The Bars Between Us

8. Five Minute Therapy

Instead of going back to my office, where I will undoubtedly see Roman, I run out of the confines of the walls, and across the busy road, tears streaming down my face. I fumble with my keys, as I try and get the door open. When my shaking hands are unable to fit the abnormally different shaped key in the lock, I fall to the floor, lifting my knees up to rest my head on them, and protect myself from more hurt.

I can't believe what just happened. I've never felt unsafe around the inmates, I usually only feel that way around Roman, but today I experienced something which I never want to again. I wonder if Roman has found out yet, and if he has: what will he do about it? I've never got how Roman can be violent with me, but when someone else is, he acts as the protective husband. Well, that is until he gets home and hurts me some more. Double standards, huh?

I don't know how long I have been sitting on the porch, however the next thing I know, I can hear the sound of someone rushing up the stairs. I flinch away as I look up, expecting Roman.

Clayton raises his hands at me, silently telling me he's not a threat. When my distraught brain finally recognizes him, I relax.

"What are you doing out here?" he asks, sitting down beside me.

"I, uh, couldn't get the door open," I tell him, pushing the tears off my face with a sniff.

"Let's get you inside," he tells me, prying the keys from where they are clutched in my fist. I flex my hurt hand and look down at it to see red indents marking my palm. I push myself up onto my feet and follow Clayton into the now-open door.

"Sit down," he instructs softly. "You want a cup of tea?"

"Yeah," I exhale. He gives me a smile before walking into the kitchen.

When he returns, he has two steaming mugs in his hands. He passes one to me and then sits down with the other. His grey eyes study me, and I know he's thinking of what he should say.

"I don't really want to talk about it, to answer your unspoken question," I let him know.

"I understand," he responds. I look down at the light brown color of the tea, and shift the mug in my hands, as it was getting too warm for them.

"I know you don't want to talk about it right now, but you'll need to at some point. You'll feel better if you get it over and done with."

I sigh, wiping my thumb around the rim of the mug.

"Has Roman found out?" I ask.

"Yes. The guards called him as soon as he was detained."

"How did you find out?"

"It spread rather quickly after that."

I close my eyes, inhaling deeply. Great! Now the whole prison knows.

"But, as you know, you can't trust anything you hear on the rumor mill. It's best to hear it from the source," he prompts with a wink. I let out a short laugh.

"He tried to kiss me," I tell him. "You know what they all say about me. He took that and thought if he went through with it, that they would accept him more."

"He's wrong. He overstepped a line, and he'll get it from both the inmates and Roman."

"They're putting him back in the main blocks? He'll be killed!" I exclaim.

"Roman was quite furious. He tried forcing you to kiss him, and you want him to survive?"

"He doesn't deserve to die as a result. He did something irrational caused by him being desperate to fit in!"

If it was Roman, I would be happy to put him in a situation where he would be badly hurt, but maybe not killed. He has no apparent reason for what he does.

Clayton sets down his mug on the table, having finished it, before getting up. I look back down to my still-full mug.

"Exactly. Remember that. He didn't do it because he wanted to, he thought it was the only way," Clayton tells me before walking to the door.

"What? Where are you going?" I ask, confused.

"You needed to come to that conclusion on your own, it will help you deal with it. As to where I am going, I have a man to save from being shanked," he explains before opening the door.

My mouth opens as I fall backwards. I shake my head with a chuckle, Clayton is also a talented psychiatrist, as well as a medical doctor. He doesn't tell you how to do it, but he has a way of getting you to understand, and deal with it without you knowing. It works as well, since you are the one to come to the conclusion. You believe and continue with the thought of whatever it is afterwards. I lift the mug to my lips, taking a sip.

Now I just have to wait for Roman to come home.

Glossary:

Shanked: Stabbed by a homemade knife.

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