The Bars That Hold Us (9 page)

I storm out of the library, leaving Saxon completely on his own, knowing full well my job is on the line if he even so much as breathes wrong.

I’m an idiot. A complete and utter idiot! For weeks now this tension between us has been brewing, despite the fact that I know and he knows it’s wrong. Not only that, the guilt
that plagues me every time I go home is unbearable. Every single time Saxon invades my head I feel like I’m cheating on Daniel. It’s fucking insane!

I dump the breakfast trays on the floor
with a bang and pace back and forth in the corridor, wondering what the hell I’m doing here. It’s obvious I’m not competent to fulfill my duties right now. I should resign, but I already know that I won’t. He keeps me here. He has unknowingly made seeing him the highlight of my day. It hasn’t been much. Just a smile or a kind word – simple things that make me realize I’m still very much alive and very much want a man in my life again. Some day.

The look on his face when those words spewed from my mouth is not something I can take back. He was hurt. More than hurt, actually. He looked devastated.
Crushed
. 

It’s hard to resolve the feelings I have for Daniel. He was taken, snatched, killed way before his time, before our time together was
ever supposed to be over. We never got our dream wedding, the honeymoon, or the kids for that matter. It’s not like we fell out of love. It just ended. Abruptly. And when that happens, you find it even harder to move on. It’s different if someone tells you they no longer love you, or want to be with you. You harden your heart and move on. But when love ends so violently, it changes everything.

I know Daniel wouldn’t want me moping around forever
; he would want me to move on. But can I? It doesn’t seem fair, that I get to be happy and live my life with someone else – the life that we planned for with each other.

Even if I can move on, how can I possibly think that any kind of relationship with Saxon is okay? It’s not. He killed someone. His jacket says manslaughter, which
I know means there is no intent, but still… How can I like someone who has the ability to take another’s life in the first place?

I pace like an animal, back and forth, frustration and the unknown rolling off me as I try to shake it off. I need to keep my head on straight and find a way forward. It’s not healthy to keep mourning Daniel forever, but who’s to say how long a person should grieve? While my mind wants to keep succumbing to the loss, my heart clearly has other ideas. It yearns to be touched; to feel something once more.
I
need to feel something again, and the only person who has made me feel anything since Daniel’s death is standing on the other side of the library door, doing time for a crime I can’t condone.

Maybe it’s been that long since I’ve experienced the touch of another, that what I’m feeling is purely physical.
I can’t deny that there is an overwhelming physical attraction to Saxon. He’s strong, fit and certainly easy on the eye. But it’s more than that, and I know it. When he looks into my eyes, he doesn’t just see the broken me. It’s like he’s reading a code that tells all my secrets, fears, hopes and wishes. I can see it in the way he responds to me. That’s not all, though. He saved me. He gave up his security among other prisoners to make sure that I wasn’t brutally raped by two of Silverwater’s most dangerous rapists. His actions that day showed me he genuinely cares, that he’s willing to put others before himself.

My strong reaction to him almost kissing me is inexcusable. Guard or not, I didn’t need to resort to methods of degradation just to make him back off. I could have stated my position quite clearly and he would have
given me the space I wanted, I know. Instead, I lashed out because he was getting too close to my defenses. If I let him in, there’s no turning back. The minute I give him access to my heart, I know that the finality of Daniel’s death will hit home. I’ll fall apart completely.

But
… I can’t leave things like this. I need to apologize, to explain. He may be a prisoner, a convicted felon, but he’s not without feeling, that much I can tell. I leave the trays on the floor and head back into the library. The door sucks back into a secure locked position behind me, the beep of the magnetic lock sounding as it does. The air is still, no telltale signs of my loud outburst. The tall book shelves block Saxon from view, but I know he’s here. The wet sticking sound of his paint roller gives him away. He’s in the back and I’m going to have to go to him.

My heart is beating rapidly. As much as my head has plans, my heart has other ideas. His back is to me, his shirt
tucked into the waistband of his pants, and he’s working the roller like it was the one who personally offended him. He’s angry, I can tell. I don’t want him to be angry. I want him to be happy while he’s here, because I’ve seen the difference when I take him back to his cell. He retreats back into himself, watching and wary of others. There’s no mistaking his high spirits when he gets let out each morning to come to the library and, if I’m honest, I feel the same way.

I watch him for a minute, knowing that I should be careful, but wanting to throw complete caution to the wind and tell him how I really feel instead of hiding behind cruel words intended to push him away from my fragile state.

‘Saxon?’

He doesn’t pause. Either he didn’t hear me or he’s ignoring the crap out of me.

‘Saxon? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said, I just…’

‘You’re not the only one who’s hurting, you know.’ His voice is even tempered. There is no malice at all
, just a monotone account of the facts.

‘I know,’ I whisper. ‘I’m sorry.’ He stops his painting and puts down the brush slowly, no wasted effort in his movements. He turns, little trickles of sweat running down his chest from his angered exertion just moments ago.
He takes a step towards me. Despite the fact that I hold all of the power, it is he who is the one who controls. With his finger, he lifts my chin up to look him in the eye, green pools of annealed hurt meeting my pleading stare.

‘I may be in here, Mercy, but it’s not because I don’t care about other people. I do. I fucked up. I made a mistake, one that I’d probably make a million times over
again even though I feel guilty as shit for wishing that I never did what I did. I killed a man, because I valued my brother’s life over his. It wasn’t meant to end in death. It was one punch. Am I sorry? Hell yes. I wish I could take it all back. I did what I did because I felt my brother’s life was in jeopardy. Believe me when I tell you that I pray for forgiveness every day, but I can’t take back what happened. I just need to hope that one day my family, and everyone else who matters, find it in their hearts to forgive me.’

His brow is crinkled with a frown, his disquiet clear for me to see.

‘I may be a prisoner, Mercy, but I’m no criminal.’

He steps in closer, his heat radiating towards me. My mouth parts, slack with want for him. I want to shush him and tell him that things will get better, but I’d be lying if I did. So far I haven’t been that successful in digging myself out of the black hole I’ve been in either.

He goes to reach for me then withdraws his hands just as suddenly. His retraction hurts me. I don’t want him to do that. I want him to touch me. I want to feel something other than miserable. I need him to take all my pain and hurt away, regardless of the consequences.

Ever so slowly, I reach for his
hands and bring them to my face. He lets me, but his eyes are full of questions—too many to be answered all at once.

The warmth of his skin sears my cold cheeks
, bringing comfort and a burning desire to have him hold me against his body. He doesn’t. He remains inert, not willing to give himself away as easily this time.

The sexual tension between us is crazy. You could light a match right now and the fireworks would be amazing.
He weighs me up for a second before finally speaking.

‘You’re gonna have to ask me this time, sweetheart.’ His voice is so husky and low, I’m straining to hear the words as they roll off his smooth lips. I don’t need to ask what he means. The way he’s biting his lip and devouring me with his eyes is enough to tell me exactly what he intends to do, if only I’d give him the green light.

I know that right now, I can’t think about the future, the ramifications, the danger or the consequences – to my heart or my job. All I know is that my body and soul are living in the moment and right now, I know exactly what I want.

‘Kiss me.’

He doesn’t even wait for me to change my mind before crushing his lips against my own. His kiss is passionate and fierce, no holding back. His hands drop from my face to my ass, pulling my whole body tight against his own. His tongue finds mine, desperately seeking more than I bargained on giving him.

We melt into each other, discovering the boundaries of our mouths with fevered lips. I can’t help myself when I grab the back of his head with my hands, frantic for more purchase and needing every bit he has to offer me right now. He responds willingly, kissing me with a desperation that won’t be sated any time soon.

I forget we’re in a prison. We could be anywhere. The only thing that gives me a rude awakening to our surroundings is the distant hum of a door as it buzzes open with a security card. Someone has just gained access to the corridor that leads to the library. We have company.

We break apart, panting heavily from the kiss. I don’t know who’s on their way down here, but we’re both going to have to wipe the
fevered looks off our faces before they make an appearance or we’re both going to have some explaining to do.  

We were lucky that warden Haylock didn’t catch us while our lips were locked in what had to be the steamiest kiss of my life. Despite her sadness, this woman had the ability to give that insanely hot moment to me. Sure, she only had to cut me down at the knees before bringing me back up to the heavens, but fuck it was worth it.

What shit me off was the fact that we weren’t left alone for the rest of the day and
, with the weekend following, it has taken until today for me to get the opportunity to speak with her about our very electric connection.

I want her to know that she can trust me; that she doesn’t need to worry about me talking to anyone about what happened between us.

I want to be ready for her when she comes to get me. There’s still a lot of painting to get through and my brain is running overtime with all the daydreaming I’m doing. You can imagine my surprise then when Victor rocks up to my jail cell.

‘Hey
, Chief, what’s happening?’

‘I’ve come to get you to take you to the library so you can start work.’

I look around him, trying to see if I can spot Mercy anywhere.

‘Problem?’ he asks me.

‘No… is Officer Cole not coming today?’

He grins as me, as though I should get in line like the rest of the schmucks who are drooling after her.

‘She’s sick today. Come on, let’s get moving.’ It’s all he’s going to offer me and I can’t delay the inevitable. I follow him out of F Block and along the corridors towards the library.

It’s exactly as I left it on Friday. While I mix the paint and get the brushes ready, my head starts to run into overdrive. She’s sick? I wonder absently what’s
wrong with her, but my thoughts soon spiral. Is it me? Is she avoiding me because of our kiss?

I try and ignore the niggling thoughts that occupy my thinking while I get to work on the walls.

Vic doesn’t offer me coffee, biscuits or good conversation. He reads some titty magazine while I work steadily away with the roller. He doesn’t look up once, happy to ignore me and my sorry existence of a life.

By lunchtime my shoulders are sore and my neck muscles are starting to cramp from looking upwards for the better part of the day. I need a break, and I guess
I’m the guy to suggest it since the guard seems quite content to sit on his ass all day and do nothing.

‘Hey
, Chief, any chance I can break for lunch?’ I say, putting the roller down. He lazily looks at his watch.

‘Shit, that went fast. You’ve probably missed the lunch service, but we’ll head on over anyway and get the kitchen to
make you up a plate,’ he concedes.

Relieved, I follow him out of the library towards the industrial kitchen. As we pass down the long connecting hallway that links the buildings, I get a good view of the pen outside. Inmates are out and about, exercising or catching the weak, winter sun and making the most of their scheduled rec time.

My eyes flit from inmate to inmate until they finally rest on the familiar figure of one of the guards. Vic realizes I’ve stopped walking and turns to see what my hold up is.

‘Are you coming?’

‘Yeah. Hey, Chief, I thought you said that officer Cole wasn’t in house today?’

‘That’s what I was told, Miles.’

‘So what’s she doing on rec duty then?’

He comes back to where I’m looking out of the window and stares at the guards on duty.

‘Your guess is as good as mine. Now let’s get moving before you miss out on chow altogether.’

I can tell he’s saying this more for his own benefit than my own. Some of the guards here actually like the prison food, but I’m guessing that’
s only the ones who live alone or whose wives are seriously bad cooks.

Reluctantly I leave with more questions than I had this morning. When we enter the meal hall we’re greeted by silence and the smell of boiled meat. It’s not at all like
ma’s cooking. Instead it resembles dog food and hot Weet-Bix.

‘Sit there,’ Vic commands, while he goes off in search of a meal for the both of us.

Judging by Mercy’s appearance outside, it’s clear she’s been at work all day. So why didn’t she want to see me today? Is she embarrassed? Have regrets? Finally get some sense about her and realize that nothing good can come from falling for a crim? All scenarios lead to disappointment for me. I don’t want her to regret a single second of that kiss we shared. I only want her to want more. More of me, more of us.

Vic slaps a tray down in front of me. The food on it looks like something my dog ate and threw up
—that is if I had a dog, of course. I look at him questioningly, hoping he can shed some light on what I’m about to ingest.

‘Meatloaf, mash, vegetables and
rice pudding,’ he grins.

‘Settle down, Chief. You almost look happy.’

‘It beats going hungry.’

‘You don’t look like you’re starving,’ I say, looking pointedly at his stomach. He rubs it and smiles.

‘It’s winter. I’m storing.’

‘Uh-huh.’

He leaves me alone while I sift my way through the slop on my plate. I only barely manage to eat half of it, not nearly as keen as he is to eat the unidentifiable mess.

I thought today would be fun. It’s a horrible thing to be so reliant on another’s company, because when it’s taken away, you feel nothing but misery. I wanted to see her, because she’s the only light in an otherwise dark day. I needed to see her, because she ignites such passion in me that I can’t control. There is reciprocation, I know it, yet I still can’t help wondering why she is doing this
—why she’s distancing herself from me. More like, I just don’t want to confront the reality of her choices.

I don’t want her running scared because it reaffirms every single self-depreciating thought I have. Mo
st would believe I’m not worthy but, for just a moment in time, she thought I was. She was interested in me; she wanted to kiss me just as much as I wanted to kiss her. Without even realizing it, I bang my fist on the table.

‘Oi! Knock that off,’ grumbles Vic, as though it
’s too late in the day to deal with me if I’m about to go off the rails.

‘Sorry.’

I am sorry. Sorry that Mercy doesn’t want anything to do with me.

Vic’s radio chatter is enough to end the five-star lunch we’re having.

‘That’s us done. I’ve got to get you back to lock-up so I can help with parole hearings in D block.’ He offers no apology, but by now I don’t give a shit anyway. I’m done with the dog food and I think I can wait until dinner to be disappointed all over again.

We make our way back to my cell
. The halls are eerily quiet with the absence of inmates. I may have missed rec time, but I don’t think that would be the place for a confrontation with Mercy. Somehow I get the feeling that I wouldn’t have been able to resist had she been standing within meters of me.

Locked up and nothing to do, I feel now is a good time to make a kite. No, not the play-thing
, it’s a note. I don’t want her to think I’m begging, but… yeah, okay, I’m begging her to come back and watch me because it’s the only thing that makes me feel even remotely like my old self again.

I need to tell her exactly how I feel without scaring her away for good.

Dear Mercy,

I missed you today. It’s because of me, I know. You can pretend all you like
—that you’re sick or whatever, but we both know the truth, even if you aren’t willing to admit it to yourself.

I’m going to make this easy on you. We can go back to how we were – you my guard, me your prisoner. If that’s what you want? We can pretend it never happened and
I promise I’ll never touch you in that way again. Or even look at you, unless you ask me to.

But I need to confess to you that I’m miserable without you. I know that sounds pathetic but
, in an otherwise bleak and mundane existence, you’re the sunshine amongst the cloudy storm. You make five hours seem like five minutes. Please don’t take that away from me when all I have is time.

I know things are complicated
—for both of us. If there’s one thing I can say to reassure you, it’s that you have the upper hand here. It’s weak, but it’s all I have to offer you when I’ve nothing else to give.

I could say that there is nothing I want more than to rewind a few days and take it all back. I’d be lying.
Maybe you just need a friend…

Can you forgive me if I’ve overstepped the mark?

The last thing I want to do is put you in a compromising position. I know there’s a lot at stake with your job, although I’m selfish enough to admit I’d risk it all.

Can you forgive me for wanting you the way I do?

Saxon.

When I’ve finished writing, I wrap the kite with sticky
-tape, making sure to fold it up as small as possible. The loud chatter of rough voices coming back from the yard are enough warning to the fact that my fellow house mates are returning from their outdoor rec time.

I watch from my ba
rs as they file into their cages. I pay particular attention to a cell on the opposite side of the block. There are two inmates who keep squaring me off. I know they were part of the gang rape crew who were convicted along with the two assholes I beat up in the shower block a couple of weeks ago. They look like they want to rip me a new one. I say, come and try. I’m not afraid of rapists. Killers, maybe, but soft-cocks relying on numbers to subdue and overpower a woman to steal what isn’t theirs to take in the first place, no.

With all the indifference I can muster, I stare them out until they turn their backs on me and retreat onto their bunks. I’m going to have to watch out for them, I know that now. It’ll only be a matter of time before they
come looking for some retribution.

From where I’m standing I can see one of the prisoners slowly making his way down the linoleum with a mop and bucket. I’ve seen him on many occasions and occasionally swapped contraband with him for
favors. His name’s Jessop and he’s doing time for armed robbery. Hard to imagine the old guy with a gun in his hands, but there you have it.

I watch as he makes his way towards me. He notices me standing at the edge of my cell long before he arrives. His eyes are calculating, w
eighing up prisoners and guards. I’d say he’s a smart man, although not enough obviously because he’s here doing time instead of living it up in the Bahamas with dough to last him a lifetime and a hooker young enough to be his daughter.

When he finally arrives, he scans my cell while the mopping continues. Whether
he’s in search of a new arrival or contraband, I can’t rightfully say. The wrinkles around his eyes tell me he doesn’t have all the time in the world – not like the rest of us younger crims. So I get right to the point.

‘Can I trust you
, Jessop?’

‘Th
at would be a fair assumption, mister.’

‘I’d like to think I can.’

‘I think I’ve proven that since we started our business relationship.’ His voice sounds old and scratchy, like he’s done far too much talking over the years.

‘Good. I need a
favor.’

‘I see, and what kind of
favor would that be?’