Reasonable Doubt ✔ | Open Novella Contest 2020 | Complete

Seven - Alex

I hand over my paperwork, my ID badge, and my clothing. All if it is then thoroughly inspected for any weapons, drugs, or other major contraband in front of me. I shiver, hands over where my junk is climbing up inside of me. The least they could do is keep the strip-search rooms warm.

The CO finishes and places the items in a clear bag. He turns to me with a bored expression. I suspect he's seen so many nuts and butts they're as interesting as the white wall behind me.

"Squat and cough."

"Said what?" I sputter. This was not part of intake.

He grumbles under his breath before fully addressing me. "I gotta make sure you haven't keestered anything."

I can't believe this. "I squat and cough and it falls out?"

"It wouldn't be a thing if it hadn't happened."

"Dios te salve, Maria." I start muttering profanely. Mama would box my ears if she heard me using that prayer in this capacity.

"Kid, it's either that or a cavity search," the guard states.

"Ay." I turn, do as he says.

I'm rewarded with my clothing returned. I dress hurriedly, wash my hands and take my seat in the conference room they've set aside for my council.

Sharron's already all enthusiastic smiles across from me. She' a pretty thing trying to make partner. Still thinks she's going to save the world.

The exhausted public defense attorney initially assigned to my case dug my hole deep. Until Mama found Sharron. By the time I presented to a grand jury, she couldn't possibly get me out. Doing so retroactively is difficult, time consuming. She took me on pro-bono for some reason.

"So, we're making headway on your case," she informs me, pulling notes and papers from her briefcase. The long black twists slide across her neck, expose the gold cross on her dark skin.

I zone out, salivating over the view down her blouse. It's conservative, professional. I see the ghost of black bra under the fabric, wonder if it's lace or satin. I'll bet her panties match; imagine she's just as exacting in the bedroom as she is cross-examining a witness.

"Alejandro?" I jump in alarm. Sharron refocuses me on her eyes. "You okay?"

No. I'm turning into a fucking creep.

"Yeah, sorry," I grumble, scrubbing my hands over my face. I haven't seen a woman in anything other than a gray shirt or scrubs in over two months. "Just tired. What have you got?"

Beating any sex drive I have into steel box, I listen. She updates me on the appeal. I wasn't expecting her to find a judge to rule my verdict a mistrial.

"I'm going back to court?" I summarize in awe.

Sharron grins, "Yeah. We're going to get you out of here."

I'm starting to hope so.

"What do you have for me?" She asks, glancing down to where I'm worrying the documents.

I feel shabby and unprepared. Sharron's files are neat and straight, handwriting crisp and exact. Mine are wrinkled, annotated with my spider scrawl and Colt's jagged penmanship, stained with what's probably the remnants of a break.

If she's bothered by it, she doesn't let it show. Instead, she reviews Colt's notes, makes murmurs of, "Oh," and "That's good," and the occasional, "I need to look that up," which is followed by mad scribbling.

"Holy crap, Alejandro," she admires, "You did a fantastic job."

"Wasn't me," I admit, scrubbing a hand through my newly shorn hair. "My cellie's kind of a jailhouse lawyer."

"Well, keep him," she laughs. "He's good. Gave me a whole lot more to go on."

Colt is good; not nearly the idiot I was ready to accept him for.

Logic says I should be suspect. My heart, dammit, says he's genuine. Something about him instills a sense of trust. There's the set of his shoulders that implies a heavier burden than he's letting on. I know so little about him. Now he knows so much about me, wants to help regardless.

He coached me on terms, talked me through questions to ask, topics to pay attention to. I feel like the string between two legal-ese cups, frayed and struggling under the tension.

"Keep an ear to the ground, okay?" Sharron starts to pull in her papers. "Next time I send you a letter, it'll be for a court hearing."

We stand, shake hands, and walk out opposite doors. The same CO that processed me in processes me out. Even so, I can't really be much troubled with the frigid air or humiliating process.

I'm eager to share Sharron's news. I get on the nearest phone and update Mama quickly. Call ended, I bound up the stairs to tell Colt.

Only when Burke pops the door for me, I see that he's not there. Not unheard of, he may be on another pass. I'm just a little disappointed that I can't celebrate the good news with someone face to face.

Thinking I should enjoy the alone time, I hop up on my rack, take care of the problem I almost had with Sharron. Then I do it again because why the hell not?

After an hour, Colt still isn't back. So I withdraw my sketch pad, start lining images I think would go well on his skin and wrap around the muscle. I know he said to just repair the damaged tattoo after his stitches come out, but that doesn't feel like enough.

A lot of things are starting to feel like not enough.

The door pops, heralding his return. I hide the sketch book, sit up as straight as I can without hitting my head on the ceiling.

"Hey," Colt greets with a broad smile. "How'd it go?"

"I'm going back to court."

"Fucking A, man," he high-fives me. "When?"

I hadn't thought to ask. I was too excited. "Don't know," I laugh.

Colt chuckles. "Give me the rundown."

I do, talking in a way I haven't since I got here. Full of inflection and gesticulation. Now that he's thawed the ice, there is a cavernous lake of conversation. I suppose the orgasms helped, too.

I hadn't realized how bottled up I'd been.

"Your turn," I conclude, once I've answered all I'm able to. "Where'd you get off to, since it wasn't work?"

"You sound like a suspicious wife," Colt jeers. Then answers, "The infirmary."

I grow concerned. "You sick? Stiches doing alright?"

"Oh, yeah, they're fine. Doc says they come out Friday."

"Good." I hold his wrist, smooth my fingers over the blue suture. The wound looks like it's healing well and he certainly doesn't behave as though he's in pain.

Hazel tracks my movements, voice almost dazed. "This is my standing three-month appointment. Nothing special."

I poke more. "For what?"

Colt casts me a hard look. "For stuff." Fucking drop it reads the bold subtext.

I hear the marked vagueness like a gong. It only makes me want to know more.

AN://

Thank you so much for reading and your continued support of the story :).

What do you think of the meeting with Sharron?

What do you think of Alex's rediscovered sex drive?

What is Colt hiding?

How's the pacing? Anything more of corrections you want to see or know about?

Thank you for all your support <3. Feel free to ask me anything - DMs or otherwise. I promise I'm not scary :3

Stay safe out there!

~ T