I am eating my lunch when there is a knock on my office door. I swallow my mouthful before calling out for them to come in. The door opens to reveal Clayton. I grin at him.

"How can I help you?" I ask, taking another bite.

"I came down to accompany you to the visitation center, but I can see you're not ready."

My eyes widen as I look the clock on the wall by the door.

"Oh no!" I exclaim.

Ever since Roman asked me to type up the letter, he kept giving me extra pages making me lose track of time. I rush to finish the rest of my lunch, throwing the container in the trash can in the corner once I have finished. I quickly write a note to Roman, in case he comes to find me, and grab my keys before pushing past my desk. Clayton chuckles.

"I'm sure they wouldn't mind if you were a couple of minutes late," he tells me. I shrug, exiting my office.

"I don't want to keep them waiting," I inform him, as I lock the door to my office. We both start to walk down the hallway, back to the center of the prison.

"How's your head?" Clayton inquires. After I took a painkiller this morning it helped, but it's slowly started to protest again in the last half an hour.

"It's fine, sore as expected," I tell him. He gives me a worried smile, so I change the subject before he can ask any more questions of how I acquired my injury.

"Did the inmates arrive alright?"

"They did. Roman did his long speech about the rules and how they should act in his prison, like they don't already know. I had to search them, and do a check up," he enlightens me, pulling a face. I giggle.

As we get closer to the core of the prison, the loud, bustling sound of the prisoners can be heard. I look down at my watch and see that it's one in the afternoon, meaning all the prisoners are just coming back from their lunch. We step out and see the hundreds of inmates flowing out of the door and into the mess hall.

I look over them, trying to find any new faces. I don't know all the inmates by face, but I'm able to spot the new ones easily. I see a few, some of them already looking like they've settled into gangs, and a couple on the outskirts wanting to get through the day without any trouble. The orange mass starts to emit shouts and cat calls when they see me.

"Hey there, Kitty Kitty," I hear the familiar call.

I blush slightly, but continue walking. The call is followed by vulgar comments and suggestions. I roll my eyes, used to all of the things they say. I know that they mostly mean no harm, but I still feel embarrassed when they call out at me.

If I'm with Roman, when they call out, he usually overreacts and takes it out on both me, and the prisoner he saw call out. I would say that I get the worse treatment, by being beaten, but I've never been in solitary before to make the judgment. I've also heard rumors of Roman getting inmates to attack others, but have had no proof. All in all, Roman is not a great warden.

I bow my head slightly as we continue to walk; I always feel ashamed and guilty when I walk past inmates. Roman treats them badly, and I feel, being his wife, that I should control him better. I've tried before when I've seen the guards pulling them around roughly, but all I get is a statement telling me to 'stay out of his business,' even though it's my business as well.

"Are they making you uncomfortable?" Clayton asks looking at my posture and the inmates. He's always had the knack of reading me. I shake my head.

"No," I assure.

"Are you sure? Because I can get the guards to disperse them," he offers. I smile at his caring, but assure him again.

"I'm sure."

We arrive at the corridor that leads to the outside world, when Clayton lets out a beeping noise. Well, not him, but it comes from his hip where a pager is attached. He unhooks it and looks down at the small screen. He sighs, shaking his head.

"Okay, this is where I leave you. Emergency; there was a fight at lunch," he explains holding the pager up. I nod in understanding.

"Go. I'll be fine from here."

"Okay. Well, have a nice visit," he tells me, before walking back the way we came. I hear him call to the inmates as he goes.

"So, which one of you do I have to blame for making my job harder?" he jokes. The inmates respect Clayton, unlike with Roman. There are a few chuckles before a reply.

"He deserved it doc, honest."

"No one deserves being beaten to a pulp, but I'll reserve my judgment until you tell me what he did," Clayton replies.

I think one of the reasons that they like Clayton so much is that he doesn't judge or treat them differently. His sense of humor might help as well. Smiling, I turn back around and continue on my way.

*^*^*

After going through security again, and signing in with the name of the prisoner I am visiting, I am led into the visitation centre. Inmates sit there, phones pressed to their ears as they talk to loved ones or lawyers, a thick screen of glass separating them.

The guard points to a chair, telling me, "He'll be out in a minute. I'll be outside if you need me."

I thank him, and sit down in the chair. Moments later the door at the end of the room opens and he comes out. He is a stocky man, who you can tell has had a hard life. His visible skin displays an impressive variety of intricately designed tattoos. He walks to the chair opposite me, holding his hands out for the prison officer to un-cuff him. Once he is free of his shackles, he sits down in the chair opposite me. The way his blue eyes stare at me, gives away his soft side. He's like a bear, threatening on the outside, but gentle and kind on the inside. It's hard to believe that someone like this would be in prison.

He picks up the phone from the hook, bringing it to his ear. I do the same.

"Why are we in here? What did you do, Anthony?" I ask. Anthony Frayton was convicted of robbing a bank when he was thirty-six, and sentenced to twenty-five years in prison. He has served twenty of those years. I can't imagine what it would be like to be stuck in prison for a quarter of a century, for the length of time that I've been alive.

"I did nothing," he replies in his English accent with a grin. I roll my eyes, but my smile gives away my real feelings.

"Okay, you just didn't want to get your ass kicked at snap again," I tease. He raises one of his brown eyebrows.

"Oh yeah? How I recall it, is that you cheated."

"Potato, Potahto," I reply, shrugging. He lets out a loud laugh, causing me to do the same. Slowly, his laughter dies down and his eyes go to my wound.

"How did that happen?" he asks. I press my lips together before answering.

"I fell into a glass cabinet," I lie.

"Where are the other scratches?" he inquires.

I bite my lip, giving him his answer.

"Who did it?" he asks angrily.

"No one. I fell..." I reply my voice sounding weak and small.

"Okay, I trust that you would trust me enough to tell me if you were being abused," he tells me pointedly. I force a smile nodding, bringing my hand up to my mouth and pressing my thumbnail against my lip.

"Some fresh meat arrived today," Anthony lets me know. I bring my hand down onto the counter.

"Roman was saying something about them, how are the other inmates treating them?" I ask.

"As expected, I'm sure there will be hoe checks out in the yard later."

"Be careful, don't get involved," I plead with him.

"Don't worry, darling, I won't," he promises.

Anthony is my favorite inmate to visit. He's become like a surrogate father to me, and I think he looks at me like a daughter. He does have a family, but they never visit him.

"So, tell me, what's going on in the outside world."

I begin to relay to him some of the top news stories, but am interrupted by shouts from an inmate sitting next to Anthony.

"That's bullshit!"

I lean back and look around the wooden wall, to see who is on my side of the glass to make the inmate react that way. The man is dressed in a suit, his hair neat, and is talking hurriedly to try and calm the inmate down. My guess is that he's an inexperienced lawyer. I look back to Anthony, raising my eyebrows and holding back a laugh. The inmate continues to rant at his lawyer, getting more agitated, and causing the guards to intervene.

"Alright, visit time is over," they tell the inmate, cuffing him again. They lead him past Anthony and towards the door.

As he passes, I notice that he's a new inmate. His dark, intense eyes move to me behind the glass, giving me a once over. I seem to be caught in his gaze, because however hard I try to look away, I can't. His strong arms are covered in tattoos, which are common on inmates. His pink lips are pulled up into a smirk, which is then hidden from my sight when he brings his shackled hands up to brush his disheveled brown hair away from his eyes. I am only broken out of my spell when the guards lead him through the door.

I look back down at Anthony, who is chuckling.

"See something you like?" he taunts.

"No!" I object but it comes out louder than intended. I was about to continue, in what I don't doubt would have been a rambling excuse, but I'm stopped by the guard telling us that our visiting time is up. An hour has gone quickly.

"I'll see you next Friday, I think. Be safe," I say.

I put the phone back on the hook, before standing up and making my way out of the visiting area. I look back to the other side of the room and see Anthony waving at me. I nod, waving back, before walking past inmates and families visiting each other, out in the communal area, and out of the visiting area.

I exhale when I'm out of the visiting center, knowing that I have to go back and be Roman's slave. I smile sympathetically at the guard who looks like he has better things to do than accompany me through the prison.

The short walk to my office, through the now emptier hub, is silent, which I appreciate. The guard leaves me at my door, before walking back the way he came and shaking his head. I push down the handle and open the door to my office, groaning when I see a pile of papers on my desk with a post it on top.

File these.

I crumple it up, and throw it towards the trash basket in the corner, watching as it bounces off the rim. I look down at what he wants me to file, and see the paperwork for the new inmates. I roll my eyes. Roman is so lazy. The filing cabinet that I'm going to have to file them in is in his office. I lift the heavy pile of files up, walk out my door, and into Roman's much bigger office.

Luckily, he's out again, so I don't have to face him. His big desk is the first thing that you see when you enter the room. It's situated in front of a window, which overlooks the now-empty exercise yard. Two chairs face this window where all sorts of people have sat: inmates, inspectors, and guards.

I walk to the desk, and place the files down on top of it, before moving around it. I bend down to one of the drawers and grab the key for the filing cabinet. This is how lazy he is; he has everything in his office, but still gets me to do it all. I walk back around the desk and to the filing cabinet. I push the key into the slot, unlocking it. I pull the drawers open and start organizing the files.

*^*^*

I have been doing it for a while, and only have a couple left. I pick the last few up and walk back to the cabinet. As I walk, I check my watch and see that it's 3:09 p.m. I usually still stay for another couple hours, but hopefully Roman doesn't have much more for me to do.

I look down at the next file when I see something that catches my eye. The mug shot, I've seen it before, but in person. It's the guy from earlier visiting with his inexperienced lawyer. The mug-shot of him holds the same smirk he gave me earlier, his intense stare present and having the same effect. I pull myself out of the spell his stare holds and look at his name: Nixon Hawk.

So, what have you done to get yourself in prison, Nixon Hawk?

I look around quickly, double checking that I'm alone, before pulling back the front page. I scan the words, gasping and nearly dropping the file when I find what I'm looking for. I slam the file shut, hoping that will stop it from getting any further into my mind.

Double Homicide.

It bounces around my head, as I stuff the rest of the files into the cabinet, not caring where they go. I lock it, before returning the key and leaving the room quickly.

Once I fall back down onto my chair, I find myself staring into space. Why is he here? Shouldn't he be in super-max? However, that's not what scares me the most. It's the fact that I was attracted to him.

The door opens to my office causing me to jump, as if I was guilty of something. I look up and see Roman standing in the doorway.

"Finished the filing?" he asks.

I nod in response not trusting my voice.

"Alright, well, I need you to sit in on a meeting to take notes," he continues.

I grab a notebook and pen, before standing up, feeling grateful that my mind will be distracted.

Glossary:

Kitty Kitty: Although the image of the inmates walking around calling for a cat is a great one, that is not what is happening. Instead it's what inmates call a female correctional officer.

Fresh Meat: New inmates.

Hoe Check: This is a group beating given to a prisoner to see if they will stand up for themselves.

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