The Convict

In Reality

I was like a fish on a hook. Reeled back into the insanity that was once my life. Before I knew it, every other thought I had was of Dakota. When I would get her next letter, when I would visit her again, what would she think of my letter? It was out of control.

But no one knew because I hid it well.

My days were blurs of time, going by me like a speeding car in a police chase. Flashing red lights and sirens, trying to get my attention. But while BB was planning family outings and get-togethers I was thinking, what is Dakota doing right now?

While Lesly talked to me about grad school and her thesis, I was thinking, what's Dakota thinking right now?

While my mom rang that cancer-free bell, I was thinking, when is Dakota getting out of prison again?

I was spiraling, I can admit that. I was a plane crashing nose-first into the ground. I knew if I let her pull me in again, I may not survive it this time. Yet no matter how loud the sirens or how bright the warning lights were, I walked into the middle of that danger once more.

Like a moth to a flame, I was willing to get burned.

In Reality

"Hey," BB pulled me into her by the waist as I licked the stamp and stuck it to the letter.

"Hey," I said without looking at her.

She was silent, watching me write the address of the prison and below it to Dakota Foley in cute curly handwriting. Dakota likes it when it's cute.

"I think you've sent more than enough letters, what's that? The 5th one this month?" she says backhandly.

"If you were in prison, wouldn't you hope that I write you letters?" I challenge her, looking her in those eyes that are always serious.

I feel like BB is always five steps ahead of me. Thinking of things I haven't even thought to think of yet. Always too protective over me, too precautious.

"Don't turn this around on me," she frowns. "I just think there is only so much the girl can talk about in prison." She rolls her eyes.

"Don't get jealous, she's in there. You are right here." I peck her on the lips. "I'm just trying to make sure she doesn't kill herself in there. Have a heart. It's not a big deal." I pull out of her arms and shove the letter into my purse to drop off at the post office first thing in the morning.

"So, I was thinking," she once again pulls me in her arms.

I sigh in annoyance.

"Well fuck you too," she gets offended and pulls away.

"No, I'm sorry. I just don't feel like going out right now. I'm exhausted." I turn to face her.

"How do you know what I was going to say? You just assumed," she crosses her arms.

"You're right, I'm sorry." I pull her arms apart and force her hands into my own.

"Lately I just feel like things between you and I have been off. Like no matter what I do, I get on your nerves." She says vulnerably, looking down at our hands.

"I'm just stressed, with my mom pressuring me about buying my grandmother's house and my book sales dropping, I'm just stressed okay? If I buy that house, I'll blow through all my savings and I'll have to get a job. Which I don't even know if I want anymore. These past three years have been bliss, not having to work or worry about a thing. That book set me up for life, but not if I buy that fucking house. So forgive me if I've been distant lately." I snap at her, pulling my hands away.