“No,” she repeated, tucking the pen inside her shirt.
I knew she was assuming that I wouldn’t reach for it, but that pen was a pretty big deal to me. I didn’t know why. I didn’t question it.
But I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I needed the fucking pen.
I didn’t question my needs and desires. There was no point.
I’d long moved past the point in asking why—why wasn’t I normal? Why couldn’t I just be like other people? Why did I have such a fascination with birds? Why couldn’t I look people in the eyes?
Why, why, why.
There were so many goddamn whys and no forthcoming explanations.
“Please give me the pen.” I held out my hand for it.
She narrowed her eyes. “Why do you want it so bad?”
I barely resisted the urge to clench my fist.
“Because it’s mine, and I’d like you to give it to me,” I answered.
It was mine now, anyway.
Finders keepers.
It was then that I realized she wasn’t going to give me the pen without me physically taking it, something in which I wasn’t going to do.
Devising a plan to go to her place tonight and get it at some point, I kept walking without looking back.
Even when she called out my name at my back, angrily might I add.
“Bayou, what in the absolute fuck?” Brielle growled. “Why are you acting like this?”
I didn’t bother to answer her, instead walking out of the long hallway that connected the administrative part of the prison to the rest of it.
Haggan, the guard that manned the gate and the security on this side of the prison, let me through without a break in my stride.
I nodded at him as I nearly stomped past. “Make sure that Brielle leaves my office within the next five minutes. If she exceeds the time limit, please escort her.”
Haggan nodded. “Will do, sir.”
I lifted my chin in acknowledgment and continued to walk.
I had a meeting that I was almost late for, and I knew I would be late for if I didn’t hurry. I hated, no despised, being late.
I’d sat there talking to Brielle too long. If I was late for this, the rest of my day would be screwed.
Schedules were important to me. The more structure in my day, the easier it was to deal with the bullshit that swirled around in my brain.
Being three minutes late won’t kill you, I tried to tell myself. It’s only three minutes. Not the end of the world.
My old friend, who’d once been my drill sergeant, came to mind. He’d changed my life in more ways than one.
Once he was done yelling at me during boot camp, and I’d graduated, he’d taken me under his wing. He’d guided me, shown me how to interact in the strange new world I’d found myself in, and helped me excel.
If I hadn’t found him, my life would’ve been a whole lot more different right then.
I would’ve been lost. I would’ve been scared. I would’ve been the scared kid that hated loud sounds, couldn’t function well in society, and still hadn’t stood up to his father.
But O’Malley had changed that. He’d seen me struggling, and he’d given me more life lessons than I could ever hope to experience on my own, and he’d pushed me to move past my idiosyncrasies.
Now, O’Malley was the one man that I could talk to about anything.
I arrived at the scheduled meeting spot—outside on a park bench that was across from the prison—and took a seat next to the man that was already sitting there.
The man sitting there was always early. I hated being early almost as much as I hated being late. There was no point in arriving anywhere early. Schedules were made for a reason. Arriving somewhere just to sit and wait wasn’t something I was fond of doing.
“Hello, sir,” I said. “Sorry I’m late.”
I wasn’t that late, but anything with this man was late, even if it was thirty seconds.
“Is that an eagle, do you think?” the man asked.
I didn’t need to look up to know what he was talking about. I could hear the hawk’s cries overhead and knew without a doubt that it wasn’t an eagle.
“Red-tailed hawk,” I answered. “How are you doing, sir?”
I held out my hand for Gunther Jefferson’s hand, and he easily took it—something I would’ve never done before O’Malley—shaking it once before dropping it.
I was thankful he wasn’t a toucher.
I didn’t like touchers.
Touchers made me uncomfortable.
“What can I do for you today, Gunther?” I asked, mentally calculating how long I could be in this meeting with Gunther and make it into town on time for another meeting, this one with the city council as a whole.
“I’m here to discuss a few complaints that I’ve been hearing,” he answered.
I sighed.
“What kind of complaints?” I asked warily.
“The kind that says you’ve been treating a few high-profile inmates with untoward hatred,” he answered. “I realize that some of your inmates deserve it, but you cannot be treating them any differently than you treat your other inmates. It’s unseemly.”