Honest

three

I stare at my ceiling, thinking about that man, Ray Powell. What does he look like I wonder? Have you ever met someone who's voice didn't match their frame?

It's comical, hearing a small voice from a large body or vice versa.

But no. I could tell his stature is large. It suits his voice. And while I can see him looking at me, I can't make out his features.

It shouldn't bug me but it does.

"Desiree," My friend calls from my living room. "The movie's going to start!"

I get up. I think I want to take a nap. But I promised Salone I would watch some horror flick with her.

She says I flake too often these days, with my busy schedule. Between work, and art, I don't watch TV much.

It's not stimulating enough for me, the screen feels numbing to my brain.

Still, I plop down on the couch beside Salone as she offers me popcorn mixed with M&M's.

I think it greedily, loving the balance of salty and sweet.

"That yellow looks so pretty against your skin," She says. "Let me borrow it."

I recall Ray's words.

You look so beautiful in yellow. It compliments your golden brown skin perfectly.

I take my hands between my cheeks, shaking my head. I'm insane. Maybe I need a little mind numbing with all the thinking I've been doing.

"Salone, you don't borrow, you steal," I retort.

She rolls her eyes, her black colored lips pursing, as she sucks her teeth.

"Girl, didn't anybody tell you? Stealing is just borrowing... indefinitely."

I laugh, because she's ridiculous, and she's not getting this shirt.

"Alright, Chucky, or Slasher in the Shower?"

I wrinkle my nose. "Can we not watch a horror movie right now?"

Salone sighs dramatically, putting her head in my lap.

"Ugh! I come all the way over to be deprived of my trashy horror movies, and my yellow shirt. Is there no end to your cruelty?!"

Smacking her forehead, I roll my eyes. "It's my shirt. And if it comes up missing I'm going to kill you."

"Assault!" She cries, "Assualt and very threatening words! Am I even welcome in your home, my dearest companion?!"

"Reading Shakespeare again?" I ask, going through the movies. I'm still too unsettled to watch a horror movie right now.

"A Midnight's Summer Dream," She answers dreamily.

"How can you read that crap?"

"It's simple, my friend," She says in a snotty British voice, "I am trash. Shakespearean trash."

I giggle at her dramatics. I've known Salone since I was six.

She is truly Shakespearean trash, I'm not even going to lie.

"Yeah well, if you start with the Art's, Thou's, and random facts, I'm kicking you out."

She huffs, watching the screen. "Tragedy!" She declares. I smile, feeling relaxed with my best friend, as she keeps up her British accent her whole visit.

I forget Ray Powell for a while, as I watch the Color Purple and the Help, and binge watch the Simpsons as if there's no tommorow.

Unfortunately, there is. And I have work. So f**k me for not sleeping at night like normal people.

I make my rounds. I focus on inmates transferring out of prison. I make sure their mental state is stable, and try to discern their readiness for life outside of prison.

If need be, I can petition a court to have someone's release date postponed.

I've never had to do that. I deal mostly with minor criminals. Troublemakers, people with no impulse control, people who make bad decisions. But not truly malicious either.

Usually.

And then there's him. He fascinates me. I don't know what he is.

Is he someone who just needs guidance? Someone who's hurting, and doesn't know how to express it? Maybe he's a self-server. He does what he wants with no regards to how it may affect others.

But I don't know. I can't...can't seem to pinpoint what he is.

I wait for the cell to open. I've instructed the guard to leave the light on for today's visit. I'm...curious.

He sits there, a smile on his face. He's devilishly handsome. His features are striking, yet placed evenly on his face, almost perfection.

The prettiest ones are the most ugly inside.

"I thought after our last meeting, you wouldn't come see me again," He mused lowly.

His dark hair shimmered under the flickering lights.

"I'm here," I announce, sitting.

His lips curl up into a smile. "You're here," He repeats. "And look. The lights are on. Am I what you thought I'd be?" He rumbles.

And in truth...I didn't know what he'd be. He piqued my interest, saying that he's always honest.

Is anyone always honest?

"So, Ray, how was your day today?"

"The same as yesterday," he says lowly.

"And-«

"Do you mind if I ask you a question?" he interrupts.

I nod hesitantly. "Go ahead."

His face twists into a smirk, his dark eyes reflecting my image.

"Is it not obvious I want to f**k you, or are you just ignoring that fact?"

I fold my manicured hands together, keeping my composure.

"Mr. Powell, please, refrain from inappropriate comments or queries."

He smirks, sitting back in the chair.

"No promises, Doctor Brown. No promises."