Jailbait(7)

5





Kerri





I stare at the grey tiled floor and notice it's the color of stone. I look at the chair at my desk. It's also the color of stone. Chiseled, grey, and distant. Why is everything around me reminding me of Lucien Stone? I know what you're thinking, but the answer is no. I'm not one to develop schoolgirl crushes on men I don't even know. If it's one thing I've learned, it's that men come and go and there's no sense dwelling on something so short-lived. If I sound jaded, it's because I am. Do you blame me? And besides, this man is serving a life sentence. Talk about unattainable! So why can't I get my mind off of him? He's a dangerous criminal. I know this—I've seen his paperwork—but there's something about him that doesn't seem like a cold-blooded killer. It's as if I know him, or at least recognize that there's more to him than what his paperwork says.

Maybe I'm hormonal. That has to be it. My body betrays me when my hormones fluctuate. Some women need to chart their ovulation cycles on a calendar. Not me. As soon as I start letting my guard down and thinking that Mr. Right might be the man sitting next to me, I have to put myself in check. I have to remind myself that there's no such thing as a Mr. Right. I think back to Jonathan. His smile. His strong, wide shoulders. I fell so easily into him. The way he'd walk down the street with me, putting me on the inside so that he'd be on the side of traffic. I thought he was the one. He'd even be the guy at the park who'd stop and wave to babies. He was the fairytale—that Knight riding into the frame of a movie on an all-white horse. I could picture us having a house together, the garden surrounded by a white picket fence, and maybe a few kids. And where did that get me? I'll tell you. It shattered my world. I learned the fairy tale doesn't exist.

Maybe I just need a quick hook up. A one night stand. I haven't been with a man since Jonathan. It's my lunch break so I tap my phone on and load the Tinder app I recently downloaded. Don't laugh. I never thought I'd download Tinder, let alone consider hooking up with someone from this app, but it can be hard to meet people.

I swipe through the profiles. I see a man in a full suit of armor, as if he were going to a renaissance fair. His bio reads, "I'm hoping your standards are lower than mine." Swipe left. Another man sits in front of what appears to be a math textbook. He seems to be winking at stereotypes and his caption reads, "I'm the Asian for any occasion. I enjoy math and Pokemon." Swipe left. Another man with short, cropped hair has a zoomed-in profile picture of his angry, pockmarked face. His bio reads: "I don't give a shit what you look like because I'm not that good looking." Swift left. I sigh and tap my phone off. So much for Tinder.

I look at my watch. My lunch break is nearly over. I finish my sandwich and think about Lucien again. I have an exam scheduled with him in a few minutes to check on his fracture. I need to keep my cool. Hormones be damned. I have to keep this professional.

Consistency and firmness. No small talk. A professional distance. I mutter all of these things to myself, but as soon as Lucien enters the infirmary, all of this fades and again, I'm finding myself struck by his presence. He's the kind of guy who commands a room. I can't help but feel his confidence. His gaze suggests a depth of character that goes beyond the walls of this prison.

I ask the guard to remove his handcuffs and I take a look at him and ask, "How are your shoulder and arm feeling today?"

"I've had better days."

"But would you say you're feeling any better?"

"I'd feel a whole lot better if I weren't stuck in these four walls."

"Can you move your arms for me?"

Lucien carefully lifts his arm, and slowly rotates it in a semi-circular motion. I notice that his range of motion is improving.

"I'm still in a lot of pain."

"Well, you aren't out of the woods yet," I remind him. "You'll have some discomfort for a few weeks."

"It's not discomfort, it's pain. I know the difference."

"Has your pain subsided at all?" I ask.

"Off and on, but I could use an extra aspirin."

For a moment I consider whether I should give him the extra aspirin. His fracture is healing, but he probably is still experiencing some pain to the area. There are a few pretty stringent rules regarding the amount of painkillers we can give to inmates. Most of the time it can fuel addiction, start an addiction, or be used as currency in a place like this. But I decide to give Lucien the benefit of the doubt.

"I'll give you an extra aspirin this time, but we've got to start cutting back."

"It's just an aspirin we're talking about."

"We have rules here, and I need to follow them," I remind him, but then soften my body language and tone a bit. "But I know you need it. So here you go."