Stories From The 6 Train 1(168)

"Yes and no," I said.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that I might have a soft spot for an inmate, but not for the one who attacked me."

"Get the fuck out of here! You have to be joking. Please tell me you're joking, Ker."

"I wish I were, but I'm not. I'm serious as a heart attack."

I could hear her let out a long breath. "Well, shit. Who is he? He's hot isn't he? I can tell by the way your voice just went up an octave."

"It did not go up an octave," I say, rolling my eyes and thankful she can't see the warm flush creeping across my face. Maybe I'm just feeling warm from the wine.

"Just admit it," she prodded again.

"He's hot for a convict, okay? He's a little rough around the edges and I know he's not someone I should be falling for, but seeing him lying there on the exam table—"

Brie cut me off. "Wait—so you've seen him naked and sized up the whole package?"

"Well, I—uh, I may have done a little more than that."

"Shut up! You fucked this man?"

"No, no, no! I didn't mean that—I mean, he saved me from being attacked, and of course I've had to examine him, and—you know what? Never mind. Let's pretend I never mentioned it."

A warm flush spread across my entire body as I remembered him laying there, his chiseled abs like mini mountain ranges just begging to be explored—and my hand on his— I cut the memory short when I realize I still have Brie on the phone. I shift uncomfortably on the couch when I realize that the thought of him is sending an electric jolt right between my legs.

Brie laughs. "Whatever you say. Just don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Now that's funny. Brie changes men as often as most people change shoes. Every season, she has a new flavor.

"Don't worry. Nothing will come of this. He's serving a life sentence, and I know that anything we do will put my job in jeopardy."

"Oh god, a life sentence? What is he, a murderer?"

"Well, he says he didn't do it."

"Wait, let me stop you right there. Do you hear yourself, Ker? This man is serving a life sentence for murder and you're willing to overlook that just because he's hot? I don't know what's going on, but now I am more convinced than ever that you need to get the hell out of there. Come to me."

"Thanks, girl—you know I appreciate it. I'll give it some thought, okay?"

Brie decided that answer was sufficient for now and we both promised to keep in touch before we hung up.

My mind snaps back to the present. Maybe Brie is right. Maybe a change of scenery would do me some good. And why am I allowing myself to get hung up on an inmate? The old me would have never done something like this. But this man is different—I swear there is an intensity and—despite what he is incarcerated for—a gentle honesty about him. And I have no idea where I would be right now if he hadn't have walked in on my attacker. For that I owe him.

I look at the clock and see that it's time for me to take my lunch break. I grab my bag and decide to head to the Alcove. At least there I can get lost in my thoughts and not worry about anyone finding me. When I get there, I find that I am still so conflicted. I should leave. There's no use hanging on to something that does not have a future. Shit. Why does this have to be so hard? I dig in my bag for a pack of cigarettes. I'm not a smoker, but I keep a pack for emergencies—situations where nothing else will calm my nerves. I look around, making sure no one is nearby and I flick the lighter on, inhaling until I see the orange glow. The smoke fills my lungs and I lean back into the wall. I exhale, and bat away a cloud of blue with a wave of my hand—I don't want anyone to see me. I close my eyes but the feel the presence of another person and quickly open them again. There's no one in front of me, but when I look to my left, I see a silhouette. It's an inmate standing at a distance. His eyes are looking at me intently and there's a palpable intensity in the gaze. He steps closer—slowly at first, unsure of what to say or how to approach me. I put my cigarette out and tuck my bag under my arm. He's now close enough to touch me and I see that it's Lucien Stone.





Lucien





As I approach, I open my mouth to speak to her, except that I don't. Nothing comes out. I'm not sure why I don't just say what's on my mind—that something about her drives me wild, that I think she's the most beautiful woman I've ever fucking seen. No, I guess that's not true. I do know why I'm not saying these things; it's because this is the first time in years—or, maybe ever—that I've cared this much about a woman. Unbelievable, right? I don't know—I guess I feel like I need to protect her. From what? Besides the assholes in this place, I don't really know.