Reasonable Doubt ✔ | Open Novella Contest 2020 | Complete

Eighteen - Alex

The time passes too quickly. It's something I never thought I'd complain of in here. Raphael gets placed in segregation for his part in the fight. I'm released back to the same cell on isolation status. No dayroom. No rec. Just chow, showers, and GED programming.

Five days until release. No information. Nobody knows what happened. The code of Lebanon Correctional.

Three days. I overhear a few gang members laughing over a successful round of Smear the Queer.

One day. Even Lawson has no idea where his business partner went. Just that all financial obligations are taken care of.

Day of release, I can barely concentrate on Sharron as she tries to prep me for the witness stand. I just stare at the smudged lettering on her notes, numb.

It's like the first day all over again. Trying to act like I'm not terrified, like I've done this before. It's a different kind of fear. One that involves my stomach in knots, wishing Colt alive and safe.

Guilt chews on my heart. I should have known Raphael would do something stupid, shouldn't have denied everything. I should have fought Mowery harder, kept the assailants off Colt, done something.

"Alex," Sharron focuses me on her pretty brown eyes. "You're a million miles away. What's up?"

I can't talk to her about this. Gangs, homophobia, violence. It won't register. She doesn't know this world. Nobody does unless you've lived it.

"Nothing," I heave instead, squinting at the evidence. "You were talking about the questions they're going to ask."

Sharron reaches across the table and takes my hand. The woman whose French-tipped manicure made my blood boil before is barely a blip on my inner Scoville scale. She's not Colt.

"It's alright." Eyes earnest, face bright. I believe her.

I bite the inside of my cheek. Two words. Two simple words still the riotous energy. They're what I've needed to hear.

"Let's take a break from this," Sharron suggests. Piling the notes, she plants her elbows on the papers and regards me serenely. "What are you doing once you get out?"

"I - " I stutter. It's such a different direction than I'm used to. "Finish my GED, I guess?"

Sharron nods. "And then?"

I glance away, feeling stupid. "I hadn't thought about it."

"What's your old cellmate doing?" She tries for a common thread, someone also pending release. "The jailhouse lawyer?"

I feel the ache in my chest, pinching behind my eyes. The sense of finality, that I'll never see him again. I'm behind rebar, and cement. Easily forgotten. Readily replaced.

He had a life before this place, little he's spoken of it. Maybe he'll go back to college, find a real boyfriend and not some half-breed from the wrong side of the, tracks. He's handsome, smart, an amazing kisser. It wouldn't be hard.

"I'm not sure." I fiddle with the hole in my earlobe.

We hadn't really talked much about it. He'd moved cells before I even thought to question. I caught bits and pieces from his paperwork. Got himself together like a goddamn adult.

I'm just a kid. I can barely wrap my head around this trial.

"Waste of a brilliant mind," Sharron purses her lips. "Give me his contact info. I'll see if I can't use him as a consultant."

"I don't have it." I almost moan. No address, no phone number. Communication after this is entirely in his court.

"Name?"

"Colt Cross."

She glances up sharply. "You're joking."

I'm shocked. "Why would I joke about that?"

She softens her expression. "Alliteration. I like it," is all she consents. "Now, back to you. What are you going to do with that GED? Go to college? Work for your mother's restaurant?"

That makes me laugh. Much as I love that place, bickering with my cousins all day is something I'd rather avoid. "Hell no."

"What are you good at?"

I deadpan, "Are you a lawyer or a therapist?"

"Sometimes I'm both," she giggles, tossing a thick twist over her shoulder. "So?"

I shrug, fascinated with the pattern of veins on my hands. "I like tattooing."

"You can tattoo?"

"I've picked up a few things in here," I smirk slyly.

If she's bothered by my admission, she doesn't show it. Instead, she seems genuinely interested. "Now there's something. Maybe start your own shop?"

I shove my hands through my hair. "I don't know."

"Ms. Obioken?" The CO knocks on the door before entering. "The two hours is up."

"Of course," she states politely, then back to me. "Something to think about is all."

This time, I do hug her. It's not strictly allowed, but the CO looks the other way for the few seconds we do so. Even though she protests that I'm trying to crush her, I deeply appreciate the support. I need her to know it. The gesture is all I have.

I leave the visit, get stripped out and head back toward the unit. It's no sooner than I'm shut into the sally-port toward the institution at large that Captain Johnson enters, escorting the pending release.

Colt.

He's dressed in maroon. The uniform of those leaving. Distinction from the light blue shirt and dark blue trousers.

The hazel eyes twinkle affectionately as our gazes lock. My mouth goes dry, the fluttering feeling in my chest returns, choking me. Elation and dismay dampen my voice.

Considering last I'd seen him, he looks good. From the way he stands, I know he's in pain. Bruises and butterfly strips cover his cheek and brow. He'll have more scars, but he's alive.

There's so much I need to say in this moment. I want to ask how badly he's hurt, if he's replayed our kiss as often as I do. I should demand to know where he's going, if any of our time here will continue past the gate. I need to tell him he makes my world brighter, that I still want him outside the fence.

But, no.

Like the idiot I am, I snort, "You look like shit."

Mirth lights his face. "Thanks," his laugh is through clenched teeth. Seeing my confusion, he explains, "Broken jaw."

That's where he was all this time.

"That camera footage was intense, Cross." Johnson agrees.

A smug chuckle. "Southpaw."

"Ay carajo." I reach for him, verify for myself that he's really here.

Johnson bristles. "Boy," it's a thread below a shout. "I don't care what kind of alternative lifestyle you have, but do not do it right now."

I drop my hand. The gate remains open behind my back, waiting for me to pass through. I linger, caught between relief, longing, and questions unanswered. I need to know if it's just me, if I'm overthinking this. I need something. Anything.

Except I can't find the words and Johnson is running out of patience. So I say the only thing I can. "Don't forget."

Colt winks. "Never."

AN://

Thank you all again for reading, voting, commenting :D. It means a lot.

Colt's going home :o

Alex's inner turmoil?

What did you think of Sharron? 😉

Feel free to DM me. I'm not scary, I promise. I would love to beta-read for you and offer recommendations. It makes me super happy to offer input <3

Stay safe out there!

~T