A good one. I want to stay, if only it's solely for the opportunity to get closure. I want reasons, and I want them now, but Roman continues to pick at my uneaten waffles until he's eaten all of the strawberries. Only then does he stand abruptly, throwing the container in the bin, the waffles left as untouched as when I gave it to him. I stand with him.

"Roman," I complain, but he just moves around me murmuring something about me getting dressed. I want to groan, but even with the newfound frustration, and the ire and confidence it fills me with, I still can't buck everything that has been drilled into me ever since our marriage. It's stubborn. I don't have alcohol fuelling my confidence to disobey his requests, so I find myself trailing after him.

***

In all my time working at the prison, I've never spent more than a couple of days away from my job here. So to spend almost a week away from here, it feels weird to return. As expected, nothing about the building has changed enough for it to be noticeable, but what has changed is Roman.

I'm walking through the area between security and the entrance with him by my side, and him not already waiting for me. And his temperament toward me has, apparently, shifted with it. I don't know if this change will stay permanently, but I hope at least it'll stay long enough for me to get the courage to leave. Even with my newfound confidence, I still don't have enough to say 'goodbye' for good, in fear of what would happen. Would that be what tipped it over the thin line again? Is his temper only hanging in there on a thread? Maybe if it stayed long enough, it would become more natural.

Roman hasn't said anything to me since telling me to get dressed, and I could have been mistaken, but maybe there was a small smile when I met him at the bottom of the stairs. I have no idea what caused it, but it was better than seeing a sneer, or him telling me that I looked like a whore.

The guard pulls the door open, and Roman steps back to allow me through first. Every time something different to what I expect from him happens, my step falters, or I find my heart jumping slightly. Maybe he really is trying, and as much as I want to stop it, I can't help but feel some sort of affection toward him. I wouldn't say it's love, but gratitude is probably closer. I don't want to get too comfortable, having been stung before.

As has become the custom every time I walk through the armory, I find myself searching the faces around me for Nixon's. It's only halfway through the inmates that I remember Mason's call, before everything with my parents, and New York. He's in solitary. For saving me. Responsibility gnaws at my insides. I've seen how inmates are after solitary. Without light, and company, it'll get lonely, and some inmates will end up being a shadow of their former selves when they finally get out.

Roman's eyes stay on me as we walk through, even when I pause remembering where Nixon is. His shoulders are back, his face set in a stony expression. He gives a glance in the inmate's directions every so often, and I wonder if he's checking to see if they're watching him.

We make it to our offices without trouble, but when I enter my cluttered office I don't sit, pacing the clear floor space I have. I make my decision on the 3rd turn, and make my way out of the office once more, retracing my steps until I get to the corridor leading to solitary.

Attempting to exude confidence by replicating Roman's posture, I walk down it and meet a guard at the doors. I don't recognize the guard, but I don't have much need to enter solitary. Usually Roman is the one to come down here, with him usually citing it to be too dangerous for me. They're in cells, though, what could they possibly do?

"I'm here for Nixon Hawk," I tell the guard when he gives me a questioning once over.

"He's got two..."

"The Warden has stated that he can be let free. It's unnecessary to keep a cell occupied when he has learned his lesson." I try and sound as authoritative as possible, and keep it close to something that Roman would say. There are problems with overcrowding, but Roman has never once said that we should keep cells free. More prisoners mean more money for us, so Roman isn't too keen on reform until we need to allow more prisoners in.

I keep my face neutral and stare him down until he finally looks over his shoulder calling down for a guard to let him free. I move to go down the corridor, but the guard places an arm out to bar my way.

I take the message and stay where I am. I almost rock up onto my tip-toes, but I keep my excitement under wraps, glancing at the guard. The door to a cell opens, and the guard who opened it gets Nixon to follow him down to me. Nixon squints slightly as he walks, but his pace is sure, and he walks with a slight swagger. That's until he sees me. He pauses, his eyes raking over my body, examining me. I want to squirm under his stare. He smiles, and I'm dazzled by it briefly, and it's enough to jolt me out of the squirmy state I was in.

The two guards stop us from doing or saying, anything when he gets close enough, but his eyes stay on mine.

"I've got it from here, thank you," I say, hoping to get some alone time with Nixon to allow for us to talk.

"Sure, ma'am?"

"Yes," I tell them, feeling the most sure I've been since I got to the corridor. I'm probably the safest with Nixon out of everyone in the prison, except Anthony of course.

I turn on my heel, walking out of the entrance of the hallway. I keep an eye on how far we are from the guards, and when I feel we're far enough away Nixon finally speaks up.

"I had two more days," he tells me, being careful so as not to make it look like we're talking to the guards behind us. I'm thankful that he has the forethought to do so.

"The guard said." The armory is empty, and apart from the guards standing at their posts, the inmates are at breakfast.

"Just when I need out, you came. You're like a sexy little lawyer, or, I don't know, superhero." He takes a step closer, but I keep the same distance between us, my eyes flying to the guards around us. I blush, all the same, finally resting on the floor when I've assessed my surroundings.

"I'm sorry for not asking you about your case," I mumble. His tattooed hand rests on my arm, squeezing gently, retracting it once he holds my attention.

"I-" he starts, staring into my eyes. "I didn't mean to sound ungrateful. I was just surprised, I never thought someone would help. And, to be honest, I resigned myself to the fact that I was never going to get out when you said that you wanted to help."

I never thought I would help either, and now standing here staring back into Nixon's dark gaze I know that I could never go back if I wanted to. I was going to wait for him to seek me out, but I now understand that I've become slightly obsessed with the person in front of me. Is that healthy? Probably not. It's like a drug. I feel good around him, but after it's all over, will I regret it? If I get him out, will he leave? Giving me nothing but withdrawals for a time where I felt better, stuck in a loveless marriage. He excites me, sending a thrill through me whenever I see him. I know better than to obsess over someone, but he makes me feel like the person I want to be, and I'm obsessed with that. I love that. I love feeling free, and it's ironic I found it in someone who's trapped. We're just two caged birds both dreaming of feeling the wind under our wings, so maybe we're not so different in the end.

But this cannot end well, I know that. Am I excited by him or because of where he is? When he's out will I feel the same? Will he even want anything to do with me? These are all questions that matter, but not right now. I want to live in dreamland for just a bit longer. He's my escape, and it's obvious I'm his too.

"I'm still sorry." He smiles and I can't help but join him. I've not seen his smile often, but I've also not seen him that often too. It's only been about a week.

Nixon, and the prison, feel totally detached from real life.

Hi Guys! Sorry for the wait. A lot's been happening over the last few weeks, but things are calming back down, and I'll be returning to the schedule.

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