“Yes, but I was told he’s in isolation. This seems to be a mistake. There’s no way he’d be violent unless it was self-defense—in which case, he shouldn’t be punished for it.”
Gently nudging my upper back, he pulls me to a corner. “As you can imagine, Mr. Coleman is a very special inmate. We’ve been keeping a very close eye on him at all times. Three guards witnessed the fight, and I was there when the warden checked the video surveillance. I can personally confirm that Mr. Coleman started the fight. I’m sorry, Miss Walker, but we take such behavior seriously, regardless of the inmate’s status. That’s why he’s in isolation until next week.”
It isn’t like Lex. Something must have happened. “Did he really start a fight?”
“Yes, with two other inmates.”
Lost for words, I say nothing for a moment, trying to understand what the hell must have happened. After our argument, Lex’s emotions must have been all over the place, like mine. That’s the only way he would lose the control he’s usually so good at maintaining.
Jesus, he’s been locked in isolation the whole time. Even though I was surrounded by people, I spent my week rehashing what happenedbetween us and the harsh words we exchanged. I can’t begin to imagine what it must have been like for him. He had nothing to occupy his mind but empty walls. He must be going mad in there.
“I need to see him,” I tell Mr. Winters.
“I’m sorry, miss. No visitation rights for inmates in the SHU.”
“Listen, I just drove four hours to see him, only to realize he’s been locked alone in a gloomy cell for a week. Whatever this fight was about, something has to be wrong with him, and I need to talk to him.”
“I’m sorry for the time you wasted coming here, but rules are rules.”
It’s as though my sanity has been slowly seeping out of me since the arrest, like fine sand making its way through a colander. With every new twist, every new complication, more of it was gone. I feel at the end of my tether, like I’m all out of sand, as I stare at Mr. Winters.
I’m so fucking done with letting shit happen to me. To Lex. To us.
“Alright, here’s what we’re going to do,” I start, sounding much more confident than I feel. “You’re going to lift Alexander’s punishment right now, and you’ll allow me to talk to him.”
“Miss, I—”
“I’m not done. You’ll do that, and in exchange, I won’t talk to the press about how he’s being treated here. The heir to one of the wealthiest families in this country. A man with no criminal record, no history of violence, and a diagnosis that makes solitary confinement especially harmful.”
“He attacked them, you can’t—”
“Good luck making the world believe that. He has no criminal record, no violent past,nothing. Alexander Coleman is a paragon of society, a man who founded a company that has received numerous awards for its charity work and accomplishments toward disabled communities. Do you think they’d believe he would attacktwomen unprompted, putting himself at a strategic disadvantage?” I should probably feel bad for using Lex’s status for this, but I’m sure he won’t mind. Not if it gets him out of solitary.
Mr. Winters tries to think of something to say but fails, so I continue with, “I still have journalists calling me every single day, you know. All I have to do is pick up a few of them. After enough of those phone calls, someone here is getting fired. And the only name I can give them is yours.” The ruthlessness of my voice shocks me.
Mr. Winters swallows nervously, pulls on his tie as if he’s feeling hot, and decides, “I’ll check with the warden what can be done.”
“Go do that, yes.”
As I watch him walk away, visibly tense, I can barely believe I threatened him like I did. But I’ve run out of fucks to give.
Just like I’ve run out of sanity.
Maybe I should act like an entitled bitch more often. Turns out it works better than wallowing in self-pity.
About thirty-five minutes after my talk with Mr. Winters, someone leads me to the visitation room. Not the communal one, but the one they reserve for violent and dangerous inmates. It isn’t optimal, but it’s better than nothing.
As I sit on my side of the booth waiting for someone to bring Lex, I try to figure out what I’ll tell him. Again, I’m not apologizing for our argument. Not all of it, at least. I threw some hurtful words in the midst of it, for which I will ask forgiveness. But I’m not changing my mind about never seeing him again if he loses the trial.
Lost in my thoughts, I’m startled when he suddenly appears on the other side of the booth, escorted by a guard who sits him down and cuffs his left wrist to the table. They might have lifted his punishment, but they’re still treating him like a violent inmate, which hurts to see.
Lex avoids my gaze, head twisted to the right to offer me his stern profile. Even once the guard is gone, he stays like this, staring at whatever’s on his left. So, yes. He’s still pissed at me.
With a hesitant hand, I pick up the phone from its holder on the wall and press it to my ear. Since Lex doesn’t motion toward his phone, I tap the glass with mine. After a few seconds, he picks up, still not gracing me with even a glimpse.
“Hi,” I say.
He doesn’t answer, and his expression doesn’t flinch. What if he isn’t mad? He’s never been this closed off before, not even when he was angry at me. What if he reached an all-time low after his week in isolation?
