Stories From The 6 Train 1(189)

"This is not the man I fell in love with."

And like a real ass I just shrug my shoulders. I figure the more I can piss her off, the better it'll be on her. Maybe she'll hate me enough to finally leave. The quicker she realizes this is over, the better. She can move on with her life and I can go on with worrying about covering my own ass in this shitty place.

"I don't know what you're up to, and I almost hate to admit this, but I'm not some switch that can be turned off and on. Maybe you are, but that's not me. I still think you have a chance of getting out of this place. We can make a life together."

No sooner do these words leave her mouth that I see the pain in her face. Tears are forming at the corners of her eyes and it takes everything in me to not reach out to her—to touch her—to hold her, and run my fingers through her hair. But instead of doing that I double down and tell her she's wrong.

She takes a step back and trips on the strap of her purse slightly, and kicks it out of her way. She turns her back to me; I can tell she's crying and wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt. And as her back is turned, I look down at the floor and my gaze lands on her purse. From where I'm sitting, I can look straight into it and at first, I'm not sure if what I'm seeing is what I think it is. I strain and lean in closer, moving quickly before she turns back around and catches me. Then I see it again—sitting right there on top of everything—and this time I know exactly what I'm looking at.

My suspicions are correct. The black and white square piece of paper that I'm looking at—the one with a grainy image that resembles the shape of an oversized gummy bear—it's an ultrasound photo. There's no doubt about it, and with this realization my heart catches in my throat and my stomach just about crashes to the floor. My head is like a car racing around a track a hundred miles an hour, and just when I think I'm going to get dizzy from it all and maybe pass out right here and crash on the linoleum—right in front of Kerri—it hits me.

I now know what I need to do.





Kerri





"You probably know why I've summoned you both in here," the Warden says, tapping his pen against his desk and looking at Lucien and I. He raises it for a moment, using it to scratch at the stubble on his pudgy face. I feel like I'm suddenly under a microscope.

"No, I don't," I respond, shaking my head. There's no way I'm falling for that. That's the oldest trick in the book—getting coerced into admitting something that hasn't even been defined. I look over at Lucien. He's sitting to my right and won't lift his gaze from the floor. He's refusing to look at the Warden, or me, and I find it suspicious. There are red flags all over this meeting and I'm struggling with the internal dread that's starting to blanket my insides.

"I don't have time for games, Warden. If you'll excuse me, I have a lot of appointments today and I'd like to get back to work."

"I'm afraid that's not possible," the Warden says, this time pointing his square-tipped finger in my direction. It feels like a hostile gesture. "We are terminating your employment."

"I don't understand," I say, even though the picture is starting to form in my mind. "Lucien, what's he talking about?" I turn to Lucien—my eyes pleading with him—begging him to tell me that this is all a dream—that he isn't a part of this conspiracy. Except that's not what happens at all. Instead, he lifts his head and says, "It's for the best." His eyes are vacant and devoid of emotion.

"What's that suppose to mean?" I ask.

The Warden cuts us off. "Kerri, I have head management on the phone—it's on speaker." As he says this, I look at the black headset on his desk. He continues, "We have reason to believe that you've been having sexual relations with this inmate, Lucien Stone. That is in direct violation of this facility's code of ethics and conduct, and we have no choice but to remove you from the premises and terminate your employment."

"You have no proof—you can't do this—"

"Actually, we can. Mr. Stone has told us everything."

Hearing this, I look at Lucien. When he refuses to make eye contact with me, I know it's true. I haven't felt this level of betrayal since the afternoon I found Jonathan fucking another woman in our bed. Everything I've worked for over these last six months—my independence, career, stability—suddenly feels like it's slipping through my fingers. What am I supposed to do? I'm now jobless and pregnant with this man's baby—a man who has betrayed me and is serving a life sentence behind bars. Would things be different if he knew I was pregnant? If I were able to tell him, would we be sitting here? I'm not sure if it can get much worse at this point, and honestly, I'm scared shitless. Why do I continually put myself in bad situations?