Eight Late
Sienna
As the morning bleeds into the early afternoon and I don’t hear anything from Si, I start to panic. It’s been nearly a month now that we’ve been having conversations at the same time every day without fail, so now that he missed one, I have to ask myself why.
Is he in trouble or something? I know things with Sonny were getting worse by the day, but Osiris promised me he had it under control and he wasn’t going to fight. So did I say something wrong? Last night we talked about the Seahawks and which fruit pie was best. None of it should’ve made him angry or offended enough not to call me, unless he’s upset that I asked him why I hadn’t gotten my surprise yet. But I’d kept my voice teasing, light. I honestly never expected him to send me anything anyway, I’d just assumed he wanted my address to feel like we’re more of a real couple instead of whatever we actually are.
Which is... nothing, I guess, so why am I bothered by this at all? A fake marriage doesn’t mean much when you know nothing can ever come of it. This is exactly what I was afraid of at the start. I’d get attached, start creating ridiculous scenarios in my head where somehow we pull a happy ending out of all this, and then I’d get body slammed into the pavement by reality.
Maybe this is me getting body slammed, or maybe I’m just overreacting.
In a desperate attempt to distract myself, I log into work early and start taking care of some of the reports I’ve been putting off a little too long. One hour fades into the next until I realize I’ve been working so hard, I skipped my lunch break altogether.
There’s still nothing from Osiris.
“Okay,” I mumble to myself. “This is fine. Sun or not, my world does not revolve around him. Maybe he’s just having a rough day, or maybe he caught a cold. There are a thousand explanations as to why he hasn’t called yet, so get your fucking shit together and focus on your goddamn job.”
Everyone has to give themselves a violent pep talk every once in a while, right? That’s just life.
But I can feel the anxiety seeping into my chest, taking root and refusing to let go. There’s something wrong, I just know it. I may have other things in my life, but to the best of my knowledge, he does not. He’d have called unless something was drastically, terribly wrong.
When his normal evening call time passes with nothing, I’m about at my wit’s end. I’m just about to call the prison myself and demand to know what funeral home they were sending his body to when my phone finally rings.
“Si?” I blurt. “Are you okay? What happened?”
He has the audacity to chuckle. “I’m okay, baby. Did I worry you?”
He sounds okay, his voice isn’t breaking like he’s hurting or sick, but I can’t tell if that makes me happy or pisses me off. If he didn’t spend the day in the sick bay, where the hell was he? “A little, yeah,” I admit. “What happened this morning? I thought maybe you forgot about me.”
“How could I when you’re the only reason I have anything to look forward to these days?” He pauses and releases a breath. “I’m sorry I didn’t call to say good morning. The guys gave me hell for hogging the phones all the time, and I’m trying real fucking hard not to stir up any shit so I took the loss. It hurt though. I was missing you bad all day.”
Now I feel like a dick. It’s so easy for me to forget that he’s in prison with guys just as dangerous as he is when he tries so hard not to talk about it. “Shit. I’m sorry,” I say softly. “I... clearly missed you too.”
“Don’t be sorry. I like knowing you missed me. Yell at me for it, call me an asshole, just keep giving a fuck.”
Again, I’m struck by how different our lives have been. My parents might’ve been distant, but they gave a fuck. My friends love me. How lonely it must be for him to have no one but a voice on the other end of a recorded phone. “I do, Si. I give a fuck. A lot of fucks. Please don’t forget that.”
“Okay, good. Say you’re still my woman. Say you still wish I could come over and take you on a date like a normal couple.”
For a moment, I let myself picture what that would look like. Some non-criminal version of Osiris showing up at my door with flowers and a cheeky grin, saying my name like he’s the embodiment of lust itself. We’d go to some restaurant and laugh because it’s too fancy for us and neither of us know which fork to use, then dip out and head back to my place. Maybe get a little tangled up on the couch watching movies, and I’d beg him not to go at the end of the night.
“I’m still yours, Si. And if things were different, I’d love to go on a date with you.”
He releases a breath before responding. “I’d love that too. Going to do everything in my power to help you keep that same energy.”
I’ve tried so hard not to point out how long his sentence is — he knows, he’s living it — but it’s to the point now where I feel like I have to. “You’re not getting out for another ten years, Si. Are you sure you want to hold on that long?”
The chuckle he releases surprises me. “Ten years, huh? Nah, there’s no way I stay in here ten more years. Have some faith, baby.”
I guess good behavior is a thing, and I know how hard he’s been trying to keep his nose clean. Eight is definitely better than ten, but even that seems like a lifetime. “I have faith. I’m just trying not to get too swept up in maybes.”
“Maybes, huh? Don’t worry, all my talk will be backed up. They finally let me send you a picture by the way. Go look at it.”
My stomach flips as I put him on speaker to open the app. I don’t know what I was expecting, but a full body shot of him in grey sweats wasn’t it. Holy fuck, he’s hot. Those tattoos I saw peeking out in the first couple of pictures extend all the way down his muscular arms, and the bulge in those sweats? Yeah, I’ll be a happy woman if he ever follows through on everything he said. “You need a place to go to be paroled, right? I have a house,” I joke. “You’re... pretty.”
He laughs, happy with where the conversation has gone now that he gave me eye candy. “You’re pretty,” he retorts. “I printed your pictures out and keep them under my pillow.”
“Oh?” I squeeze my thighs together. “And what do you do with them?”
“Read them bedtime stories,” he teases. “Where’d your mind go, woman?”
“Straight to the gutter. Duh.” Grinning, I slip my hand between my legs to tease my clit. “Should I have taken a more PG route?”
“Absolutely the fuck not. Moving around a lot over there, beautiful. Get yourself comfortable.” He knows, of course he knows. “I say good morning and good night to those pictures, you know? They make me feel like I’m going through puberty all over. I especially like the one of you in that red blouse.”
I love the way his voice drops when he’s turned on. It sends goosebumps all over my skin. “Do you? So you’d want me to wear that on our first date?”
“Hell yeah, just don’t hate me if I accidentally rip it a little bit trying to get underneath it. I don’t know if I can be a gentleman, Sienna.”
“Who said I was looking for a gentleman?” My hand slips a little lower, just enough I can dip a single finger inside myself. “Maybe I want you to be a little rough.”
“Just a little?” The growl he releases makes my thighs clench. “Just tell me you won’t hold our first time against me. Been locked up a very long time and I might be a fucking animal.”
This is all entirely hypothetical and a problem for much later me, so I have no problem pumping my finger as I hum a yes. “Sounds perfect. Promise you won’t be gentle?”
“Not at all. Might leave behind some marks, so I need you to promise you won’t send me back to jail. I won’t hurt you in any way you don’t like though.” His voice drops to a whisper. “Fuck, I’m hard, baby.”
“I promise,” I gasp, knowing he can probably hear what I’m doing. I’m so fucking wet I can’t hide it. “Everyone always promises to be rough and they’re not. I want it.”
“I got you — wait, who promised that? When?”
Way to ruin it, Osiris. Huffing, I mumble, “Everyone,” and hope he brushes past it, but that’s not him. He’s far too territorial for that.
“When was the last time, though?“
Maybe I should be careful what I say to a convicted killer. Maybe. “Eight months ago, maybe. Long before I met you. It was one time and a mistake.”
“A mistake,” he repeats. “Want me to kick his ass?”
“No,” I say quickly. “I want you to quit talking about the past and tell me what you’re gonna do to me in the future. I was in the middle of something.”
Chuckling darkly, he finally moves on. “Sorry, baby. The thought of anyone else being able to touch you drives me crazy when I know I can’t yet. Let me get you back there.” But before he can actually do it, yelling breaks out all around him, along with a siren that has my heart pounding in my chest. “Fuck! Sienna, I got to go.”
And then he’s gone.