4. | a blank expression

Shaking myself out of my thoughts, I force myself to at least try to make a conversation like a therapist would do. This is not the right time for me to be overthinking and shut down completely.

Noticing that the handcuffs around his wrists make it fairly difficult for him to shake my extended hand, I quickly pull it back.

"I—" I begin, still unable to continue speaking as he sits there in front of me, waiting for me to say something. "I'm sorry, that was quite silly of me." I manage to blurt out, referring to my extended hand. Not expecting him to reply to this, I look up to him once again while wiping my wet palms on my thighs.

"It's alright." He calmly says, not breaking the eye contact. I'm convinced this guy is always this intriguing. It might also just be me, still overwhelmed by all the sudden things he made me feel with a single look.  "I'm pretty sure this is your first time talking to an inmate."

I nod as I try to desperately find a way to continue this conversation in a healthy pace. "I'll just start with introducing myself and my goal within this place." I start explaining, growing into it. "I'm Brooklyn. I'm a psychology student and I'll be spending a few months doing a work placement in this prison. I'll basically be some sort of a therapist, talking with inmates and trying to help everyone in here to be able to express themselves, be listened to and feel relevant."

"Why are you here, in this place full of danger disguised as human beings?" He asks straightforward, catching me off-guard. "I mean, you could've chosen something else. A high school or some other company. At least you wouldn't feel like some sort of prey in those places."

"I don't think anyone sees me as some sort of prey..." I reply as his gaze becomes more intense.

"You sound naïve Brooklyn. I wouldn't think of you as a naïve type of girl. "

"I'm not." I defend myself. "You don't know me, E—" I begin, remembering his initials on the cell door.

"Ethan." He completes, realizing I don't know his full name yet. "Ethan Dean Wilford."

"Well, Ethan, I know what I've chosen to do. I want to do this and prove to everyone that there's still hope in some cases."

He chuckles at this to my surprise, breaking the eye contact for the first time since he's walked into the room. "If you're here to find hope, you might be looking for a whole lot longer than a few months dear."

I ignore the tingles I feel running up my legs, all the way up to my cheeks as he ends his sentence with that one word.

Dear.

Snapping back to reality, this time I'm the one reconnecting the eye contact as I decide on confronting him on his cynical and pessimistic demeanor. "Are you always this negative?"

He leans forward, putting his combined hands beneath his chin as it seems like he's forcing me to stare through his vigorous, strong yet somehow fragile façade. "This isn't me being negative. This is me being realistic."

"I think this is you closing yourself off from positivity, because you're afraid of feeling. You're afraid of getting used to euphoria, when there are always threats to your happiness lurking beneath the surface." I sum up the first impression I'm getting from him and his eyes do nothing but confirm it.

It doesn't seem like he has an answer to this but before he decides on doing so anyways, I do not grant him that chance as I refer to one other thing he mentioned.

"And I'm not putting myself in danger. Nothing can or will happen to me. All the inmates are in their cells most of the time and when they're not, they have handcuffs on."

"Well, you have a point." He sighs, almost looking like he's trying to make it audible to me on purpose. He looks down to his hands and tries to rub his sore red wrists, miserably failing.

"I would loosen them a bit if I knew how to but I'm sorry I can't help you with that." I softly say.

I just can't help it. I can't help but sympathize with this stranger, who is kind of not a stranger to me anymore. However, I shouldn't speak everything I think of when I'm with him, or these conversations will get quite awkward real quick.

"Thanks anyways." He says thankfully, a little yet sincere smile tinting his lips. "You don't look like your father."

The thought of him scanning my flaw-filled face makes me uncomfortable. Though, I can't help but weakly smile.

"I know." I reply, my voice and facial expression giving away how thankful I am for the fact that I do not resemble him. I don't look or am anything like him. I'm an identical copy of my mother and I intend on continuing to copy her way of thinking too.

I wonder how he even knows I'm Ryan's daughter when I've never been here before, haven't told him and am pretty sure my father didn't casually mention me to inmates. I choose to remain silent, not wanting the conversation to focus on me and run out of time before getting to know him.

I want to know who Ethan Dean Wilford is.

"Okay, now it's your turn to talk, because that's why I'm here."

"I am talking..." He replies, making me feel some sort of way with his playful attitude taking over.

Mirroring his smile, I squint my eyes. "You know what I mean."

He slightly chuckles at this, "Yeah, you're right. Go ahead."

Not wasting a second, I start from the very beginning. The beginning of his story of ending up in here. "What brought you here, Ethan?" I ask, the curiosity in my voice clear.

"Fate did."

"Well, obviously. But what part did you take in it? What did you do that made you end up in here?" I elaborate.

"Nothing." He answers, the confidence and truthfulness tumbling from his lips as he slowly wets them with his tongue, taking in his lower lip for a few seconds.

"Oh, so they just put you in this hell hole for fun?" I try to lighten up the circumstance.

He doesn't reply and just stares at me, a blank expression taking of his features as his pupils give away that his mind already went elsewhere.

It's almost as if his eye color changes with his mood. I could have sworn his eyes were a lighter shade of green when he was being a little playful before. Yet now, his eyes have darkened, clouded with dim thoughts.

Why wouldn't he just answer my question?

"Why can't you tell me?" My voice comes out soft, shaky almost.

"I don't want to scare you off or make you think I'm a monster."

"I can handle it, Ethan." I try to soothe him. "If I was a judgmental person, I wouldn't choose to help—"

He doesn't let me finish. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay." I slowly nod, chewing my lower lip, unsure of my next few words. "I just want you to know that I don't know what you've done. I could have chosen to read into your file which contains a lot of details about you and your life before jail. I've chosen not to. I want you to be able to slowly trust me. I can help lessen the burden on your shoulders."

"Talking doesn't help Brooklyn." He whispers, his eyes closing for a moment. "I can prove my innocence to you all I want, but you'll continue to see me as just another inmate. Another inmate denying his conviction."

"No—" I shake my head slowly, trying to convince him otherwise. "You're not just another inmate. You're..." Inhaling some air, I aim to find the right words. "You're a human being, Ethan. You deserve to be listened to. I will be that person from now on. I will be a way for you to let go of some things. I want to help. I want to help... you. The second I saw you in your cell, when you looked at me, I knew it."

He lets his head fall, almost looking defeated. "You felt it too." He whispers, his voice slightly cracking. The volume of his voice is so soft that I'm convinced he didn't intend for me to hear it.

"W-what did I feel?" I whisper back, all sorts of questions tainting my mind. I felt a lot. I've been feeling a lot from the second our eyes locked and it seemed like our hearts sighed in unison.

He doesn't reply and just stares at me with an expression on his face, an expression I can't really make out. Is it anger, guilt, sadness? It even seems like some sort of nostalgia.

Before I can say anything or Ethan can reply, Reed walks in after a quick knock on the door.

"I'm sorry Brooklyn, there's been a report of a massive issue in the main hall, so all the guards have been called in. I need to bring Wilford back to his cell right now."

Neither Ethan or I say a word as he stands up and walks towards the door to meet Reed. Before exiting the room, he turns back to look at me one last time. Just like that, they leave the room, leaving me alone with just my thoughts.

Thinking back to the short conversation we just had, I realize we barely talked into depth. I know zero to nothing about him. Yet I feel like I know him already. It's nearly indescribable.

Connection. That's one word to describe what I felt. I'm sure that's what he meant and what he felt too.  It's almost as if we just experienced a sense of timelessness like we've known each other forever.

He's a lost and damaged soul that is afraid of being found and healed. I've found him. I felt what he felt, and we connected. Words were barely needed. Two damaged souls can not repair one another, yet they can complete each other. Maybe they can be whole again after offering pieces from themselves.

Can I save him? Can I find, cure and complete his lost soul with mine? How can I when I don't even know what he has done, or what he claims to not have done yet being the reason for his imprisonment?

I look down to spot the file with his name on it. This file contains everything about him, yet I can not bring myself to read it. I want to hear it from him and believe in his innocence. What if he's not innocent at all?

What on earth did this guy do and why couldn't he tell me?

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A/N; i believe in love at first sight and i believe in finding your soulmate without having to speak. i think our hearts connect in ways we human beings cannot comprehend. how do you guys think?

thanks for reading, i hope you enjoyed. please don't forget to vote & comment, i really enjoy reading every single one of them.

— lyra b.