I back up, stumbling into the closed door, hoping to put some space in between us so I can think clearly. Amused, he looks me over, before his dark gaze catches mine. I gulp, and just like the first time I saw him, I am unable to look away. The space is not helping anything. The slight danger I see in his dark eyes sends a thrill down my spine. My eyes move from him to the corner where a guard could come charging around at any moment.
"Don't worry about that, Affie, we'll have a minute," he says waving his hand, as if we aren't inside a prison that he's a resident of. "Or do you want them to come? Are you scared of me even after you told me you thought I was innocent?"
My breath catches, as I try to form a response in my muddled brain. I try to recall what the question was. Am I scared of him? That's it. I'm scared of what I feel about him and what he does to me, but am I scared of him because of what he supposedly did? The horrific photos of Grace move across my mind in a slideshow. If I'm wrong, and he did do that, how could he have stabbed someone he loves thirty nine times? I swallow, before answering honestly.
"Slightly."
A shout sounds from the distance, and I determine it to be from the centre of the prison, where all of the inmates are currently going their separate ways. A few seconds later, the familiar sounds of a fight start up and the guards call at them to stop immediately. Soon, if it doesn't stop, the guards will interfere and the inmates fighting will subsequently be put in the hole.
I clutch onto my keys tighter, I shoot a look to the corner, not worried about guards walking around it, but the inmates. If a riot happens, the protocol is to lock the corridor down by the electronic door at the entrance. A guard in a control centre on one of the many tiers will press a button when he sees or hears of a threat. As Roman had changed where the offices are when he became warden; they had to specifically install safety measures. However, Roman will not allow the door to stay closed at all times for better security, as he feels that he has control over them and they would never try anything. Instead, he opts for it to be monitored at all points. This is why it is so unexpected to see Nixon here; he would have had to get past the guards.
Nixon's eyes hold amusement as he surveys me, before he makes a noise.
"Hm."
My heart starts to beat even faster, what does that mean? His hand comes up to me, and I see the bandages wrapped around his knuckles, a band-aid at the top of his hand. His calloused fingers reach forward to brush the piece of hair that had fallen from behind my ear. I flinch internally as I expect a blow to land on my face, not having time to be embarrassed by the situation.
"No one should hurt such a beautiful being," he murmurs, bringing his hand back down to his side. He sounds like he's saying his thoughts aloud, but I guess in prison you get used to your own company. I swallow, trying to reduce the blush in my cheeks, deciding to ignore it.
"What happened?" I ask motioning to the band-aid on his hand.
"Cut myself in shop earlier."
"Oh," is the only sound able to come out of my mouth, as I think what to say next. Do I tell him to leave? Do I want him to? I know what I really want to ask him, but will he find it weird that someone that he barely knows wants to prove his innocence?
"I..." I begin not knowing how to start. I take a moment to put together what I want to say before continuing. "Yesterday, I went down to New York City to see a friend in the police force. I said you were innocent because I thought that you are, but I wanted to do my own checks and then see where that led me. If you're innocent, I would help you get out of here. No one deserves to be locked up if they're not guilty, so I got the case file for Grace's..." I am cut off by the angry voice of Nixon.
"Why? Why would you do that?" I falter for a moment.
"Because I want to prove your innocence." He steps back from me, his eyes holding a mixture of anger and hurt.
"I don't need your help," he says angrily. We're both silent for a minute, allowing us to hear the sounds of the fight.
"You bastard!" is shouted, followed by the sounds of a commotion. My guess is that the guards are trying to hold the two offenders apart. I look to the bend in the corridor, suddenly aware of how exposed we are. When I look back to Nixon, he is also looking to the corner.
"I need to go," he says not looking back to me, his voice still holding some anger. He turns and begins to stride down the corridor. Not wanting him to be upset or angry with me, I run after him trying to give him an explanation.
"Nixon!" I call as I round the corridor, only to find that he has already disappeared into the throng of inmates. I groan, feeling angry with myself. I never should have told him. I look down at the keys in my hands as I turn to walk back to my office.
"Ah, DeeDee, you're back," I hear Doug say as he walks up behind me. I let the keys dangle from my fingers as I turn back to him, a forced smile on my face. I like Doug, but not when I'm acting as his assistant. He's a bald, older man, which can be seen by the wrinkles scattered around his face. His blue eyes always hold a happiness that I envy, especially as he's a married man with kids. I wish that happiness was evident in my life. He always smells of cigarettes, and you can tell he's an avid smoker by his yellow fingernails. His suit is pulled tightly over his plump figure, marked with patches, as if he's owned it for years and refuses to throw it away.
"What can I do for you Doug?" I inquire.
"Are you OK?" he asks, his eyes narrowing as they take in my face.
"Yes, just worried about Roman," I lie.
Nixon's hurt and angry face flashes into my mind causing me to shake my head slightly, trying to get rid of it. He's just an inmate in the prison I work at, it shouldn't be affecting me as much as it is. Yes, he's extremely handsome, and yes he's the first person to notice things about me that no one else has, but he's in prison and I'm married. I guess we're not that different at all. Both of us are unhappy about our situation, and want out. I've only known him for a week, and don't really know much about him, but it feels like I've known him longer and am drawn to him.
Someone snaps their fingers in front of my face, causing me to jolt.
"Yes, sorry?" I ask. Doug chuckles.
"I said that I'm sure Roman will be fine." I nod in agreement, as I bite my lip. Tomorrow, Piper is meant to come over, but is Roman going to insist that she stay away if he's still ill? I hope not, as I don't want to cancel on her. "Well, I need you to write a letter while I dictateiHis it."
I sigh as Doug moves around me and back towards the offices, hoping for it to be a short letter, but knowing it won't be.
With one last look at the armory in the middle of the now empty epicenter, I follow Doug to the boring task of writing a letter. At least with Doug, my mistakes won't be taken out on me.
Here you go! The next one will be up on Wednesday again! :) Sorry for the weird update times and the delay as this was meant to be up on Friday! I have been super busy lately trying to sort some things out. ;)
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The Bars Between Us
RomanceAphrodite Stevens' marriage is in a mess already. Her husband, Roman, is no longer the same person she fell in love with, she struggles to see her friends and family, and the house she wants to love has turned into a prison, much like the one across...