Crooked.

Three: The First Meeting

[JANUARY 2015 - Present]

I anxiously paced back and forth in the waiting room, running a hand through my slick, windswept hair. I definitely didn't expect to be doing this today. I had called in sick for work this morning, somehow managing to drive my way over to Pacific Institution - the federal corrections facility that Soo had been incarcerated at, with the intent of being present for his release.

What will he be like?

Will he be different?

How long will he stay?

Am I overdressed?

Oh my god, I am overdressed, right? Cause nobody would come here looking like this. All high heels and trendy clothes for a person that's not supposed to mean anything to me.

I should have just worn my sweatpants.

"Ms. Wilde?"

Startled, I glanced up at the muscular blonde receptionist, her biceps on display as she waved me over to the counter. I quickly made my way over, not bothering to hide the fact I was ogling her body form.

"He'll be coming out any minute now." She spoke, her voice thick with an uninterested undertone. She spoke in monotone - as if she was disillusioned with everything around her, sitting behind the big oak desk in the building that housed those who had committed crimes too heavy to speak about. I could almost feel the steel in her spine by the way she carried herself, and wondered whether she needed to it survive, or whether it was her natural inclination.

"Oh. okay." I murmured, feeling the tiny butterflies in my stomach blossom into gigantic moths.

"So he'll be staying with you I presume? It's listed here that he has no family members in Canada."

"Yes, he will be." I inwardly winced. No family members in Canada.

"Great. We just need you to sign this sheet to confirm you will be taking him back to your residence," she passed me a pen and clipboard before continuing her spiel, "This is just a reminder, but please contact his parole officer once you reach the house. He needs to maintain contact with him once every week for the first three months, and then once a month for the rest of his parole period. There are no special conditions on his case, so he is free to drink alcohol and smoke cigarettes if desired, but he will be immediately confined once again if he approaches the victim's family. He is enrolled in a rehabilitative counseling group for offenders and is required to participate in all the sessions. In addition, a condition of release is that he obtains employment and if he's having difficulty, he must contact his parole officer for information on employment resource centres."

Letting out a gush air, I gave a playful smile, trying to ease my nerves, "Wow. That was a mouthful."

The receptionist didn't laugh, her stoic Caucasian features shadowed by a beige hat, " I've said variations of that too many times. I'd advise you to listen carefully, we don't want him back here."

I anxiously smiled again, bouncing up and down on my toes. "Yes ma'am. I'll make sure he won't be coming back."

The receptionist turned back to her computer, removing her languid green eyes from mine and began tapping away at the keys. I was about to turn around and head back to the chair accross the room, when I heard her mutter under her breath, "That's what they all say honey, don't count on it."

An unrecognizable emotion ran through me - something between sadness, fear and anger, but I couldn't pinpoint what exactly. I didn't care much about him, but I prayed he had changed enough that he wouldn't be landing back behind prison bars anytime soon. There was too much to be afraid of in the future, and feeling the sting of the receptionist's words, I ploppled back into my seat with aggravation.