And then I remember Lucien. He must've had my journal. These marks have to be from him. If he hadn't have walked in—no, my mind can't follow that thought any further and I shudder. I don't know what would've happened if he wouldn't have been here, and I don't want to know.
I owe my life to him.
10
Lucien
This time doesn't feel so bad. I mean, it's solitary, which mean it isn't fun, but at least this time I'm in here for a good reason. I was trying to return Kerri's journal, and good fucking thing I decided to grow a conscience. I couldn't keep that book of hers any more. That woman is like a fucking saint. Kerri. God she's too good for this place. What timing, right? I'm glad I was there to kick his ass. I couldn't let that fat bastard get away with attacking her—or worse. I'd do it all over again.
I'm sitting with my back against the door when I hear the lock unlatching and a guard walks in. I turn around to get a good look at him. From the look on his face, he's all business.
"On your feet Stone. It's time for your exam."
I do as I'm instructed and I stand up. I grimace a bit, but suck it back. I landed on my ankle wrong in yesterday's fight, and I think it’s a bad sprain. I've had this before. I hobble over to the guard with a pronounced limp and he places the handcuffs around my wrists.
"What do you think I'm going to do?" I ask. "You think I'm gonna run or put up a fight with this ankle?"
"This is protocol Stone. Save your questions and come with me."
We walk out of the cell and down the hall, and continue walking. I look at the other cell doors and wonder how many people are currently being held in solitary. We walk until we reach the infirmary. I sit in a plastic chair to take the weight off of my ankle. It feels good to be off it. It was a bigger pain in the ass getting here than I thought it'd be. And then, a few moments later, I see her in the doorway. Her hair is alight with the sun from the window and her breasts are firm and I can't stop looking at them. I tell myself to look at her face and not her tits, but I can't help it. I immediately want to reach out and touch her—to touch that red halo of hers. To let her know that she's made me want to be a better man.
"Come on in and have a seat," she says, motioning toward the room.
I walk into the exam room and I notice that she is giving me a soft smile and it's taking everything I've got to not touch her and tell her what's on my mind. I want to kiss her and breathe in her scent.
"Go head and lie back for me," she says, patting the table, and the guard takes my handcuffs off so that I can lie back. The guard then steps outside of the room and we find ourselves alone. She asks me if anything is hurt and I tell her about my ankle. I'm also careful to say that I don't think it's anything serious, but she says she wants to take a look anyways.
"Can you rotate it?" she asks, and while I can, technically, it hurts something fierce, like someone has lit a match in a gas tank. But then I feel her hands stop. They're resting on my ankle, ever so softly. She looks at me and then slowly drags her hand up my leg. I'm wondering just how high up her hands are going to go.
"You'll be okay," she says.
"What makes you so sure?" I reply. "I'm stuck in here for life. I'll never be okay with that. If I had the opportunity—another chance—if I could rewind my life—I'd do a lot differently. I've been wrongly convicted—I don't expect you to believe that because you probably hear that from men all the time in this place, but for me, it's the truth. But I've hurt people, and I've fucked a lot of things up, and those are the things I would change if I could rewind and do it all over again."
She ignores my question. "I want to thank you for yesterday—you saved my life—I owe you."
"You don't owe me anything."
"That's where you're wrong—I do."
She places one delicate finger on my lips, and rubs them softly. She then rubs the back of her hand affectionately against my cheek. The gesture is so tender. But her movements then change and I feel her once again touching my legs. She is slowly working her way to my thighs. She is letting her hands wander, and is now touching my abs—gently raking the tips of her fingers against the ridges, and then dragging them up and across my chest, stopping to swirl her finger around one of my nipples. Desire is starting to swell inside of me. I can feel it flaring through my groin. Her fingers dip down to the waistband of my pants and my cock twitches. I feel it harden in anticipation. I look at her mouth—her pink lips—and can imagine them wrapped around my cock—wet and tight. We both look at each other. We look at the doorway. There's still no guard in sight; we're in the clear, but we know our time is limited. We can read each other's thoughts without saying a word. We're treading dangerous territory; we can both be in trouble—we know that there are serious repercussions for this, but this thought only spurs us on.