Prisoner 409

"I am so sorry I'm late." My red woolly hair flopped onto my face and I huff, throwing my bag on the chair to put it up. I haven't noticed the prisoner yet as I pull down my black pencil skirt that stuck to my hips a little too tight due to the shrinkage in the washing machine.

"This. . . is my therapist?" A deep mocking voice came and I cleared my throat, finally meeting the seemingly Black eyes of Prisoner 409. My breath catches in my throat as a slow smirk grazes his face. The handcuffs remained stuck to his hand as he slowly rubbed his bare chin.

"Behave 4-0-9" The prison guard slapped the table before leaving and I was still frozen.

"Why wouldn't I? Chocolate just happens to be my favorite flavor."