If you're looking for an adventure in the morally grey, and a crash course of the human condition, this is the story for you! What is good and evil? Where is that line drawn, and who decides that? Packed with humor, danger, feels, and awkward relati...
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The prison guard kicked Nathan in the back of the heels when he dragged his feet, and he cursed under his breath as they headed into the back door of the police station. The front was likely too good for trash like him, and he kept his head down as the navigated the winding corridors of the back offices. The yellow and brown tiles reminded him of the dirty teeth of the inmates who'd jeered at him on his way out of the holding jail.
"Thank you for escorting him." An officer jumped up from his desk in the office ahead, near skidding on the tile as he huffed it to Nathan's front.
There was a strange warmth in the man's brown eyes as they connected with Nathan's, and he swallowed the lump in his throat as he planted his eyes at his feet. Shackled, labeled with an orange jump suit, and passed around like a rabid animal that they'd rather put down, Nathan was doing his utmost to keep it together. Any small kindness could break him.
The officer accepted a bag of Nathan's things from the prison guard, and a pen scratching on paper signed Nathan over to yet another cage. With his eyes following the threads on the officer's fancy shoes, he was spared one last dirty look from the guard as he turned about face and headed for the hills. The fear of seeing the similar disgust on the officer's face had his legs trembling, and he tightened his fists in the cuffs that locked them together.
"Jesus, you're barely standing. Come this way."
A touch on Nathan's shoulder had him jerking back, and he lifted his chin out of self-preservation more than anything. Men had been pushing him around for days, in the cells, out of the cells, through the airport, on the plane, off the plane, and into the car here. The last piece of shit guard had smacked his head on the top of the car on purpose before shoving him down onto the back seat. His head still throbbed, and when he found the officer's eyes open wide with concern, it tightened his lips and tears lined his eyes.
"There is a couch in my office." The officer took a step back with a gesture of his hand.
Nathan didn't wait another second before he dashed past him and planted himself of the cushions. The door closing with the blinds clacking against the glass had his head sinking lower to his shoulders in fear of what was to come next. The guard was an asshole, but he was predictable. The unknown was worse.
"Let me get those," the man said with a small sigh. Perhaps he'd tired of his skittish behavior.
Nathan offered his cuffed hands as the man fished the key from the ring, and the officer's chestnut hair shaded his eyes as he undid his restraints. It was a little long for a police officer and though the man had a youthful energy about him, the age-worn hands unlocking Nathan's handcuffs told the tale of his experience. This was no rookie who treated inmates more gently, yet he whistled an upbeat tune as he twirled the keys on his finger before dropping them in a drawer at his desk.
"Do you need a private room to change?" the man asked, setting Nathan's street clothes next to him on the cushioned bench with a careful smile—like he was petting a stray and unsure if it might bite him. It was acknowledgement though. No one had looked at him like he was a human being in months.
