I can see it in her eyes. She feels something too. Maybe I should end it all now and do us both a favor. By getting involved with her, I am opening her up to all kinds of bullshit. All it takes is for someone to snitch this out to Billy and the gang—and believe me, word travels faster than you can blink—and they wouldn't hesitate to hunt her down. I don't want to put her in that kind of danger. From the looks of her journal, she's dealing with enough shit in her life. She doesn’t need to add more.
But all of these rational thoughts disappear when I step closer to her and breath in her scent. All of a sudden, I find that I can't shut the fuck up because she's so hot.
"Are you a camera?" I ask, and then almost kick myself for being so predictable, but it's too late; I've got to go with it.
"What are you talking about?"
"I just ask because darlin' every time I look at you I smile."
"Is that the best you've got?" she says.
"Oh believe me, I'm just getting started."
I can see that's making her smile, and it spurs me on.
"No wonder the sky is grey today because all of the blue is in your eyes."
"Are you in the habit of meeting women in dark alcoves and throwing your cheesiest pick up lines at them?"
"Nah, just one woman in particular."
I can see her blush for a moment, but then the look on her face grows serious and she says, "I'm glad you showed up."
I wait for her to say more but she doesn't. I keep my eyes locked on hers and for a moment there is just the two of us, and silence. I gently reach out and touch a curl of her hair and her cheek with my fingers. The tenderness of the moment makes me open up. "I had a life outside of here, you know. I wasn't always this person in an ugly khaki jumpsuit, believe it or not. I'm not saying I've ever been perfect—sure, I've fucked up plenty, and I've made more mistakes than I'd like to admit, but I want to be a better man. You make me want to be a better man. If I was half the saint you are—"
"Let me stop you right there. I'm not a saint."
"Oh sure, because normal people would stop and give their last hundred dollar bill to the homeless man sitting on the street corner? I don't think so."
"How did you know about that?"
"I read your journal—and look, before you yell at me about that—I get it. I never should've taken it from you. I'm sorry. See, I told you I've made mistakes, and that was one of them. That's why I brought it back."
"So, why exactly are you in this place?"
This question takes me by surprise. I wasn't expecting her to ask me about this—I thought maybe she'd go on about that private journal of hers and what an ass I am, but no, she's not, and I'm not sure how to answer her. She's throwing me in the deep end. I mean, what should I say—do I just come out and casually say, darlin' I'm in her for a double murder? I'm sure she'd take one last look at me and run the hell out of here. But I want to be honest. I lean against the wall, resigned to it all. I realize that I have to be honest because now is my chance, and I exhale deeply before continuing.
"I've said it before, but I'm innocent—not innocent of being a bad man at times—but innocent of the charge that has me in here for life. It was a setup. I was framed for murder, and there isn't a day that goes by that I don't wish I would've been in a different place that night. The sounds, the images, the people—it all haunts me. I never should've been involved with that gang, and I shouldn't have been in that apartment."
She reaches out and puts her hand on my arm. It's a soft touch, but for the first time, I feel like there might be a person in the world who believes me.
"Did you have a wife back then?"
"Never been married—was always too much of a coward to put a ring on anyone's finger."
"I see—well, maybe marriage isn't all that it's cracked up to be anyways. I've learned that the hard way with a man once."
"You've been married?"
"No, but almost. We were engaged—it was a mistake to say the least."
"And what happened?"
"Let's just say I came home and saw something I never imagined seeing before and that was it. It was over."
"That man's an idiot to lose someone like you."
She laughs. "I guess he didn't get that memo."
Despite her laughter, I see the sadness in her eyes, and everything I thought about walking away from this woman goes out the door. I want her, no doubt about it. I slide my hand to the nape of her neck, and lightly grab onto her hair and pull her close. "Your lips are looking kind of lonely," I say.
She is so close to me now that I can breathe in the floral scent of her perfume. It's light and airy and reminds me of summer—of times spent outside of these four concrete walls—of never ending blue skies and open roads. Her hair is brushing against my face and all of my senses are heightened. My lips are now near her perfectly kissable mouth, but I'm hovering a couple of inches away. I can feel her anticipating my next move and I whisper, "Would they like to meet mine?"