by Dori Lavelle
“I wanted to talk in person. I miss you.” I wish I didn’t hear the lie poisoning the platitude.
Ignoring her, I pull out my key, unconsciously hook a finger through the silver keyring, and open the door. I want to enter my peaceful place, to close the door and pretend she isn’t even here, but I can’t bring myself to do that. She’s still my mother, and she came all this way for a reason. As I step aside to let her in, my shoulders hunch forward. I’m not strong enough to handle another fight.
I offer her a seat on the couch. She crosses her long, fake-tanned legs. Her stretch miniskirt is so short, I swear I see her underwear. I swallow my disgust.
“Do you want something to drink? We have apple juice and sparkling water.” I’m only asking out of politeness.
“Do you have anything else? Something stronger? Wine?”
I shut the fridge a little too forcefully, killing its inner glow. “No, we don’t.”
“I’m sorry,” she says and places her shaking hands in her lap. “Please sit with me. Let’s talk. I’ve really missed you.”
I know exactly what she missed, and it isn’t me. But I want to give her the benefit of the doubt, so I sit and turn my body to face her. When I speak, I do my best to keep my voice calm. “Why are you really here? I know it’s not because you miss me.”
She shrugs and purses her red lips. “I’m in trouble, baby. My company... our company is in financial trouble. If we don’t save it now, I have to sell within a month.”
“Wrong,” I retort. “Elite Faces is your company, not ours.” I pause. “I’m sorry it’s in trouble. I know how much it means to you. It’s your whole life.”
“You do?” Her eyes sparkle. “So you’ll help me?”
“Help you how?”
“I need you to come back, baby. Since you left, everything went downhill. You were our star model. It’s you the designers want. Without you, we’re finished.”
“I’ve told you many times. I don’t want to be a part of that world anymore. My life is here. I’m tired of smiling for cameras. I’m tired of pretending I enjoyed what I was doing. I’m tired of telling you this over and over again.” I wave a hand at my small room. “This is my life now. I love being here. I love studying to become someone I’m proud of.”
“You’re wasting your talents. Many girls would kill to have your body and face...your gorgeous hair.”
“I don’t care about my looks.” I attempt to keep my voice steady, but it rises with each word. The time has come for me to stand up for myself. “I want to use my brains for a change.”
“After everything I did for you?” Her voice is edged with steel. “You’re turning your back on me when I need you most? I’m the one who gave you those looks. I spent a fortune on your lessons, your clothes, your makeup... everything. You ungrateful little bitch.”
“I paid for all those things many times over. I made you a lot of money. And all those things you did for me? I never wanted them. All you did was stifle me and all I wanted was out. Now I’m out, and I’m not coming back.”
“In that case, you’re dead to me.” My mother, shaking with rage, stands and sways slightly before heading for the door. She turns to me before walking away. “Don’t fool yourself into believing you’re smart. You are nothing without me. Nothing.”
14
Goose pimples break through my skin as soon as I step through the Oaklow Correctional Facility’s metal doors. The air inside is much cooler than outside, though I don’t detect any air conditioning. Maybe it’s just me. The chill increases as I pass through the metal detector. I’m not a fan of metal detectors—they make me feel exposed, as though I’ve been stripped naked.
Soon I’m sitting on the other side of a scratched sheet of soundproof glass, staring into the intense green eyes of a man everyone believes is a murderer, a man who could possibly be my biggest mistake. But it’s my mistake.
My mother’s visit is what tipped me over the edge of indecision. I’m done doing what she tells me to do. For a moment I felt sorry for her, but the sword of my fury destroyed that sympathy.
The other reason I’m here is to confirm to myself that he is wrong for me, to find a reason to run from him before it’s too late. But now, gazing into his eyes, I realize I’m lost. I don’t see a murderer there. I see an attractive man who takes my breath away. A man who captures my soul at first sight. In person he looks much younger than thirty-five. If it weren’t for the sprinkling of silver at his temples, it would be hard to imagine him being past thirty.
I pick up the phone attached to the wall by a thick metal cord and press it to my ear. He does the same. One side of his mouth tips in a shadow of a smile. I return it.
My stomach churns, and my heart hammers painfully against my ribs. I remind myself to breathe.
“I didn’t think you’d come.” I’m relieved he started talking first, because even though my lips are parted, nothing wants to come out.
“I didn’t think I would.” I run a sweaty hand over my thigh, drying it on my jeans.
“Why did you?” His voice is raw and husky, and it caresses my senses.
“I don’t know.”
“I’m happy you decided to come. I guess I have something to be grateful for on Thanksgiving.”
I say nothing. Thanksgiving break is four days away, and I’ve already requested permission from the Campus Housing Department to remain on campus during the break. Chelsea was horrified and insisted I accompany her home, but I declined. I don’t want to impose on anyone’s holiday.
As I watch Judson, my stomach does flips. I’m drawn to him and yet also intimated by his very presence.
“You’re stunning. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
A hot blush creeps up my neck, filling my cheeks, scorching them. “Thanks.” I suddenly feel the strong urge to be closer to him. I want to touch him, to feel the stubble on his cheek, to wrap his hair around my hand. “How are you?” I ask. Under the circumstances, it’s the right question.
Judson turns to look at one of the guards in the corner of the room. “Some days are better than others.”
“Did you do it? Did you really kill him—the student?” My question is a whisper. I glance at the note above the glass: Phones are subject to monitoring.
He grips his phone tighter. I notice a pale mark around his wrist, a tell-tale sign that he used to wear a watch. The veins beneath the skin look like they’re about to pop. “Would that change anything between us?” he asks.
“I don’t know.” I grip my knee with my free hand. “Maybe.”
The green of his eyes darkens. “What are people saying on that side? Do they still say I’m a monster who deserves to rot in prison for the rest of his life?”
“I don’t listen to what people say.”
“That’s wise.” He pauses and runs a hand through his thick hair. My fingers itch to feel its silkiness and the warmth of his scalp. I want to see the silver on his temples up close. “It’s up to the jury to decide.”
The articles, the news reports, the rumors—they all say Judson is guilty. But how can a guilty person be so relaxed? Despite the confidence in the letters he sent to me, I expected to find a broken man—the same man who wanted to kill himself because of a love gone sour.
I run a hand through my hair. “The papers say you claimed Oliver Banes... that he raped your… that he raped Jennifer Hanson. Since you were with her, the public sees it as motive for murder.”
“Oliver Banes deserved to die the way he did.”
An invisible knife slices into my gut. “So you did it? You took matters into your own hands?”
“Like I said, that’s for the jury to decide.” He narrows his eyes. “Let’s not talk about me. Time is short. Let’s talk about us.”
“I don’t know if there’s an ‘us’, Judson.”
“If you didn’t believe there was, you wouldn’t be here. You would have cut off contact with me a long time ago. Why didn’t you stop writing?”
“I really don’t know.”
“I do. I read between the lines. I’m aware we barely know each other.” He clears his throat. “But I also know I get excited to hear from you. It touches me deeply that you cared enough to come see me, to hear me out.” He places a hand on the glass as though trying to touch me. “I feel more than friendship for you, Ivy. And I know you’re falling in love with me too.”
I shift uncomfortably. “Judson… I don’t know if I’m in love with you.”
“You don’t need to know. Don’t complicate things by thinking too much. Just tell me one thing. Tell me you haven’t been dreaming about me at night. Tell me I don’t fill your mind during the day.”
“You don’t know that.” Even as I murmur the words, I can’t deny the electric spark between my legs or the blush contradicting my words.
“Actually, I do. Your eyes are telling me everything right now, like your letters did. It’s all right, sweetheart; you don’t have to hide the feelings. Keep doing what you are doing. One day soon I’ll be out of here, and your fantasies will become reality. So will mine.” He leans back, but his gaze intensifies. “I’ll make sure of it. Reality is so much better than fantasy. Promise you’ll wait for me. Promise.” His eyes have filled with something dark and sexy that makes my heart pound harder.
“I don’t think you’re right for me,” I whisper. “I should go. I—”
“Because I’m older?”
I shake my head. “Not that. I just… I can’t do this.”
“Of course you can. You’re standing in your own way, listening to the voices of doubt inside your head. I know I’m older than you by a few years, but I’ve long learned that love doesn’t care about such boundaries.” He rubs a palm over one stubbled cheek. “The heart is a stubborn thing. It won’t listen if you tell it what it should and should not want.”
“I’m sorry.” I close my eyes in an attempt to drown out his words before they reach my brain. “Goodbye, Judson. I’m glad you’re okay. Good luck with… everything.”
“Goodbye is a lie when two people will meet again.”
I place the phone back in its cradle, stand, and walk away.
The moment the warm sunshine hits my face, at a safe distance from Judson’s hypnotic gaze, I inhale deeply, wishing the air could replace the thoughts of him. It doesn’t work. His words repeat inside my head like a broken record. I’m trapped in a self-constructed cage I want to escape from, and at the same time, I never want to leave.
What now? Now that I’ve seen him, what do I do?
I know what I have to do. Leave him behind, because as much as he turns me on, he also scares the hell out of me.
The dream of me and Judson Devereux has to remain an unattainable one.
My phone beeps as I enter my room. I consider not reading the text, but I can’t help myself. I rummage inside my bag for the phone, and before I change my mind, before I can remind myself that I’ve made the decision to move on, I’m reading his message.
I saw your gorgeous face. I looked into your eyes. Now I want to see you in the lingerie I sent you.
I swallow hard and drop the phone on the couch. He’s acting as though nothing is amiss, like we didn’t end the visit in an awkward place. I made my decision, and now he’s rendering it useless. We’re far from being over.
As I pace the room, my body is already reacting to the words with a thrum of ecstasy that shoots through my veins. I’m trembling as I move to the window and throw it open for some fresh late evening air.
Two students are making out on the bench closest to the pond. They have a normal, uncomplicated relationship. I want that. Judson feels out of reach, an illusion. I ache for something I can count on, something I can measure and understand. But there’s something about him. What if I never find the same electricity that connects Judson and me again? I’m not sure if I’m ready to trade that for something more tangible. And that’s why I’m afraid to let go, to lose my destiny.
I turn away from the window and get undressed. Chelsea will be home soon. We’re planning on having dinner at Marco’s Pizzeria. I don’t respond to Judson’s message. Not yet. I don’t know what to say. His request makes me feel uncomfortable and aroused all at once. The temptation is there—the idea of him holding a photo of me, being turned on by my body, is thrilling.
I don’t think about the message again, until Chelsea and I have finished a family-sized pizza diavolo between us and are sitting outside the seaside restaurant sharing a white chocolate mousse.
“Hey, I have a question.” I lick mousse off the back of my dessert spoon. “What’s your take on long-distance relationships?”
Chelsea’s spoon pauses between her mouth and the bowl. “They suck. That’s why I moved here… partly.”
“You think you and Neil wouldn’t have worked out if you hadn’t come to Oaklow?”
Chelsea shrugs and dips her spoon into the mousse. “Maybe, maybe not. Seriously, most long-distance relationships fail. I didn’t want to wait and find out.” She pauses. “And for your information, I didn’t move here only for Neil. Oaklow University offers one of the best photography programs in the country. If it doesn’t work out with Neil, I’ll still be left with a degree in something I love.”
“Right, but let’s say you didn’t move here…” I avert my gaze so she doesn’t read anything there. “To keep the romance alive, would you, like, send him snaps of you in lingerie?”
“So my photos can end up on the Internet or used as blackmail? Hell no. He’d just have to look forward to the real thing.” Chelsea folds her arms on the table and leans forward. “Why all the questions? Do you have a distant lover you haven’t told me about?”
I wave a dismissive hand and attempt to laugh, but only a squeak comes out. “You’re being ridiculous. Of course not.” My eyes meet hers. “I was curious, that’s all.”
Thankfully she doesn’t dig deeper, and we change the subject. It’s ten when we head back to the dorms. After a quick call with Neil, Chelsea falls asleep.
I spend a few minutes thinking about it, and then I finally send a response to Judson.
I’m sorry. I don’t feel comfortable doing it.
I fall asleep only to be woken by another message from him, long after midnight.
Can’t blame a man for trying.
I smile in the darkness, relieved that he understands. He sends another message before I have a chance to think of a response.
I’m alone. No one is watching. Guess what I’m doing right now…
Oh, God. I close my eyes and my mind instantly conjures an image of him in his bunk, a hand inside his pants. What’s wrong with me?
Are you trying to corrupt pure innocent me?
I bite my lip as I send it off. I might have just told him indirectly that I’m a virgin. Do I want him to know?
The phone beeps again.
I want to make you so dirty, you won’t be able to wash me off. One day I will.
I send a final reply, put the phone on silent, and bury it under my pillow. My whole body is on fire.
Who knows, maybe I’ll let you.
15
I dream I’m inside Judson’s cell, wearing nothing but the lingerie he sent me. The bra and panties fit perfectly, molding themselves around my body like a second skin. As I step further into the cell, I wrap my arms around me. A chill radiates from the iron bars.
Without turning my head, I take in the closet of a room. The naked bulb hanging from the ceiling outside the cell provides enough light for me to see graffiti on the pitted walls of concrete—inmates’ desperate cries for help, anger, and frustration. I lower my gaze as a smiling Judson stands up from his cot, the worn-out springs squeaking with his movements beneath the faded sheets and thin mattress. As he approaches me, the echo of footsteps coming from distant walkways reaches my ear. A toilet flushes.
Someone clears his throat behind me. It’s the guard who brought me to see Judson. His gaze bores into my bare back. Judson�
��s shoes squeak as he walks toward me. All other sounds die as I focus on his presence.
“You came.” His voice is deep and dusty, seductive.
“I came.” I swallow hard and smile.
“That’s my girl.” Judson moves in closer and wraps his arms around me. Like his cell, he smells of sweat and metal. The talking stops without warning as he unclasps my bra. I gasp as the straps slide down my arms, releasing my breasts. Judson’s warm breath fans my skin.
He starts to kiss my neck, first one side, then the other. He moves on to my shoulders, sucking and kissing slowly, a man with all the time in the world. I’m aware of the presence of the guard behind us, but I’m too intoxicated to care that he’s watching. Judson moves to my face, his hot kisses searing the surface of my eyelids, my forehead, my cheeks, my chin. Judson is fire and I’m plastic. My skin melts wherever his lips touch it.
“We’re not alone,” I say in a fragile whisper, coming to my senses. “The guard… He’s watching.”
“Let him.” Judson pushes a finger into the elastic of my panties, and slides it from hip to hip. “Let’s give him something to talk to the others about.”
I run my tongue across my bottom lip before slowly sliding it between my teeth. His words and his touch are driving me insane. My whole body boils with unquenched desire for him.
“And allow me to give you something to remember me by.”
I want to respond, but a lump inside my throat prevents me from doing so.
The next moment, my back is against the graffitied wall, with Judson holding me up. The wall is cold, but his body warms me. He kisses me first, sucking on my nipples, massaging them, pinching them. I throw my head back and close my eyes so I cannot see the guard on the other side of the iron bars. He’s not even hiding the fact that he finds us entertaining. But I no longer see him. Instead I choose to feel everything Judson is giving me. No one has ever touched me this way. No man has ignited the place between my legs like he is now.