I sit and I sip my coffee. My breaks were far too short for my job but I am paying a price for my mistakes. Prison’s are a place of punishment, a place to repent for past sins. Mine was drugs, an evil addiction so constricting I never thought I would find solace anywhere. Who would have thought Fox River would offer me that solace.
At the same time every day my solace comes to me, his perfectly muscular form hidden casually behind a prison issue blue shirt and long sleeves to hide his tattoo. I don’t know why he hides it. I find it enthralling, too much sometimes and I find myself just staring into the eyes of the Devil.
I find comfort in the fact he doesn’t know my past. Everyone else in here seems to and I get pitied and coddled to within an inch of my life. That is my father’s doing. He doesn’t try to be a father, in fact he is a lousy dad, but he likes to protect his image. He thinks I am a rebellious teenager, fighting everything he stands for, but I am less traditional than he is.
Be the change you want to see in the world. That’s my motto, my life source, my saving grace. I don’t think someone should die for their sins, every body makes mistakes. I am all about the forgiving and yet, I can’t forgive myself.
When he walks through the doors, escorted by some guard who thinks he can belittle me because I am a woman, I remain calm. I try to remain calm because I am a professional and as yet have to overstep a boundary. I don’t think I have ever realised how hard it would be working in a men’s prison. Or how heart wrenching it could be either.
It is the little things I life I am thankful for. When I touch Michael Scofield, I am thankful for gloves. The simplest commodity that keeps me restrained and halts the electricity between us. He touched me once, his hand trailed across my wrist so smoothly and he took my hand in his. It is when things like this happen I tend to freeze up, disregard his secret advances.
It’s not because I know it is wrong. It’s not because I don’t find him attractive, because my god he is simply delicious. It is the simple fact that I cannot let myself be happy. Every day I am haunted by my past, a feeling I’m sure everyone in this establishment feels. Michael can set me free, I know he can, but I cannot let him.
To be free would be a blessing. To be free would be would be wrong. The conflict in my mind rages on while my heart pulls towards his gentle touch and compassion. I don’t think he has shown me anything less whilst I have been treating him. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to just lie in his arms and be free. Free from this place and this life.
If time could be turned backwards I would do it. I was pressured into a career that then pressured me into drugs. I cannot blame anyone else; the morphine was my own choice, my own poison. No one made me do it. It was a convenient escape from the daily turmoil that was my life but then you meet someone like Michael and you wish it was all gone away.
I look over his file more than I need to. Sometimes I find myself brushing a soft touch over his photo and I am lost in his eyes. Those eyes that are as deep as the ocean and as mysterious too. I know there is more to him than he says there is but I enjoy our time together and I don’t think my heart could handle his rejection.
Freedom is for those who deserve it. Michael deserves it. He hasn’t hurt anyone, killed anyone or even wanted to. There is more to his incarceration than he says but we all have our Demons. Some of us just don’t tattoo them to our skin. Those Demons live within us every day of our lives and never let go.
Those Demons are my Demons and I will never have my Freedom.