my time thinking of what could still be in ou- my house which could prove my innocence.

"Hey," I heard someone call.

I turned from my position on the bed, to see Ross calling me.

"Hey yourself," I replied.

"This is hell," he groaned.

"I know."

"Do you talk, or..?"

"I talk. I'm just not in the mood right now."

"You realise we're going to be here for a while, so we might as well start talking to one another."

I sighed and stood up, walking over to the bars. He reciprocated, leaning against them, effectively sitting next to me.

"So how come you're in here?" he asked.

I froze, not expecting that question yet. I felt tears rush to my eyes, and I turned away, not letting him see. Crying in prison would get you no where. I swallowed, and attempted to speak.

"My, um, my daughter. She was... killed and I received the blame for it," I choked out.

He looked at me sympathetically, and reached a hand through the bars to hold mine. I reached out for his, but as soon as I touched him, he withdrew his hand sharply.

"Sorry, uh, I haven't touched anyone in a while, especially females," he explained.

I shook my head and smiled softly.

"It's fine, Ross."

"So what happened with your daughter?"

I closed my eyes, memories of my dead child floating to mind, the way she lay sprawled out unnaturally, her eyes closed, no colour to her.

"It was last month, on the 16th. I was taking a shower upstairs, and Natalie was downstairs watching TV. It was common for us so I didn't really worry, because she knew not to open the door to anyone, so there was no danger of anything happening to her. When I came out of the shower and went downstairs, I saw her, I saw her just lying there. She had just died, and the worst part is that none of us know how it happened. They did an autopsy, and the results were negative. There is absolutely no evidence as to what happened to her, and that's the worst part."

By this point I was crying again, and he reached out to me once again, rubbing my back softly.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

I curled up, resting my head on my knees, leaning against the bars, despite how uncomfortable they were. I finally stopped a few minutes later, and I wiped my face and turned back to Ross.

"Sorry for that," I apologised.

"You have every right to be upset. You lost your daughter. How old was she?"

"She was 5. I loved her so much."

"So how old are you?"

I gasped in mock horror.

"Do you not know you should never ask a girl her age?" I teased him.

"I'm sorry," he laughed.

"And to answer your question, I'm 22."

"I'm 25."

"Yeah, I got pregnant young. But it didn't affect me back then, because I always knew I would have the support of my boyfriend, so I wasn't worried. Even my parents weren't unhappy. We all assumed we would end up married and become one of those couples that have been together for their entire lives."

"But I don't see a ring on your finger," he frowned.

"We never got married. He died a couple of years ago," I told him.

"What happened to him?"

"He had cancer. Nothing ever works out for me."

"Don't say that. Things will always be alright in the end. If they're not, it's not the end."

I laughed at how corny he sounded.

"That has to be the cheesiest thing I've ever heard, I'm sorry," I told him through my laughter.

"True, but it made you laugh didn't it?"

"True, true."

"You know, I'm glad you're talking to me now. Somehow, I feel like I'm going to get through these days a lot easier now," he said.

Yeah. I feel the same. But for some reason I don't tell him, just smile and look away.

Certain parts of this are aimed at someone, and I hope they picked up on it.

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