Broken Rules - Phan

Part 18

Five minutes can be a long time. Five minutes can go in the blink of an eye or drag on to the point of no return. When I was sitting in that dingy room, with the smell of damp dogs pushing up my nose, the feel of a soft cushion beneath me and the sound of piercing silence powering through both of my ears, five minutes lasted forever.

The walls were plastered with posters, and where there weren't posters, there was peeled wallpaper with curled, crusty edges. The room was dismal, like a starving lion that is trying to keep its hopes up. It was once bright, alive and bold, but then, when I was there, it was like a dog left out in the cold and dark rainy night.

Five minutes left. The lady behind the glass shrunk in her chair and slumped her head into her hands. The black nail polish on her fingertips was bitty and the rings on her finger had lost their silver shine. She looked like she'd been regal once, the bags under her eyes had been covered with concealer and the birdnest of hair had once been a black cascading waterfall. Her green eyes had once been full of vitality, but they had seen so many things. Her East Asian skin had probably been plump and sun kissed, but now, now it looked like it was tinted with jaundice.

Four minutes. I imagined her backstory, her heart belonging to an inmate. Him promising her the entire world with the small price of escape. He told her he wanted to be with her. Touch her skin under the pale moonlight and sing her to sleep under the stars. Deep in her mind, she knew it was so wrong, deep in her heart a part of her knew it wasn't going to happen and yet she still did it. And now she was so low, even her thoughts, her mind, was against her. She knew that makeup could not hide her self-loathing, clean and glossy hair could not bask the bad thoughts that riddled her, expensive perfume couldn't hide the smell of disappointment and desperation and designer clothes couldn't cover the cracks in her heart.

Three minutes. The man next to me was letting his knee jump up and down. With his face plastered with worry, I wondered what had caused the scar on his left cheek. It ripped from the top of his ear down to tear the corner of his mouth. He was, in many ways, like a swan. Apart from his skin being very dark, his form was orderly and graceful. He was lanky, but his arms and legs had place and purpose. His cheekbones were striking, his face hollow but beautiful. His white shirt was pressed and undone at the top. His whole head was hairless and I couldn't spot a hair on his arms either.

Two minutes. I thought about the scar, why he was here and spun him a backstory too. Drugs. I imagined that his partner was in here, his best friend. Better yet, a love interest. He'd tried to push the old clients away, saying that he was a changed man and the inmate had changed his perspective on the drug industry. But they weren't listening, they grew hungry for the hit they needed, the hit that brought them to life. Some found other people, seeking their daily fix from other venders, all but one. He was aggressive, he grew hostile. Knew that scar was the only guy who could give him the purest powder available. So he threatened him. Threatened him with a line thick across his face, thick like the line of cocaine he so very needed.

One minute. He had to tell the inmate he was done. He would die. He had to tell him that he's always been too afraid to tell him how he really felt. That the drugs were no match for the rush he got with him. That his immanent death was creeping up and that he would miss him so much. The reaction would be hard to gage; a cocktail of emotion ripping through him. But, nevertheless, scar would be pushed away to die. With no hope, love or promise left to his name. Little did he know the inmate was so fuelled with revenge and love that his name would not go unheard...

"Philip Michael Lester," the drone of a voice called me up and I handed her the paperwork I'd been fiddling with for five minutes. "Booth 3," I gave her a small smile, letting my dimple creep out. But she looked down at the floor, her eyes filled with fatigue and her heart ninety percent glue.

I had been so wrapped up in distractions that I had completely ignored the situation at hand. In other words: I hadn't the faintest fucking idea what I was going to say. My hands were shaking and my forehead was sweating. But I knew the words would come when I saw him. I knew what had to be done. And yet, as soon as I saw the blob of black hair sticking up in booth 3, I couldn't help but smile.

~~~~~~~

Next chapter is the end.
This is the penultimate chapter
Holy fuck
Wowzer