The Innocents

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Miles had a look that I couldn't read.

He was sitting across from me in the craft room on a chair that was too small for him. It was lunch time, but we had arranged a meeting. I hadn't seen him since news of my execution hit. It had made rounds around the facility faster than a lie. I didn't really think about what it would do to him. I tried to really think at all. I was numb, even to the touch.

After a few minutes of torturous silence, he sprang to his feet, holding his hands to his face and then pulling it back so his eyes looked like they were bulging from their sockets. He then whirled around and lifted his chair over his head and brought it down on a nearby table, breaking it into a dozen pieces. He then paced in this silent rage, sweeping his hands across tables and shelves knocking over everything he could find until the room looked like a tornado had hit it. He did all of this without a word. Not one sound.

Someone had tried opening the door to the room. I couldn't tell who because Miles brought his weight against it immediately and uttered a booming, GET OUT before finally looking at me. I understood what he was feeling. I know the frustration of losing something that you have no control over. What sucks the most is that the things we lose are the things that will never be replaced. These things are what makes him angry. It makes Fidola cry and Jo sink into her fantasy world. I know it makes him angry and am helpless against it.

His eyes rested on me as I stood up from my seat and neared him. He took my arm and pulled me into his embrace. "I wish it to be a dream," I told him. "But the pain is too real for it to be anything but real life. I'd stop it if I could."

"I need you to be brave about this," he replied.

"Okay," I lied.

This had to be a dream. The decline was too fast, too terrifying for one person to fall through. As much as I tried to make sense of it, the more surreal it became.

"Drew," Miles said as we pulled apart. "Did you do it? Do you deserve to be here?"

Lie, I told myself. Lie to him. Tell him what a horrible person you are. You've already killed someone so it makes it even more true to admit guilt. He probably wouldn't believe you anyhow even if you did tell the truth. Lie.

"Drew?"

I bit the flesh in my inner cheek and turn away shaking my head to set the words free. In the end I chose the person I was and who I would always be. I told him the truth.

"You're innocent?" he asked. This was followed by a long exhale and a, "My God, Drew."

"Some of the girls here are, you know?" I told him. I look at him and his eyes are sad. It's the look you get when you know a million possibilities are running through your head, but you know that not one of them is going to make a difference. There is no answer to this. I am going to die and it's only days away.

"I was beginning to think that things were going to change," I said. "Nobody cares about us."

"Things can still change," Miles replied.

"For you maybe. Not for us. Not for these girls. Not for women in general. We're all better off dead, aren't we?"

He doesn't give an answer to my question. "You care more for others than you do for yourself."

"I've changed. A lot."

Because that is life and it wasn't the world around me because that will always be a shit storm. I am the one who has changed. It's the decisions that I made that changed my life forever and the funny part is that I don't regret one damn second of it.

"What are you going to do when I'm gone?" I ask.

The words stung him. For a second, I thought he'd throw another chair. There was no possible answer to this and I knew it. It was dumb of me to even ask. But as quickly as I regretted it, he answered.

"Life without you in it isn't worth living."

"Miles," I objected, "Don't-"

"No, you asked. Hear me out. Something happened to me when you got here and it hasn't stopped happening. It's bullshit that things happened the way they did. If I had the change, I would have gladly become your first."

My first. The sound of that made me feel light, like I was suddenly tethered by balloons and I was at risk of floating away at any strong breeze. This must be what the beginning of a romance feels like, I thought. But I am sure no romance ever ended with you opening your eyes to a trashed craft room looking at your prison guard boyfriend in the eyes and knowing your first is going to be your last no matter how you looked at it.

So, I shut my eyes tight and made my story a little different. With my past securely erased and my purity reassembled and with me being right with God and all that, I decided to leave the Earth just as I was brought into it. We sat and talked about what we would imagine our lives to be if we had met in a different place in a different time and I'd smile and pretend that I wasn't filled with dread and he'd do the same. I talked about Provence, France and told him about the lavender fields and how I decided that it would be my Heaven and it made things just a little better if only for a second or two. We kissed and kissed some more and I wondered what it would feel like to sleep beside him.

I loved him, fiercely, desperately. It's a good feeling to have when your time is coming to a close. I hoped the hate I had for Crawford wouldn't sully it. I'd like love to be the last feeling I felt before the end.

There was a soft knock on the door and it opened. Marla stuck her head in, gave her eyes a sweep across the room and then to Miles and I. She gave a smile and lowered her eyes.

"I decided something," she told the two of us. "Will you cut my hair for me?"

I looked to Miles who was the one who could lend out the scissors and he nodded. He left to retrieve the scissors and Marla took of a seat beside me. She didn't say much about the room or about anything really. I tried to will it into her to find some sort of peace, the kind I felt with Miles, but it was no use. She sat there with her legs crossed and her chin resting in her hand. She looked positively indifferent. I didn't quite know what to do. I couldn't help her. I knew she was torn apart inside.

Miles returned and I asked if I could do it for her, even though I know we weren't allowed. I could see Marla's light up a tiny bit and I smiled when he agreed. I stood behind her and cut one big chunk at first and then snipped away methodically until her hair was just as short as Miles'. I left some of it longer on her delicate forehead and around her ears. When I finished, I handed the scissors back to Miles and I stood back to let Marla feel her head. Around my feet was a sea of blonde hair.

"I used to cut my friend's hair," I told her.

"I am sure she appreciated it," Marla replied, smiling at me.

"Her parents sure didn't, especially after the time she flinched and I accidentally shaved a bald spot on the side of her head."

She laughed at this. Then the dinner alarm rang out. I couldn't believe how long I had been in that craft room that day. I was hungry so with Marla in tow we made our way down to the cafeteria to quickly eat and rehearse. The play was tomorrow after-all. We still had one good day to live.