Scanadlous(106)

"Grab 'em!" one guard yells, and I watch as they are both handcuffed and dragged out of the room, a trail of blood following them out the door.

"Kerri! Kerri! Oh my god, what happened?" another guard asks, rushing to my side.

"I'm okay," I say. "I'm shaken, but I'm okay. I was assaulted—inmate Stone came to my aid."

"Let's get you checked," he says, but I shake my head.

"There's no need—honest. I just want to go home."

The residual fumes from the mace are still hanging in the air and my eyes begin to water. It looks like I'm crying but it's from the intense, lingering burn. I wipe them with shirtsleeve and as I do this, I look at the ground and I see something blue out of the corner of my eye—my journal. How did it get on the ground? I know it wasn't there earlier. I rush over and scoop it up, quickly thumbing through the pages to see if everything is still intact and my eyes land on a page. I see marks that are clearly not mine. In thick pencil, two words have been circled over and over—The Alcove.

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.





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."