Scars And Stories

Chapter 3

"It's been so long," Patrick spoke through the phone.

"I know. I was stuck in Chicago, but..." You looked away at the guards then back at Patrick. You leaned closer to the glass and continued in a hushed voice, "Me and Joe are gonna move to New York soon. We'll be able to see each other more."

"I don't want you to move here." He looked you in the eyes. "It's too dangerous. They could..." He stopped then lowered his voice, finishing his sentence. "They could catch you guys." He bit his lower lip. "Listen, you need to stay in Chicago."

"We're not staying there. There are riots almost every day, just like here but worse. People know now," You told him.

He furrowed his eyebrows together, "Know what?"

"That you and the guys didn't die five years ago, that you've been in prison. Nobody knew about those things a month or two ago, but now, they spread the news." By they, you meant the Blue Birds. "People are fighting the Syndicate even more than before," You explained.

"I need to tell you something," Patrick murmured, looking down and fumbling with his hands.

"What is it?"

"I-I've been having nightmares again, kind of like the ones I used to have. And..." He took a deep breath, tears forming in his eyes. "...I don't want those things to happen," He croaked out, "Last time I had nightmares like that, it felt so real; it showed the place where I was supposed to die."

"But you didn't, Patrick," You told him, your voice softer than before.

"I know," He retorted instantly, "But what if this time it's really telling me where and how I'm gonna die?" He looked up at you, his eyes red from crying and tears rolling down his cheeks.

"Honey," You started, "You'll be okay. What did you see?"

"I was running in a forest. There was, like, an emergency staircase and I was looking up, leaning against the railing to see the other floors. And there was a silhouette; I could see its mask or something." He shook his head as the memory began to come back to him.

"I'm sure it's nothing. Just normal nightmares, don't you think?" You asked, trying to reassure him.

He heaved a shaky sigh, "I-I don't know."

You were about to say something when the guard came up to Patrick and grabbed his upper arm. "Time's up," He announced with his deep voice.

Patrick turned around on his seat and looked up at the tall man. "Can I hug her at least?"

The guard gave him no answer and made him stand up.

"Please, I haven't touched her in months. She's my fiancé, please!" He begged, his voice shaking.

The man thought about the plea for a moment before giving in. He led him out the room and into the one you were. "You have two minutes," He said before letting go of Patrick's arm.

Patrick almost ran to you, throwing his arms around you and hugging you tight. He was so glad to see you, to touch you that he didn't even care about the pain that shot through his right shoulder. He placed one of his hands on the back of your head, his fingers tangled in your hair, and the other on your back, keeping you close to him. He breathed in your scent and closed his eyes, exhaling shakily and murmuring into your hair, "I miss you so much." He kissed behind your ear.

"I missed you too," You replied with tears forming in your eyes.

He pulled out of the embrace just a little bit to look at you in the eyes. He cupped your cheeks with his hands and brought your face closer to his, pressing his lips against yours and then deepening the kiss. He pulled out of the kiss after a few seconds and rested his forehead against yours. He stared at your lips as he stroked your cheek with his thumb. "I love you so much," He whispered, "I don't want the visit to end."

"I'll be back soon, don't worry." You looked him in the eyes and he did the same. You glanced over his shoulder and saw the guard coming over to the two of you. You pecked his lips one last time before the guard grabbed Patrick's arm again and dragged him away, against his will.

The happiness that Patrick felt was soon replaced sadness and a mix of other emotions as he was dragged away from you. He pictured your face in his mind every time he closed his eyes.

After a few hours of sitting around in the prison yard or other places the prisoners were authorized to go - like the library or the cafeteria - it was already the curfew and they had to get in their cells. They were allowed a shower before being locked up for the night and Patrick took advantage of this privilege.

He stood in front of the foggy mirror above the sinks, a towel wrapped around his waist. He wiped the mirror and looked at himself and the scars on his body, each of them telling a different story.

His gaze was fixed on the reflection of the scar on his shoulder. Just looking at it hurt. It was like his body was dug there, the skin thinner and clearer, a bit pink. The scar wasn't old, about six months. He brought his hand to it and touched the thin, sensitive skin with the tips of his fingers, flinching at the slight pain it caused him.