Arresting Attraction: How To Create A Criminal

Chapter Twenty Four

TRIGGER WARNING = Rape / Murder

"You get ten minutes," My armed guard said. He was blonde, larger than I was, with a large tribal-like tattoo on his wrist. He didn't say much as he walked me from my cell, towards the shower block, only to encourage me to walk faster with a slight nudge of his weapon.

I nodded at him, as he thrust me forward with a strong arm. Losing my balance as I stumbled in, I fell to the ground; the towel in my hands cushioning my fall. The sweatshirt I woke up in rose up my ass, while I sat up, rearranging it. I wasn't sure where it had come from, I just remembered waking up in it.

In fact, I didn't remember much of what happened yesterday. I remembered Leroy coming into my cell, I remembered him drugging me, and then it got hazy for me. But, I did remember eyes. I remembered golden, warm eyes, the same eyes that regrettably belonged to Charlie Thomas. I remembered the smell of fumes, the ringing of a single gunshot, and the feeling of skin prickling over mine.

Other than those details, I had to reimagine the night in my head.

I had strangely woken up in my cell, in my bed. It was clean, the sheet were changed. The cell oddly smelled of high powered cleaner and mild bleach, making me slightly dizzy. On the end of my bed were extra blankets, and a single towel — the same towel I was now holding, the towel that cushioned my fall onto slippery, hard tiles.

Groaning to myself, I looked up, around the shower block. Benches were pushed up against the walls of the main room, while steam arose from another joining room — where all the showers were all scattered around.

In amongst the echoing of water on tiles, I heard footsteps. Bare as they slapped against the ground, my eyes followed a pair of feet that came into view.

"Scarlett?"

Ryan's hair was flat over his face, water droplets running down his hollowed cheeks, and his chest, running lower. I averted my gaze as he came closer, oblivious to his nakedness. Dropping to his knees, Ryan slumped in front of me as a quiet sob escaped his mouth, his hands covering his face.

"Ryan?"

His warm eyes looked up at me through long, wet lashes. Tears ran down his eyes as he watched me, unbelieving.

"I thought...I thought," he stammered. "I thought. You're okay."

He grabbed me, bringing my head to his neck, holding me against him. He was warmth encompassing me, calming me.

"I'm okay," I promised, my hands reaching around him, rubbing his back.

His skin ripped under my fingers. I could feel his spine, sharp, the bones of his ribs prominent. He had lost weight, you could see it in his face, but it was awfully evident in his body. He didn't feel right. He didn't feel like a person.

Pulling away from him, I grabbed his face in my hands, and ran my fingers over his cheekbones.

"I look like shit," he laughed through a sob.

I shook my head at him, "Just a little."

Ryan pulled me against him again before he shuffled away, staring at me. His hands were in his lap, as they twitched, itching to touch me again, itching for comfort.

"They hurt you."

I shrugged and stood, offering him my hand, which he graciously took.

"I'm still here."

"Barely," he whispered, his fingers reached and curled against mine. I squeezed his palm and let go, nodding towards the showers.

No words needed to be said as I left my towel by one of the benches outside the showers. With my hand still laced with Ryan's, I pulled off my sweatshirt with one hand, followed by my underwear. Ryan's eyes cast over my naked form as he took in my weight, the bruises and cuts marring my skin. His other hand wanted to touch me, I knew that, but I dropped our joined hands before he could.