“Put your hand out,” Andrés whispers, the simple command widening my eyes.
For one, he’s talking to me? And two, my hand? Why does he want my—
Fuck it, I’m too curious to try and make sense of it right now.
Doing as he’s asked, I reach back with the hand closest to the gray wall and find a small note placed in my palm, not two seconds later. It’s not balled up like the one I gave him. No, it’s folded into a perfect triangle like the notes I used to pass with my friends in high school. His warm fingers seal over mine, closing them into a fist to trap the kite inside, shooting a gasp free from my throat at the unexpected contact.
“Hide it. Hurry,” he demands, voice hushed yet still commanding enough to get me moving.
Nodding, I wait until we round the corner to the B Block hallway and leave the cameras behind us before I slide my hand into my uniform top, and tuck the note into my bra. This is probably the one and only time I’ll ever be grateful for these abuelita bras. The cups are so big—legit covers your entire tit—you can shove anything in there, and it’ll hold.
And it does, holds right through the rest of our walk and our check-in with Jordan inside the block, all the way to my cell. I try not to make it too obvious and rush in here—stopping to greet some of the girls along the way—but the damn thing is burning a hole through my shirt.
Not to mention, my head is spinning.
Almost a week of silence and then BOOM, he hits me out of nowhere with this. Not a look or another one of those smiles, but an actual physical reply.
The whiplash is real.
I’m relieved to see Lena’s not here yet, deflating like a balloon as I dive into my bunk for two minutes of privacy. She’s been wondering about Andres, too, because of course, she noticed the change as well. If she saw me unwrapping a note from him, she’d have a fucking field day.
Pulling the kite free, I stare at it for several moments. It’s folded so evenly, meticulously, so tight that if it were to fall on the ground, it’d remain sealed. What is in this note?
With shaky hands and my heart lodged in my throat, I go for it, unfolding it carefully so as not to rip it. The message is written dead-center on a sheet of notebook paper.
I wasn’t gonna respond, but I want you to know the Why behind it. Don’t ask why, I just...do. Paper trails are a bad idea. Could end badly for both of us, and I’m sure you don’t wanna be in here any longer than you already have to. I have to know one thing tho… Tell me what you’re in for, and I’ll honor you that favor.
You have my word.
♫ Algo Me Gusta De Ti - Wisin & Yandel
I was doing so good.
So. Damn. Good.
After Benni gave me that kite, I knew I had to put a stop to whatever the fuck this was attempting to flicker between us. It couldn’t happen, point-blank—no matter how enticing the flame might be. And if the speed in which everything had spiraled—coupled with the sheer intensity of it all—proved anything to me at all, it’s that both time and morale knew no bounds in this equation, and that flame would burn into a raging fire just as quickly if I didn’t snuff it out before it spread.
So, for the rest of the week, I clocked in, did what was expected of me, and clocked back out without incident. I didn’t look at her, didn’t engage her—not a damn thing. It wasn’t easy, especially when I could feel the confusion and disappointment emanating off her in waves, but I was making it happen.
I was getting by.
Until the weekend came around...
Exhausted from the mass amount of effort it took not to slip up, her words taunting me from my nightstand weren’t helping me prepare to suit up for the following week. That’s my own fault, though. I hadn’t brought myself to throw her note away, and not because I didn’t try. I’d flung it into the trash at some point on Friday night, only to end up fishing it back out Saturday morning, the temptation to break my resolve and respond, becoming harder and harder to subdue. I had way too much time alone with my thoughts, and by the time Sunday rolled around, I couldn’t take it anymore.
My plan was simple, a one-time thing. Keeping my distance and maintaining professionalism wouldn’t change.
But if I couldn’t have her, then I at least had to know why in the ever-loving fuck was she in prison.
Maybe if it were bad enough, it’d turn me off and end this madness.
If only it were that easy…
If only.
Little did I know my response was going to kick things up a notch—or five.
♫ Dear Mama - 2Pac
“This is a collect call from an inmate at Glades Correctional Institution. A twenty-one cent per minute charge will apply if you accept the call. To accept, please press—”
A long beep resounds through the line before the recording finishes, and then I hear, “Hello?”
Noely.
The very corners of my lips turn up in a smile at the sound of my sister’s voice. “Hi, hermana.”
I’m expecting her to ask me how I am as she usually does when she’s the one who answers, but what I get is an emotionally-charged, “I miss you.”
My heart breaks more than it normally does when I call home. This hellhole is almost three hours from Miami, so visits are limited to once per month—if that. I haven’t seen them in almost three months. Phone calls are really all I have, but man, do they make it hard sometimes. I hate it when they
