It was mid-morning, and since classes started today, everyone should be on the third floor. Nurse Rhonda didn’t hold back and flung her arms around me. “Get these zip-ties off him, Jerry, this boy doesn’t belong in these!” She yelled at the security guard as she held me at arm’s length.
“Rhonda, you always had a soft spot for them,” Jerry chuckled and took a blade against my ties.
My wrist freed, and I rubbed the insides.
“Oh, Ollie. You need a proper haircut,” Nurse Rhonda shook her head, “I’ll do that, then you can go over there and take a shower. I’ll have Jerry get your belongings you left from storage while you shower, yeah?”
“Yeah, sounds good.” I strained a smile despite my dizziness.
She pulled up a chair and grabbed the scissors and comb from the cart and gestured me to sit. “You don’t look so good. You’re pale.” The back of her hand pressed against my forehead before she disappeared behind me.
“Going through withdrawals,” I explained and kept my head steady. “Not too short.”
Rhonda smacked the back of my head. “I’ve been cutting your hair for over a year, boy. I know what I’m doing.”
Despite my small laugh, it was enough to remember laughing was all I had done before.
Six months didn’t seem like a long time, but it was enough time. I’d known I loved the girl who owned my soul the second I felt her, and I’d spent six months convincing her we were meant to be together and loving her completely.
The last seven months I’d spent numb and without her.
Three days were spent off the pills, suffering a heat stroke in a winter storm.
And the last sixty seconds were spent counting the days since I’d met her to avoid the ripping my heart was doing during this wintery hurricane under the sweltering sun.
Yeah, my body was fucking confused … to put it lightly.
I rubbed my palms up and down the rough material of the blue pants I wore from the jail, allowing them to absorb proof of my weakness. Even through my struggles, she dominated every breaking fragment. The thought of her alone kept my blood pumping while the rest of me wasted away.
I had to know. “Ms. Rhonda?”
“Yeah?”
“How is she?”
“How’s who?”
I drew in a deep breath.
“Mia,” I exhaled. “How’s Mia?”
It was the first time I’d said her name out loud, and as soon as it left from my lips, the ache intensified, the need for her taste conquered the need of a numbing fix. Her name was both a stifling curse and a vital prayer. Her name invited more rips inside my chest and more memories of us together.
Memories of the way she made me feel.
Memories of the way I’d made her feel.
Perfection.
She’d always fit perfectly in my arms. She’d fit perfectly on top of me. I’d fit perfectly inside her. She’d fit perfectly beside me, against me, under me, bodies entangled and aligned.
Every way, we’d fit without flaw.
Her body was my kingdom come.
Her divine kiss was my salvation.
Her soul was mine’s paradise.
