Please visit again.
Cade.
It’s with guilt I make the following notes in my ever-growing stack.
– Inmate displays more eagerness for repeat visits after only one. – Indicates true depth of loneliness. Solution is?
– Inmate appears to be resisting speaking his mind in letter. **only a hypothesis with no definite source to back up claim – do not necessarily use** Feels like a stranger wrote it.
– Waited until January. – Holding back or showing social restraint?
With even more guilt, I close the email from the prison regarding the dates of upcoming visitation days. Wanting to go see him one more time is every reason I shouldn’t.
My responding letter is shorter than most of my others, mentioning that the semester is back in full swing and work is too busy to manage another trip to the prison. Then I detail some of what I’ve been doing—minus thesis writing.
Three weeks later, my thighs rub together from where the metal bench chills my legs. Stupid prison visitation room isn’t heated enough, especially considering the negative thirty-degree Celsius temperatures outside.
Doesn’t help being seated at the exact same table as last time, like the guards did it on purpose.
The door opens, and energy in male form enters the room. Numerous of them, and like last time, my gaze remains on the metal ring attached to the centre of the table, even as two figures enter my field of vision.
One is in a dark uniform and leading the other.
He adjusts his orange jumpsuit and settles in the bench across from me. His eyes are on me, practically undressing me from intensity, but I prevent looking at the man who frequents my dreams each night until the guard moves along and we’re alone.
Piercing eyes I swear follow me everywhere around the city twinkle in both pleasure and amusement. “Well.” Meltingchocolate drapes over me at the sound of his voice. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
You won’t after today.
After diligently working on my paper throughout January—and now into February—Cade’s situation has filled my work alongside my other examples to a sufficient degree. No further research is required.
I no longer have any reason to continue the pen pal project.
A part of me doesn’t want to end it for both him and me, but at what point will it be too much? Staying in contact means we’ll become friends of sorts, and I can’t predict where it’ll lead. Not knowing how much longer his sentence is, or how the law even works, I wonder if I’m ready to subject myself to constant visitation to maintain this friendship with a near stranger—a man who’ll probably never speak to me once he’s released.
No.We came together for the program, but my life needs to continue on the path I’ve been determined to get it on, while Cade finishes what he’s meant to here.
Before ending this for good, Ihadto see him one more time, aware it’s probably a huge mistake. It’ll make it harder on us both, especially if he asks me to come back again. This time, it’ll have to be a no.
“You asked. Of course I came.”
Cade’s eyes narrow and harden to the same stone of this room. “You didn’t want to?” His tone is sharp—dangerous.
Last time, light humour worked well on him. Humour and a gift, which is why I didn’t come empty-handed again. Reaching for the bench beside me, I raise the small heart-shaped box that I bought yesterday after confirming the prison would allow me in with it.
“If I didn’t want to be here, would I get you something?” I slide the red box over the table to him. “They said you’d be allowed to eat them, provided you do so in here.”
Cade stares before bringing the box closer and slowly lifting the lid to take in the caramel-filled milk chocolates—his favourite.
“Happy early Valentine’s Day.”
One hand slides from the box to rest on the table. Flat, for a second, before tightening into a fist. He continues staring, like he’s trying to tell me something else. After another flex of his hand, his shoulders lower about four inches.
“This is seriously for me?”
Amused and a bit apprehensive, I make a show of glancing to my left and right, ignoring the man seated at a nearby table glancing over at us at the same time. “See anyone else I’m gifting chocolates to?”
More delicately than what his large form seems capable of, he lifts a chocolate, rolls it between two fingers, and then pops it into his mouth, slowly chewing. A low groan emits, and heat blasts through my stomach until I’m forced to cross my legs.
