𝑴𝒚 𝑪𝒓𝒊𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒍 | 𝟏𝟖+

~ I don't know what to believe ~

Ruby's perspective

My heels click on the concrete floors as I walk into the reception. Dim fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting a cold glow over the furniture, or lack of furniture.

The air is heavy, carrying a stench of cleaning chemicals and disinfectant.

The walls, painted in plain white, are coated in faded posters with motivational messages and guidelines.

I shift my gaze back to the massive desk which dominates the middle of the room. Tall shards of bulletproof glass protect an old lady which sits at the desk, her grey hair is pulled back in a tight bun and her wrinkled skin is covered by bright makeup. I greet the receptionist with a smile before holding up my identification up to the glass.

"Good morning Ms. Winter," she says in a monotone voice.

"Good morning."

"Right this way ma'am." She stands, grabbing a file as she does, and makes her way round the table. She leads me down a long hallway and distant echoes of clanging cell doors fill the air.

"Take this."

She hands me a pale yellow file stained with coffee marks.

"His case file?" I ask.

"Yes."

I open it and skim-read for the important facts.

Ethan Woods:

Possible diagnosis of paranoia, bipolar disorder and psychopathy.

Imprisoned for mass murder. 30-year sentence.

There is no image of him, no medical records or defined diagnosis, just notes and guesses.

"I see," I mumble as I read.

"We need a proper diagnosis and to find the reason behind his actions, understood?"

"Yes."

She places a hand on the door before looking me in the eyes.

"And Ms Winter," She pauses as a intimidating expression crosses her face. "Don't disappoint."

A threat.

I grin. "Understood." I reply in a cheerful manner.

Ethan sits, hands clasped and resting on the desk, in the middle of a cell. At least half a dozen surveillance cameras stalk him from above.

The cell takes up a reasonably large room, bared all around - electrified I'm told. On one end is his bed, a writing desk, a toilet, a shower etc. On the other, through a glass wall is a filing cabinet, office desk and my supplies. All the chairs are metal and bolded to the floor, and nearly everything is painted white except for the little stickers on his table.

From my understanding, this is a 'full-time' job meaning they require me in prison for six hours every day. I am only to leave when I go to my apartment to sleep, go out to eat or to use the restroom.

It sucks, but I've done it a few times with high classed murderers and classified cases.

I walk down the side steps and approach two guards stand on either side of the door. They both look me up and down before one nods at the other.

"Ms. Winter?"

I nod in reply and they shift open the gate, allowing me entrance. I take a seat across from Ethan and unpack my suitcase. Finally, I have time to look up.

I gasp slightly.

Ethan's golden eyes stare coldly into mine. He has pale skin and dark hair which is curly at the ends. My eyes wander down to his pouty lips and then to his sharp jawline. I travel his whole body, undressing him with my eyes. His muscular figure is barely covered by a plain white singlet so I can see the tattoos coating his left arm.