Innocence (Burning Beliefs #1)

Chapter Seven *edited*

Chapter Seven

It's been a few hours now since they've been gone. They probably won't be back for a while. I've just been watching TV silently, wrapped up in a red blanket, laughing at reruns of Full House while eating a bowl of Lucky Charms.

But finally, I turn off the screen. I push the blankets off of my body, and I breathe deeply. This is going to be hard.

Today, I'm wearing something different. I took Dean's advice and didn't wear a blue lacey bra today. Now, it's a red lacey bra. But I'm also wearing dark blue jeans embroidered with silver rhinestones, and a tight-loose Mudd blouse splashed with watercolor designs of flowers.

I head into the prison area, past the gray door that barricades the abominations from the rest of the world. I approach Lucas's cell again. And sigh.

He's sitting in the corner, just staring at the wall.

I grip the iron bars with hands that feel like they're underwater.

"Hey sexy," Lucas says before I can say anything.

"Hi," I say, ignoring the whole "sexy" thing.

"Come back for more?" he asks, getting up close to where I'm standing.

I back away slightly. "Yeah... no. I'm just here to apologize again."

"Hey, it's cool," he says, smiling a little half smile. "I seduced you, you seduced me, we're even, kid."

"Kid?" I say, putting my hands on my hips. "Did you just call me kid?"

"Got a problem with that?" he says.

"If I do?"

"Then bonus for me," he says, smiling his stupid smile again. God he's annoying. Glad Cas talked me out of him. "You're pretty hot when your angry."

"Stop flirting with me, it's never going to happen. Especially after last night."

"That's what you think, babe."

I clench my fists and leave the prison confinement room. Talking to him was a pretty freakin bad idea. I guess being a good person just doesn't pay off.

* * *

"It's been three days," I complain. "Haven't you found another hunt yet?"

"Calm down, Gracie," Dean growls at me. He's still kind of mad at me from that one time I called him a pervert. Like, seriously, get over it, old man. "We're working on it."

"Sorry, grumplestiltskin," I pout.

"What the hell is a grumplestiltskin?"

"Someone with anger issues."

"You're annoying."

"And you're old."

"I'm only 35."

"Really? No you're not. You're like 48 or something."

"You think I look thirteen years older than I really am?"

"Yeah. Because you are not 35."

"What are you two arguing about?" Sam asks, walking in from the prison confinement area.

"Nothing," we say at the same time.

He gives us both a look. Then, thinks better of it, shakes his head, and sits down on the couch across from me.

"So I was just talking to Lucas," Sam says.

The tips of my ears burn, but I ignore it and act natural. "That's nice," I say, acting uninterested.