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Post by Abby Foster on Apr 19, 2010 21:34:54 GMT -5
[TAG: Rome! ]
The black shirt or the green shirt? Standing in front of the small bathroom mirror Abby had each draped over one shoulder, holding them up with her chin and her hands. She turned this way and that, put one down too see the solo effect, pausing slightly only to toss aside the other one. Abby wrinkled her nose at her reflection; aware of the importance she was putting into this trivial situation. After all, for the past five years Rome had only known her to wear the standard prison blues, what would it matter if she chose the green shirt over the black?
Pulling the simple green t-shirt over her head (she thought it might bring out the green in her hazel eyes) Abby turned to leave the bathroom, pausing a quick moment to run her fingers through her hair. She checked her wristwatch and gave a small squeak of surprise. Abandoning all preening actions, Abby ran to scoop up her beige coat and brown purse. She flew out of her apartment, fumbling her keys in her urgency to lock the door and go.
Hurrying down the steps, Abby darted through the lobby and out onto the streets. She half walked half jogged the short distance to the bus stop, catching her breath just as the bus pulled up. Abby flashed the driver her bus pass and took her regular seat in the middle row, turning her gaze immediately out the window. She felt all jittery and couldn’t explain why. Her hands knotted and unknotted themselves in her lap, and she shifted constantly in her seat. The thought of returning to her place of imprisonment was a bizarre one. It would be the first time Abby would see the familiar walls and fences since her incarceration, and it would be even stranger as she saw them as a free citizen and not a condemned criminal. Abby wondered momentarily if she would run into Mama while visiting Rome. She closed her eyes at the thought, pushing it to the far corners of her mind. She couldn’t think about Mama right now, there were too many other momentous things occurring.
Abby leaned her head against the window, feeling every jolt as the bus rumbled down the uneven street. She watched the chaos of the busy city melt away slowly into more docile and remote areas, and with each mile passed her anxiety grew. The thought of seeing Rome again excited and chilled her. Abby tried not to think about it, but a small voice in her head wondered if things would be different now. After seeing him every minute of every day, the separation had been difficult to overcome – and it was something Abby was still learning to deal with. How would it be now to see him across the table?
Abby was startled from her thoughts as someone pushed the buzzer for the bus to stop. Collecting her purse, Abby hurriedly followed them off the bus and towards Fox River. She paused at the gates, staring up at the great structure with wide eyes. Five years, five years she’d survived this place, only to return now. Abby suppressed a shudder and hurried to catch up with the small group of visitors. She would soon learn that they were a regular lot, tight-lipped and cold-shouldered, hardly speaking to one another except for when it couldn’t be avoided. Despite their hardness there was a sense of unity about the group, a familiarity with one another that came from the shared feelings of ‘me-against-the-world’.
Abby signed her name and waited with the other visitors until they were called in to visiting room, her cheeks rosy from the warm day. Her heart sped up when she recognized the CO who ushered them forward as a regular customer of Mama’s. Bowing her head slightly, Abby willed herself not to be recognized and followed in the back of the line. She lifted her gaze for long enough to pick a table in the corner of the room and quickly sat down. She nervously rubbed her hands together, and then folded them neatly in her lap.
“Hey, don’ I know you?” Abby jumped at the male voice and turned to see the CO from before watching her. He pushed back his cap to scratch at his head, and then recognition dawned in his eyes.
“I do know you! You were one of Mama’s girls weren’t you? Jus’ tryin’ to remember your name sweetie, what was it again? Oh yeah! Thimble. Heh, funny name that.” He smiled broadly and folded his arms across his chest. “You visitin’ Mama now, sweetie?”
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Rome
Life Sentence
Roman Churchill General Population A-Wing, Cell 10 Sentence: 15 Years Link to Rap Sheet
Posts: 1,765
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Post by Rome on Apr 20, 2010 17:17:27 GMT -5
For the hundredth time, Rome peeled open the letter and read it again. The paper was worn with near constant handling, the crease yellowed and some of the writing was beginning to fade where his fingertips had continously touched. He'd only had it for a couple days, it was a little saddening. He'd more or less memorized the message though, in the neat handwriting of his best girl, so it didn't really matter much if some characters became a bit harder to see than others. He read over each word, lips moving with them, and he drew all his attention to the date she'd promised to come visit.
Today.
For the hundredth time, Rome folded the letter back up and paced back to the entrance of his cell to peer out. The guards still hadn't moved from their posts from what he could make out. Still not time. He was going to die of old age before things got a move on, he was convinced. In accordance to the anxious routine he'd set, he pushed away from the bars to cross to the opposite wall. "Wha' time's it?" He questioned, squinting up to the bare surroundings where no clock was offered to him.
"I'unno," a voice mumbled from the bottom bunk. He glanced over to his cellmate, who was currently snuggled up underneath his thin prison issue blankets and trying to steal a nap.
"Y'know, ya sleep way too much." Rome criticized, shaking his head and approaching the bars of the cell once more, ignoring the petulant 'whatever' that was whipped back to him. The guards still hadn't moved. People were such lazy bastards around this place.
He was just about to move away from the door, hand slipping back into his pocket to fondle Thimble's letter tenderly once more, when movement caught his eye and snapped him back to the door. A guard was entering general population with a clipboard, and his deep voice filled up the room with names. Guts twisted and ached inside him until he heard his called, his entire body instantly slumping with utter relief. Loud horns sounded, beeping and cell doors slid open in response. Rome was slipping through his own as soon as it offered a crack big enough, and he was sidling past other figures to jog down the stairs to line up. He wasn't quite the first, sadly, but close enough. He bounced on his feet, eagerness flowing through his system with an energy he barely had the strength to control.
Guided down the corridor, he fidgeted, nibbled at his lip and slipped his hand in and out of his pockets. There was an overjoyed bounce in his step. As the line was brought to a halt so a guard could unlock the door into the visiting room, he leaned to the side to try to peer around the individuals in front of him, to try to see through the grating for his own personal visitor. He couldn't make her out anywhere in the limited view offered from his point, but she was there. He knew this and that was enough.
He practically pushed the man in front of him once the door was unlocked and opened, earning himself a glare that he promptly ignored. He brushed past the man once there was space enough to get through, pausing in his stride just long enough to glance about and he finally settled on her, sitting so small and pretty in a corner. Light filled him up, his grin beamed and he bounded over to her, throwing his arms up, as loud and consuming as he'd always been. "Abby!" He shouted in greeting, laughter following the sound of her name as he danced around tables to approach the one she had claimed for them. "God, am I glad'ta see ya." He revealed fearlessly, a breathless exhale taking him as he stopped in front of him, lopsided grin still sitting full on his features as he looked over her face. He took in all of the details that he didn't get to see everyday, reminding himself of the mousy hair and the freckles and the colour of her eyes.
He took all of that in before he noticed everything else, finally realizing that this was the chance to see her in normal clothes. She no longer had to wear the signs of prison. He offered a single glance over her attire before coming right back to her face, locked there and unwilling to leave it. "Ya look good, ya look real good." He complimented, nodding eagerly with his words, punctuating the praise with another chuckle, still as giddy as could be.
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Post by Abby Foster on Apr 23, 2010 17:45:38 GMT -5
Abby was about to respond negatively to the guard when her shouted name reverberated around the small visitors room. Whipping her head around Abby saw Rome laughing, standing with his arms flung open. She jumped out of her seat as he danced over. Affected by his enthusiasm Abby found her previous nerves melt away as joy overtook her. Her first instinct was to reach out and touch him as he stopped in front of her, but a quick glance to the CO who had disappeared to the far wall told her this would not be allowed. Instead Abby tilted her head back slightly so that she could meet his eye, and she beamed up at him.
“It’s good to see you too,” she said in her quiet voice, and blushed lightly at his compliment. “You look good too.” His giddy chuckle made her giggle quietly as she was caught up in the excitement of their reunion.
Abby paused to reclaim her seat again, but once settled her hazel eyes went back to searching his face; familiarizing herself again with the handsome features and the tiny imperfections that threatened to grow hazy in her memory. She looked for bruises as well. She looked for any signs of ill treatment, knowing firsthand how violent and dangerous Fox River could be.
“How have you been?” The question was a layered one. It was a general question that usually had a general answer of ‘good, yourself?’ but Abby wasn’t looking for a simple response. While she couldn’t find any bruises on his face, she knew inmates and guards could hit where marks wouldn’t be so obvious. Knowing Rome as she did her concern wasn’t entirely out of place as the young man did have a tendency to find trouble. Her hazel eyes, wide with concern for her friend, searched his gaze again, but despite her worry the small girl felt another warm smile touch her lips. She felt the happiness being raised up in her, pulled out of her, coaxed along by his giddiness until she was smiling as widely at him as he was grinning at her.
“I’ve missed you,” she said, and boy wasn’t that the truth.
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Rome
Life Sentence
Roman Churchill General Population A-Wing, Cell 10 Sentence: 15 Years Link to Rap Sheet
Posts: 1,765
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Post by Rome on Apr 26, 2010 16:14:02 GMT -5
There was little he wanted more in this world at that very moment than to be able to fling his arms about his best girl and hold her close. It was an intense feeling, the desire to feel her small frame against his own and to bury his face in the crook of her neck to smell her hair. It was a need for affection, pure and simple and platonic, melted together with the want to know that this was real and she was here, as solid and okay as she should be. It wasn't any mindfulness of the visitation rules that kept him in check, but the habit. The extent of his physical contact with her had been kept down to merely holding hands, a gesture that had been difficult in itself to reach and was often only brought about by her initiation. A massive bear hug was a fairly grand leap from holding hands, if he did say so himself.
Instead, he brought a hand up to place over his chest as he glanced off with a grin, nodding his head to the side as if to say of course he looked good. He always looked good, arrogance apparently firmly intact. Years in prison had done little to humble the Texan.
He followed her lead as she sat, moving to sit down beside her and then discreetly scooch over to be as close as he could get. He minded the personal boundaries that she'd taught him all about in their time together. He brought his arms up to rest on the top of the table, fingers latching together for the sake of holding onto something in her place. He beamed, offering a facial shrug as he glanced off and back, briefly allowing himself to consider how he'd been. "I been alright. Y'know'ow it is, jus' goin' day by day'n all." He returned, nodding eagerly. There'd been fights, there always were. Bruises darkened tan skin here and there in sickening shades of healing greens and yellows, but she didn't need to know about them and, as long as they didn't hinder his swagger and ego in the slightest, he saw no need to make her worry about that. As far as she had to be concerned, he was thriving in the environment as much as he'd always been.
"God, I've missed ya too." He exhaled, grin flashing across his features once more as he skimmed his vision over the delicate lines of her face before looking down, untangling one hand to reach down to slide quickly into his pocket. He ignored the sound of a guard clearing his throat, remaining oblivious to the tense and watchful eye delivered to him with the movement. He withdraw her letter, crinkled and worn, bringing it up to the table to show it off with a proud grin. "I got yer last letter, I read it near all the time." He expressed, shaking his head as if it were somehow ridiculous of him that he should cling so much to her written words. "So, yer a waitress now, huh? 'Er somethin' like that, how's that goin'?" He questioned, turning his gaze back over to her as he returned the letter to his pocket.
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Post by Abby Foster on Apr 27, 2010 13:05:52 GMT -5
He was still her Rome that much was for sure. The bravado was there in full-force, the arrogance shining winsomely in his grin and casual facial shrugs. Apparently Fox River could do nothing to crush the Texan’s spirit, and with his nonchalant reply Abby felt herself relax further. Whether or not Rome was merely glossing over the truth seemed irrelevant in the moment. Abby trusted her ability to read her best friend for when things were truly wrong, and seeing his beaming grin reassured her.
She was glad when Rome sat down beside her, noticing his discrete movement to be closer to her. Abby had spent five years of her life avoiding human contact and remaining watchful of anyone trying to invade her personal space, so it was easy to notice subtle shifts and movements. This time however it didn’t startle her. She didn’t shy away from the closeness of their bodies, the near contact of their legs and hips and shoulders. Her heart beat a little quicker but as a result of something entirely different from fear. What it was Abby couldn’t truly say, she left the emotion unexplored for the time being. Rome’s close proximity seemed to relax Abby instead of upset her. It was a reminder of their time as cell mates passing the long hours of the day side by side, talking, playing cards, enjoying the rare peace that could be found before they were thrust out into the dangers of tier or yard time. In truth Abby desperately missed Rome’s presence throughout the day. It had been difficult to adjust to the sudden change of being surrounded by lots of people, of sleeping only a few feet away from murderers, thieves and rapists, to the sudden quiet of her own poorly furnished apartment. Abby had quickly come to hate the night, the coming darkness that carried with it a heavy silence broken only by the constant hum of traffic from outside. It was then that she missed Rome the most. She would wake up from her nightmares gasping, heart racing, reaching out instinctively for her Rome only to find he wasn’t there. Her hand would drop back onto the small bed and she would berate herself for forgetting again, for needing him still even though she had promised him when she left that she would be okay. She would roll over onto her back and pull the thin quilt up under her chin, hugging it to her small body to provide herself with some source of comfort. It was never enough but it was the best that she had.
Abby tilted her head to watch his hand slip into his pocket and retrieve a crinkled and worn piece of paper, something that her mother would have called ‘well loved’. Abby recognized her own small, neat handwriting before Rome returned the letter to his pocket, and she looked up in time to see the flash of his proud grin. She couldn’t help herself then, reaching forward without a second thought to take his much larger hand in one of her own small ones. She wove their fingers together with the kind of confidence that came from a daily repeated action, and because words often eluded her, Abby squeezed his hand gently to convey her pleasure at his confession. She was happy to see that he seemed to treasure the letter so highly; heavens knew she had spent enough time writing it. Her lettering was small and industrial, using up as little space as possible so that she might be able to fit more on the small sheet of paper. That was another thing about living on the outside, you came to appreciate how expensive the little things like tooth paste and paper truly were. Abby’s lips fluttered into another small smile, parting slightly as she started to speak. The rough voice of the watchful CO cut across her however, and Abby’s mouth instinctively snapped shut again.
“Hands con.”
Abby glanced away from Rome and in the direction of the CO who was watching them with raised eyebrows. She felt the colour rise in her cheeks and regretfully removed her hand from his; already missing the small contact and warmth it provided her.
“Yeah, I work at a small coffee shop called Duke’s Café.” Her voice was the quiet of shaken nerves. It took her a moment to regain her small shred of confidence and look back at Rome. For some reason the COs interruption and acknowledgment of their hand holding had unsettled Abby, as if he had been privy to some private display of affection.
“It’s a good job,” she continued after another pause and a small shrug. “Quiet, and the owner’s good to me. I got my first tip out the other day too. It’s not a lot but I’m going to save up for something nice.” Abby fell silent once again, looking away with a small smile that touched the corners of her lips and stirred in her hazel eyes. Abby knew her job wasn’t much, heck it was a far cry away from her previous dreams of being a dancer, but it was something. Each day had for her a challenge that she had to face alone, and each time she did so she felt herself taking a small step forward, growing in confidence and ability. That didn’t mean there weren’t days that she went home feeling small and defeated, but somehow she managed to pick herself back up again and keep going. She worked through the anxiety and tears, feeling rewarded with each small development. Abby was changing; leaving behind the shell of Thimble and growing into a young woman comfortable in her own skin. It was slow, and scary, and difficult, and in many ways Abby wasn’t aware of it, but every so often she would catch a glimpse of herself in the mirror and nod. ‘You’re doing okay,’ she’d think to herself, ‘you’re doing just fine, keep going.’
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Rome
Life Sentence
Roman Churchill General Population A-Wing, Cell 10 Sentence: 15 Years Link to Rap Sheet
Posts: 1,765
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Post by Rome on Apr 28, 2010 18:19:51 GMT -5
Her hand slid into his own with the warm comfort of familiarity. Her skin was cool to the touch, her fingers dainty and small, but they filled the spaces between his own as if they belonged nowhere else. His grin was large as he looked down at their joined hands, studying the stark contrast of sizes and textures and tones; they were so different, on the outside and the in, but he was certain that he fit with her better than he'd fit anywhere else in his life, and that even included underneath the hood of a car. He liked to think it was the same for her because he could feel the confidence thrumming underneath the surface of her as she made the bold move to hold his hand, and it was a confidence that he didn't see in her anywhere else. It saddened him for the most part that such a pretty girl would have no earthly idea how wonderful she was, but a selfish piece of himself was proud to be the only person that could make her feel the way he was sure he made her feel. The small pressure of her hand squeezing his own made him soar, thrilled with her approval and pleased with himself for having made her happy. Walls and chains fell away as easily as time did in that moment, throwing him back to every heartwarming second over their time together that they'd been able to hold hands like this.
The gruff warning behind them shattered it apart. COs had a talent for that.
He wanted to hold her hand even tighter despite the rules, he wanted to cling to the thread of her trust and wrap it closer to him, but he managed to hang on to her hand for only a brief second before he allowed it to slip away. His eyes glanced over his shoulder to the guard that stood poised against the wall. His jaw set in frustration as he looked over the uniform, his brain struggling to form an understanding for why that suit made that guy so damn important and ultimately failing to manage. Resisting the urge to flip him the bird, Rome managed to suck in a deep breath through his nostrils and returned his attentions back to his companion, instantly disheartened by how swiftly she'd shrunk back into herself. Face flushed with humiliation for being called out on their affection, shoulders hunched and eyes down on the table top as if it were the most fascinating shade of drab gray she'd ever seen before in her life; it only made him want to hug her more, to find her hand and grab on to it despite anything the lame CO had to say about it.
She was speaking though and he threw his energy into focusing on that, taking in the quiet words. He watched her profile, urging her to return those pretty eyes back to him. His telepathy had apparently improved a great deal because she listened, lifting her gaze up to his face and he flashed a big grin to reward her efforts. "Sounds snazzy," he complimented, dropping his own voice down a decibel to create the illusion of privacy between them, showing that confidence could be present in a whisper too in the hopes that she'd take his lead and mimick.
Quiet. The single description was all he needed to know that Duke's Café was a good place for his girl to be working. Part of him was suspicious of the owner straight off the bat, cynicism derived from a prison bid curling its possessive grip around his head. After all, once upon a time, the girl in front of him would have said Mama was good to her too. But that was Thimble then and this was Abby now, and he had to trust that she'd learned what was good and what was not. He looked over the small smile that danced in her features, his own grin lighting up in turn. "Good, ya deserve somethin' nice." He assured, tilting his head a bit and raising his eyebrows. "Whatcha gunna get, any ideas? Y'ain't gunna forget about me when ya get rich off them tips all them lovesick admirers sure gunna give ya, yeah?" He teased with a light chuckle under his words, feeling neither worried about any lovesick admirers nor about being forgotten. Both of which felt impossible, not that his girl couldn't get an admirer or two. But he knew her best, and he knew that she knew that.
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Post by Abby Foster on Apr 29, 2010 13:23:20 GMT -5
Lovesick admirers, Abby gave an almost inaudible snort of surprised laughter, hiding her quiet chuckle behind her dainty hand. What an idea that was. Abby paused to tap at her thin lips with her index finger, feigning serious consideration. She turned her hazel eyes back to him and there was a tell tale sparkle in their depths; the corners of her mouth twitching with the coming jest. “Only if they promise to buy me a mansion and a trip to Paris,” she teased back, giving a small smile.
Her humor gave way to serious thought as she considered the true possibilities of what she might save up for. If she was honest with herself Abby already knew what she desired most, but recognizing this longing required an amount of bravery she didn’t know if she had. Dance had been such a large part of her life, from the time she was three up until three months before her arrest. The dance studio had practically been Abby’s home, she could remember spending countless hours there and not only for rehearsal. Abby had lived and breathed dance, studying, eating, socializing and even on occasion sleeping at the studio before her mother came to retrieve her. As a child she had watched the older students with wide eyes, and every night she had gone home to pray that she might be as good as them. As a college student she had gone to performances and watched those graceful professional figures soar across the stage, her heart aching with longing to one day be considered worthy enough to perform with them. Her mother, Elizabeth, had pushed Abby hard to succeed. Second best wouldn’t do, Elizabeth Foster’s daughter had to be first! Abby had started out hating dance, she would sit in the middle of the hall way as a child, dressed up in her pink leotard and tutu and cry until her mother would come and bodily carry her into the car to take her to practice. Abby had warmed slowly to dance, urged on by her mother’s harrying, but from that eagerness to please Abby’s passion was ignited and she soon didn’t need to be bullied and pushed into dance. She had dabbled in all forms, feeling challenged by the hard beats of hip hop; elegant while practicing ballroom waltzes and fox trots; sexy with the exhilarating sambas and salsas, but it was contemporary and ballet that had stolen her heart. She had never felt more at home in her own body then when she was pirouetting across the floor, her body dipping gracefully, her leg extending in a second arabesque form; practicing until it was flawless.
Dance was her source of freedom, it was a world that she lost herself to as the tide of musical notes beckoned her forward and she moved to respond. Her shyness would melt away when she practiced, and it was like a new Abby bloomed in the old ones place: confident, beautiful, light hearted and daring. But that was years ago, and it had been so long. So much had changed since then; she couldn’t possibly go back…
“I have…an idea of something,” Abby began quietly, but stopped to bite her lower lip. She was shy again, embarrassed, unsure of how to proceed. Her hands were linked loosely together on the table, her fingers fidgeting and curling about one another constantly. “It’s kind of, well, stupid. I mean when you think about it…” Abby broke off again with a self-conscious shrug, her cheeks turning a light shade of pink. It wasn’t the same humiliating colour from before, but a gentler blush that decorated her delicate features. It was the secretive blush, the one that betrayed her inner most desires. Abby wasn’t a particularly difficult person to read, there were always little tells about her that gave away her thoughts and feelings. When she was about to make a witty quip her hazel eyes would sparkle, when she was worried a small crease would appear between her brow, when she was happy her face would colour with excitement and she would hide her wide smile behind her small hand.
“…There’s a dance store I pass on my way to work. I’ve never been inside or anything but they have some things out on display in the windows and…." she paused to draw in a final breath, poised on the cusp of her confession. She wavered for a moment before giving in and the words were pulled from her in a rush of breathy and thrilled undertones. "They just got the newest Ulanova Grishko ballet slippers, canvas with a U-shaped low vamp, which is really a lot better than the old Ulanova Fouette shoes I used to use because these ones have an Eleve Pointe model so it’s designed for better support and versatility and…” she broke off her excited ramblings suddenly to bite her lip, finally returning her shining, hopeful eyes to his. “And I think they’re pretty,” she finished shyly.
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Rome
Life Sentence
Roman Churchill General Population A-Wing, Cell 10 Sentence: 15 Years Link to Rap Sheet
Posts: 1,765
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Post by Rome on May 3, 2010 18:22:36 GMT -5
A huff of laughter left his throat as he grinned and nodded his head to the side, beaming as he recognized the joke for what it was. "A mansion an' a trip'ta Paris; hell, I'd forget me too." He teased, hazel eyes returning to her own with a reciprocating twinkle. He liked that she could joke, he liked the swiftness of her wit. Years ago, he would have said it was impossible for her to indulge in humour, now it was a thread lightly wove throughout her composition. He didn't just like it, he loved it.
Patience settled upon his shoulders as he waited throughout her consideration. It proved an unfamiliar weight, but he wore it well as he watched her, gears shifting behind her expressive eyes. It was perhaps the first lesson she'd ever taught him during the long stretch of their friendship, the importance of being steady and moving slow. They'd moved so very far in the time that he'd known each other, soaring over leaps and bounds that sometimes he couldn't remember the extremely skittish girl she'd been in the library at the very beginning, but it had taken years. It had taken effort and determination in such grand amounts that it surprised even himself that he'd been capable of it. He was headstrong and short-tempered, but she tamed him in ways that he'd never thought were available to him. She soothed him, calmed him to no small degree. At times, looking back over all the things they'd accomplished and all the things he'd done for her, it felt a lot like hearing about the antics of someone else. A someone else that was extraordinarily composed and patient.
He nibbled at his lip as he waited, and released it so his mouth could stretch into a wide grin as she spoke. Her voice was soft and he had to lean forward a touch, but the words registered clear all the same. He raised his eyebrows a touch in silent prodding for her to continue, his smile only growing ever wider as she stalled and blushed a beautiful shade of pink. She looked light, delicate and precious, and the tender glow filling her up as her thoughts turned around whatever it was that she wanted was infectious.
His brows once more rose in mild surprise and intrigue as she started, telling him about a dance store that she passed by on her way to work. He couldn't recall if he knew that she danced or that she even had an interest in the art. It certainly felt like something he should know though.
If he hadn't been aware of her giddiness before, it was made transparent with the sudden rush of words that swept out from her normally quiet self. Her tone remained low, but he clearly heard the ramble and yet he understood so little of it that he might as well have been deaf. He focused on the expression of child-like awe filling up her face as she described the look and value of a pair of ballet slippers, struggling to keep up with something he could never really hope to grasp, and, for a moment, he was certain that he must be feeling as she did when he subjected her to his own ramblings about some engine or model that was decidedly beyond her comprehension. Eager simply because she was eager rather than because he got it. It was a peculiar feeling, but fun in its own way he supposed.
A chuckle abandoned his throat at her final reason for wanting these shoes, a reason that made considerably more sense than most of what had come before it. "Good, ya deserve pretty things." He returned, grin still as wide as ever and another chuckle punctuating the statement before his brow furrowed in curiosity. "Ya dance? I didn' know that." He pointed out, his gaze on her face asking for her to clarify with genuine desire to know more.
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Post by Abby Foster on May 5, 2010 17:57:47 GMT -5
A small smile touched her lips as he chuckled and she ducked her head slightly with his kind words. It was a humble gesture that shrugged off the enormity of her desire while conceding her warrant of things that made her happy. They had made such progress together over the years of their friendship, and as Rome had patiently and painstakingly drawn Abby from her shell she had begun to realize that she did deserve nice things, pretty things; that it wasn’t wrong to want for herself, and the thought of those silky, rose coloured slippers filled Abby with such hope and joy.
Her hazel eyes flickered back up to his face, and she sat quietly as he pointed out his ignorance of her dancing. It had been a conscious withholding of herself from him, she knew that and was sorry for it. There had been moments when she could have told him; when lights out had just been called and they were lying quietly, only the sound of their breathing filling the silence, and Abby had opened her mouth to speak but the words had choked and died before ever breaking free. She had almost told him over meals, when they had both finished complaining about the slop they were served, and she had almost told him again when they reached their safe haven during yard time, huddling close for warmth during the winter seasons and she would look up to see the cool noon sun lighting up his smiling face. She had wanted to tell him, felt the need to share this important part of herself with him, but each time she had opened her mouth to speak she had seen the kindness in his eyes and felt herself draw away again. It wasn’t for fear of judgment or rejection, but rather Abby hadn’t wanted to burden Rome any further. He was the best friend she had ever had, a wall of strength and support in the face of their adversity; a warm source of kindness and innocent tenderness, helping Abby to grow with calm perseverance. There were many times when she had wanted to explain her love of dancing; the different styles she had practiced, the sheer exhaustion felt after endless rehearsal after rehearsal, the exhilarating swoop of victory after a successful performance knowing that all those previous aches and bruises had been worth it. She had wanted to stay up late talking about all of this and more, as they had so often stayed up to talk about cars and engines, but entangled with her passion was her downfall, and it was this that caused Abby’s voice to die away each time.
After graduating from high school Abby had packed up her tights and ballet slippers and gone to college to study the art of Russian and contemporary ballet. It was at college in her second year she had been the victim of date rape, and still suffering the effects of the drugs the next morning, Abby had got into a car only to strike and kill a fellow student a few blocks away. All of this had felt so connected with her previous life of dance that it had corrupted her pure love of the art so that it seemed that to speak of one was to only have to mention the other. Rome had proven his strength constantly, protecting her from Mama’s villainy and Nick’s deviousness, standing up for her when she couldn’t stand up for herself; she had hated to reveal yet another of her failures.
Looking into his open, honest face now, his beaming smile and mischievous eyes, Abby felt her heart swell. How was it that one look, one smile from him and she had all the confidence she needed?
“I used to dance,” Abby corrected in her gentle voice. “I started when I was three…and I hated it.” She paused to laugh softly at the memory of her numerous temper tantrums, her child’s foot, encased in the soft ballet slipper, stamping rebelliously on the hard wood floor of her parents home. “My mom made me keep going though, and I’m glad she did. It was…it was-” Abby hesitated, searching for the right word. Flashes of her college days distracted her, the hazy memory of her drug induced stupor, the heavy weight on her body that she now knew was the unwanted presence of another, the following car crash; these were her horrors, but they weren’t her whole life. That night had been a catalyst to Abby’s future, but she recognized now that she had been happy before, that dance had made her happy, and she couldn’t let that night sully such a beautiful thing.
“-it was the best thing I’ve ever done.” Her hazel eyes shone with her declaration, her small face lighting up joyously. “When I was dancing it was like…like I was free, like nothing could stop me. Oh, I don’t really know how to explain it other than it made me feel so alive. I loved Russian and contemporary ballet the most, but I used to do everything: jazz, ballroom, Latin…” Her voice trailed away self-consciously and she gave a small, embarrassed chuckle. Her hazel eyes cast down to her hands which had fluttered through the air to help in her description and she settled them back onto the table. She turned her gaze back to his and there was a small, playful smile about her lips as she leant forward, her voice lowering secretively. “I even did hip hop.” Her eyebrows rose in a comical ‘imagine that!’ manner and she couldn’t help but laugh at the memory of herself in sneakers, baggy pants, short cropped shirts, and a sideways ball cap throwing herself fearlessly into the performance that was so far from her usual repertoire.
Her head tilted back slightly as she laughed, her mousy brown hair falling away from her delicate face. When she straightened she was hardly aware of how close they had drawn since sitting down, each one leaning towards the other to better hear the passing words in their quiet intimacy until their hips and legs were pressed together, their shoulders brushing.
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Rome
Life Sentence
Roman Churchill General Population A-Wing, Cell 10 Sentence: 15 Years Link to Rap Sheet
Posts: 1,765
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Post by Rome on May 23, 2010 16:39:14 GMT -5
His eyes were on her face, watching every word drip from her lips and each emotion sparkle elaborately on her features. She was beautiful. And everything she felt seemed absolutely contagious. He grinned when she did, laughed softly and shook his head and raised his eyebrows, mirrored her expressions as they flowed from one into the other.
He tried to picture her at three years old, despising something that would come to provoke such reactions from her now. He could barely imagine her with the confidence that his mind felt dancers should possess to do whatever it was that they did. The way she glowed though, he had no choice but to believe her. She explained the feeling that dance brought to her and he glimpsed that joy, blatantly saw the assertiveness that simply speaking of the art restored in her. He felt it from her because he'd felt it before. He knew what it was like to be free, to feel alive. He was invincible with black gold on his hands and a dozen miles of empty road in front of him. Their passions were like night and day, but they were connected by the same addicting thread of adrenaline rush. It was a thrill. Magnificent, even.
She listed the range of her dancing talents and he was amazed, appropriately so. Ballet, he pictured her in the frilly tutus with her hair pulled back in a strict bun and her spine bent at an impossible arch. Jazz, ballroom - Latin? He imagined saucy hip action and romantic dips, a seductive feel that he couldn't possibly see draped over the dainty and modest frame that his Abby sported. However, even more impossible than the steamy vibe of Latin dancing, was the image of his girl launching herself into hip hop. His eyebrows rose in transparent expression of his surprise, his lips curling into a disbelieving grin before he burst out into fits of his own laughter. "Yer kiddin' me, right?" He questioned, as if she'd reveal that it was indeed some great big joke.
It could have been, as her head tipped back at a soft angle and she laughed in a girlish delight. Strands of hair that so often hid her away now slid from her face, revealing delicate details and the sweetest curve of her smile as laughter painted it. His hazel eyes roamed inconspicuously down the length of her slender throat before darting to each point where their bodies touched. Shoulders, hips, legs - so extremely close to each other and she didn't mind. He liked when that happened, savoured the feeling and the moment. Years ago, he'd have been lucky if she'd allow him to sit on the same side of the table as her. So far they'd come.
Quickly, he'd shifted the direction of his gaze to his hands where they sat innocent and linked in front of him. He didn't want to bring her attention to how close they'd shifted against each other, and the gears of his brain raced to find something to blurt out. It didn't take long. He had a good amount of practice under his belt. "So, ya gettin' these shoes, that mean ya pickin' dance back up again?" He inquired, corner of his mouth quirking up in expectancy as he returned his attentions to her face, eyes narrowed with his curiosity. He didn't mind the thought of her returning to something she'd love so much, especially if it'd continue to brighten her up as it did now with just talking about it.
[ I dread putting this up, it's so awful. XD But I'm working my way through writer's block, I am. ]
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Post by Abby Foster on May 28, 2010 18:19:53 GMT -5
Abby continued to giggle as Rome broke into fits of laughter. One of her dainty hands lifted from the table to partially cover her smiling mouth, and the corners of her eyes crinkled. She shook her head, her hand dropping back to the table as she came to master herself. “No, I’m serious. That was me; I was a real g-unit.” Abby’s lips twitched again and her hazel eyes sparkled. Her pale cheeks, now brushed with a sweet rosy colour, felt almost sore after their bout of laughter. That in itself felt so wonderful: that they could behave as if nothing had changed, as if they still had the whole day to spend in each other’s company. To simply sit and talk and laugh as they had once done before. It felt like those days again, only now they were forbidden to touch. It felt so strange to Abby that she should feel frustrated by this obligation to behave after so many years of reaching out to twine her fingers about his.
Those days had seemed infinite. While Abby had always known the date of her release, in Fox River it had been an abstraction. It was something in the future, probably never attainable and therefore not real. What had been real was the danger of the penitentiary, the hate and the fear. These things had impressed themselves deeply upon the small girl, but imbedded in that darkness were the glowing memories that she drew on now. And as she remembered the high points of their friendship, Abby found herself gazing at Rome’s profile. The colour of his eyes, the slope of his jaw, the curve of his nose – which had been broken so many times. All of these things she had to memorize so that when it came time to part she’d have something to hold on to.
Rome’s spoken words caused Abby to look away, her hazel eyes dropping to her hands in contemplation. She was quiet for a moment as she thought over what he had said, and she had heard the smile in his voice and knew the answer that was expected. However, it wasn’t an answer she was sure she could give. Dance had made her feel more beautiful and fulfilled than anything else in this world. It had been a great aspect of her previous life. Her previous life; the old Abby. To think that she could go back to something that she had once defined herself by so very clearly felt almost delusional, as if she were clinging to the remnants of a life now over.
“I don’t know. It’s been so long…” What if she couldn’t? What if she bought the shoes and put them on and then found she had forgotten the forms she had once performed without a second thought. The possibility of failure felt far more real than the wished for success. Perhaps it was best not to try. At least she could always remember what she had once been capable of, what she could have once aspired to be – that would be enough. It would have to be.
“I-I’ve been talking too much.” Abby broke off suddenly, her hands fluttering nervously in front of her before folding themselves tightly in her lap. “What have you been doing? Do you have a…a…um…” Her voice trailed away as her eyes, having stayed downcast on her hands, at last took in their close proximity. Her mind suddenly registered the source of the warm, gentle pressure that ran along the length of her body. Silently her hazel eyes traced up the points where they touched: legs, hips, shoulders. Her gaze jumped over Rome’s shoulder to the CO who stood against the wall, thankfully oblivious to the pair of them. She felt as if there should be a spotlight on them, announcing their defiance of the visitation rules, and they were close, so close that she imagined she could feel his warm breath stroking her cheek. Abby’s lips parted slightly as she watched the guard closely, allowing herself time to think over the situation. Absently she bit at her lower lip.
Her hazel eyes drifted back to his and she released the pink flesh. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as she held his gaze, and hesitantly the ghost of a smile flickered across her lips.
“Do you have a new cell mate yet?”
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Rome
Life Sentence
Roman Churchill General Population A-Wing, Cell 10 Sentence: 15 Years Link to Rap Sheet
Posts: 1,765
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Post by Rome on Jul 12, 2010 6:37:30 GMT -5
His eyes widened a bit at her declaration and he laughed, boldly and clearly. His face lit up with all the humour that he’d always possessed, ducking his head a bit to reach a hand up to rub over his mouth as if the gesture could possibly wipe the bright grin from him. It did not, of course, but he looked back over to her without shame for that minimal failure. “A real g-unit, huh?” He questioned, the playful tease in his tone as clear as day. It wasn’t particularly a term that he’d expected to hear from his Abby, shy and timid little Abby. It was so street, so ‘gangsta’. It did little to convince him that she’d dressed that way or been able to throw herself into the generally dirty moves that Rome pictured when he thought of hip-hop dancing. “Well, if ya can toss lingo aroun’ like that, guess I ain’t got much but ta believe ya, right?” He continued, a chuckle in his voice as he spoke, his face crinkling with sun-tanned lines of amusement.
Soft silence stretched for a moment once their laughter had eased away from the air around them, but still lingered in their happy faces. He felt warm under her scrutiny as she looked over his face and he looked over her own. It was a comfortable period of time, easy and wonderful and strangely intimate. It was affection in a form higher than her slipping her fingers between his own or climbing in to his bed because she’d had a nightmare. It was in a place beyond physical actions and it seemed like a concept that would normally soar over his head but instead seemed to fit so very well. It seemed as easy to understand as engines and gears.
However, during visiting hours, time was precious, and so they were forced to break that silence that embraced them. He wanted to know if she’d go back to dancing, and it seemed like the answer should be obvious. It seemed like it would be if their situations were reversed. If he’d been able, he’d leap right back into a world of cars, maybe get a job as a mechanic or something. He could settle for being a car salesman, fit right into the Texas stereotype without a hitch. Those odds would probably be more than unlikely, but Abby had the chance to go back to her passion. She still paused though, still looked away and thought about it. It seemed beyond him to consider that she’d even have to think about it and his brow furrowed for a moment, his smile steadily slipping away with his confusion as he tilted his head to find her eyes once more.
He wanted to leap in and push the notion that it didn’t matter how long it had been. If she loved it, then it’d be nothing at all to pick it back up again. Passion fueled determination and dedication. He could see it in her face when she talked about it, she had plenty of passion. He kept quiet though, strangely able to find patience as he watched her face, waiting for words that apparently would never come as she abruptly changed the subject with the ridiculous idea that she’d been talking too much. Well… not too ridiculous of an idea, five words was often too much for her.
He raised an eyebrow as she trailed off with her question, his confusion only growing more by the second, but soon he dropped his own hazel eyes down to follow the progress of her own and his attentions returned to their extraordinarily close proximity under the circumstances. He looked her over as steadily as she looked over him until his gaze was back upon the delicate features of her face, staying there as she looked to the guard. He held his breath as he waited for her to perhaps move away from him in accordance to the rules, a gesture he dreaded to occur. She bit at her lip and he studied that too.
And then she was looking back to him, prompting his eyes to snap up to her own. He held them carefully, his grin carefully returning with her own and he didn’t dare break away. If he did, the butterflies in his stomach might disappear and he actually didn’t mind the feeling of them at all. “Sorta. They tossed this guy inta’ the cell with me an’ he just ain’t workin’ out. Sleeps all the time, sorta leaves me twiddlin’ my thumbs when there ain’t nothin’ ta do but sit around, y’know? I think he’s foolin’ around with that Jazz girl though, so I guess that keeps him outta my hair too. He definitely ain’t as good a cellmate as you were though.” He complimented without much thought for how a normal person might take the idea of being a good prison cellmate.
“You got a new best friend yet?”
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Post by Abby Foster on Jul 29, 2010 11:02:19 GMT -5
There was a nervous fluttering in her stomach that had nothing and everything to do with their closeness. It wasn’t a fear of being harmed, she was past that when it came to Rome, but this was still the closest she had been to another person for a long time. The only other occurrence had been that awful night when nightmares had had her crying out in her sleep. When she had awoken it was only to pace about in the cell, chewing on her already well gnawed nails until, at last, she accepted Rome’s platonic offer and slipped into his bed. The disgusting raucous calls that came from neighboring cells in response to her earlier screams spurred her to his side, as did her childish fear of being alone in the dark. She remembered he had offered to turn his back to her, a simple act to respect her personal space. This was one of the rare times however when solitude didn’t suit the quiet girl. She needed human contact, she needed him to tuck her up, to hold her tight, to promise everything was going to be alright; she needed him to anchor her once more. Her red-rimmed eyes stayed downcast, and her voice, so quiet and small, sought out his comfort from trembling lips: “Rome, can you hug me?”
She didn’t remember much from that night; her fear had been all consuming. Abby did remember the gentleness of his arms encircling her though; the solidness of his chest and the strength with which their fingers interlocked. She remembered through the haze of anxiety the whisper of his warm breath and the low thrum of his heart beat, soothing her trembling and slowly easing her back to sleep.
How far they’d come indeed.
There was something about the way he grinned, something more and inexplicable that caused the fluttering in her stomach to reach her heart. It was the way he held her gaze so surely, and with such hope and happiness. There was a light in his hazel eyes and it filled her up, making her realize just how at home she was with the fast-talking Texan. That was why her heart skipped a beat when he grinned that cheeky, crooked grin of his, or when he watched her with those mischievous hazel eyes. She missed him. Plain and simple, she missed her best friend. At least, she was sure that that was the sole reason.
Abby listened to his response, mentally settling back into the speedy drawl of his accent. The corners of her mouth twisted sympathetically at the mention of Rome’s lazy cell mate. She knew immediately how frustrated he had to be, having roomed with him for five years of her life. Abby was well-accustomed to Rome’s hyperactive nature, and she wondered at how he must dread the thought of returning to his cell. Of course few inmates actually looked forward to being forced into those cramped quarters, but having a cell mate you didn’t get along with only made bad matters worse. There wasn’t anything Abby could do to alleviate the situation however so she happily acted as his sounding board, listening because that was what she did best and when the problem couldn’t be fixed it sometimes just helped to talk it all out anyways.
Abby’s eyebrows jumped up at the mention of Jazz and immediately the blonde girl’s heart shaped face and baby blue eyes came to mind. “Jazz? Really? How is she? Is she…is she still…” Her question trailed off as it neared that dangerous topic: Mama. Abby knew how Jazz felt about the Southern woman – just about everybody did – and she knew that it was unlikely the young blonde would ever leave the older woman’s side.
The perky light that had glimmered in Abby’s hazel eyes dimmed slightly and her shoulders slumped as she realized that in all likely hood Jazz was still selling her body for Mama. Well Abby had never felt overly close to Jazz, she’d still liked the girl for her sweet and compassionate nature. She was, by far, the nicest of Mama’s Girls, and it seemed such a shame that such a good person should still suffer so much even if it was by their own choice.
Abby’s lips twitched minimally at Rome’s compliment – and she honestly did take it as one. It took a lot of patience, acceptance and compromising for any two people to live together, let alone to occupy the same cramped space for time on end. They had developed a good system and managed to live together well; respecting each other’s differing needs. It was Rome’s next comment that got a greater reaction from the girl though.
She shook her head softly, surprised that he had even thought to ask that question. “You’re my best friend.” Her hazel eyes searched his own, holding his gaze so that he would know the heartfelt truth of those words. She paused before continuing on, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “I’m sorta becoming friends with this girl that I work with too…Stephanie. I think you’d like her. She’s a lot of fun, and nice too…she’s not you though.” The shy smile bloomed across her mouth and her cheeks turned a light shade of pink as she delivered the compliment.
Abby had lost track of time – she found it an easy thing to do in Rome’s company. She didn’t know how much time they had left, but one thing was for sure she didn’t want it to end. Sitting here, touching gently, his eyes on her; Abby wished it could last forever.
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Rome
Life Sentence
Roman Churchill General Population A-Wing, Cell 10 Sentence: 15 Years Link to Rap Sheet
Posts: 1,765
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Post by Rome on Aug 13, 2010 14:45:02 GMT -5
As Abby latched on to the mention of the blonde girl that had been at her side for all those years she’d spent underneath Mama’s thumb – and more – he suddenly wished he’d had the sense to censor that part out of his reply. It wasn’t anything big, not like he’d ever walked in on them fucking around or anything, so why did he have to let it slip? Because that’s what he thought about when he thought about his cellie: lazy, annoying, screwing that Jazz girl. He thought it and so he said it. So rarely had he ever had to edit himself that it was simply second nature to blurt out the things that crawled over his brain and this moment was no different.
His girl didn’t finish her sentence, but she didn’t have to. He knew what was on her mind, not only because they had five years spent inseparably together, but because it was just that obvious. That particularly wicked bitch was lurking behind nearly every trailed off sentence. “Yeah, she’s still…” He muttered in return, not forcing Abby to speak further on the topic and proving his own unspoken point by trailing off as well. He nibbled at his bottom lip as his mousy girl dimmed and slumped, her body language utterly dismayed at this realization that shouldn’t have been too much of a surprise. He didn’t know Jazz all that well. She was a part of Mama’s girls and so he avoided her due to that association, but he could remember the first time they’d ever met. Five years ago, she’d had nothing but nice things to say about the Southern woman; five years later, she still was simply gushing with praise for the madam. It was sort of sick, though he supposed he’d have to give her kudos for consistency.
“Hey, don’t worry on’er none.” He assured, leaning closer as he dropped his voice even lower, even though they were already speaking in whispers and there truly wasn’t all that much space left between them to begin with. “She likes it, alright? I mean, an’ it ain’t just fakin’er nothin’. I don’t think she’s really got the sense to make that stuff up, y’know? But she likes it, she’s happy. An’ we might know it ain’t somethin’ to be happy about, but she ain’t gotta clue, so no worries, okay?” He tried to comfort, though perhaps his tactic lacked a certain sense of …well, tact.
He smiled gently as she vehemently assured him that he could never be replaced as her best friend. His inquiry had been merely a joke, though he found himself still pleasantly reassured all the same. He raised his eyebrows as his girl began to talk about a new friend though all the same, a secondary friend to his own primary status, and he chuckled. “Yeah? Well, she’ll be the first person I meet once I get outta here, right after you, ‘kay?” He prompted, grinning in response to her familiar smile and hazel eyes scooping over the pleasant shade flushing her cheeks. God, she was beautiful.
Forever didn’t last for very long. For them, forever was little more than a handful of minutes and a loud voice soon announced to the visitor’s that time was up. Convicts, said goodbye. Rome bit harshly at his bottom lip, displeased by this occurrence and he glanced over his shoulder to the guard that had announced the end of their forever. The man was paying them no mind, observant gaze skimming over the rest of the room as convicts and visitors groaned their displeasure while others even burst into tears. He returned his gaze to Abby’s face, catching her hazel eyes with his own, and then he boldly reached out to cover her hand with his while he had the time to steal.
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Post by Abby Foster on Sept 2, 2010 20:53:02 GMT -5
Rome's words did lack the tact that others might have tried to inject when dealing with such a delicate topic. He meant well, and Abby knew that, and perhaps such frankness was what she needed to hear. Jazz would never change her ways, she adored Mama too much and while Abby could understand the feelings of fear and necessity that drove someone to the likes of Mama, she could never understand that type of adoration and love. Rome was right, Jazz thought she was doing the right thing, and if it was right for her then who was Abby to question it?
His comforting whispers and mere presence were enough to reassure her once more and the small girl nodded her wordless agreement. She heard his chuckle to her earlier statement and looked up in time to catch sight of his cheeky grin, a sight which only made her own smile widen.
It truly was just like the old times. This table had become their safe haven, just as out in the yard that particular spot near the fence had been their area. It was a place that no outsiders could reach; a place for just the two of them, together. And wrapped up as they were now, heads bent close to one another, it was easy to forget the shackles, the bars, the restrictions that impedded them so. Sitting at this table they could be anywhere: Duke's Cafe, Abby's small kitchen table, Paris even! The truth of where they truly were didn't seem to matter. They were together, laughing, whispering, and simply being in his company again made her feel lucky beyond compare.
But reality is never far from any dream and the guard's gruff call to attention startled the mousy girl. Fox River seemed to leap at her: the cement walls, the prison blues, the light that struggled through the barred windows. Abby's hazel eyes skittered from her surroundings back to her friend, latching onto his unwavering gaze. She felt him reach out to cover her small hand with his own and she calmed under his touch. Without looking away from him Abby turned her hand till her palm brushed against his, her fingers lacing between his own.
"I have to go. But I'll come back." Her promise was the only thing she had to offer and what few seconds they had left now only made her grip his hand tighter. Nothing could bring her to say the next word: goodbye. It would have been a lie to say such a thing, and everything in her was demanding that she stay right where she was.
As if to persuade herself she spoke again, her voice small and heavy with regret. "I have to go..." Her eyes never left him but she was wavering, her resolve to get up and go weakening with each passing second and all around her she could hear the cries of friends, lovers, and family members saying their farewells. "Okay...okay I'm really going now. I'll see you soon. ...Take care of yourself." The last part came out as nothing more than a whisper and it felt so weak to her even when she wanted it to be encouraging. She gave his hand one last squeeze before she let go. Abby rose from the table quickly and joined the end of the line, hurrying out of Fox River and onto the waiting bus. She chose a secluded seat in the far back and rested her head against the smudged window pane, letting the tears fall at last.
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