She was ruined.

The paper was snatched out of my hand.

“What the fuck are you looking at?” a hard voice asked.

“Give it back!” I snarled, trying to snatch the drawing back from the fat bitch that held it.

My cellmate, a dyke named Jinx, held it just out of reach, sneering at me the whole time.

“Is this you? It fucking sucks.” She spat on the paper and then tore it into tiny pieces before flushing it down the toilet.

I stared as the tiny shreds of Flynn’s drawing disappeared and I felt inexplicably like I was losing him all over again.

Then I was lunging for Jinx. I grabbed a hunk of her hair and pulled with all my might.

“You stupid whore!” she shrieked, lifting me up and smashing my back against the hard wall. My head snapped back, colliding with the cement and I saw stars.

The cellblock started yelling, hearing our altercation. But I didn’t care. I was going to kill the bitch.

Jinx punched me in the nose and I could taste blood dripping into my mouth.

I reached up and dug my fingers into her eye sockets, sinking deep.

My cellmate screamed and dropped me. I grabbed a pencil from the small desk against the wall and held it in front of me, waiting for her retaliation.

It never came. The guards showed up and sent us both to isolation for a week. Then I didn’t have to share a cell with Jinx anymore and everyone stayed out of my way.

Which was fine by me.

I was better off alone.

**

I was nervous as hell. I had changed my outfit three times before finally settling on what I hoped was a professional pantsuit with a white blouse. I put my hair up in a smart, no nonsense bun and then immediately took it down again.

I was a fucking wreck.

“Why are you brushing your hair so much?” Flynn asked, coming out of the bathroom. He sat on the bed and slowly put on his socks, readjusting them three times before he was happy with them.

“I have the second interview today at that accounting firm. I just don’t want to look like I rolled in from the farm,” I replied wryly, putting my hair back up in a bun. I turned my head from side to side, not at all pleased with my appearance.

Would they be able to smell my desperation? Did I wear it like a neon sign? Because I was pretty sure I reeked of it.

I startled at the feel of Flynn’s hands in my hair. He gently unwrapped my hair from its confines and let it fall around my shoulders. I needed a haircut. My hair was longer than I had ever worn it before.

I shivered as Flynn raked his fingers through the strands, smoothing them over and over again.

“Leave it down. You look pretty with it like this,” he said flatly. He continued to stroke my hair and I closed my eyes, feeling the tension bleed out of me.

“I like the feel of your hair. It’s soft and warm,” Flynn said, his voice loud. I smiled and looked over my shoulder at where he stood just behind me.

“Thanks,” I murmured. Flynn’s hands dropped from my hair and fell on my shoulders, his fingers pressing into my skin.

He leaned down ever so slowly and kissed the side of my neck. Goose flesh spread at the innocent touch. “They’re stupid if they don’t hire you. You’re pretty and smart and the best person I know,” he said, his breath hot on my skin.

“You’re a bit biased,” I chuckled.

Flynn kissed my neck again before stepping backwards, putting space between us. I felt cold and alone again. “It’s the truth,” he replied emphatically, clearly ready to argue if need be.

I ran the brush through my hair one last time before dropping it on the dresser. I couldn’t obsess any more about my appearance otherwise I was going to be late. Flynn had a late class and wouldn’t be heading to work for another hour.

He handed me my coffee mug, which I accepted with a thanks. “You’re nervous,” Flynn commented.

“What gave me away?” I quipped, arching my eyebrow.

“Your armpits are wet,” he said, indicating the patch of sweat that was already noticeable on my shirt.

“Wow, thanks for pointing that out,” I laughed, shaking my head. I hurried into the bathroom to put on more deodorant.

“I shouldn’t have said that. That was rude right?” he asked, following me.

I straightened my shirt and glanced at his reflection in the mirror, our eyes meeting. “Well, yeah, it was blunt, but I’d prefer you to be honest with me than just tell me what I want to hear.”

“And what would you want to hear?” he asked, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“That I look calm and collected. That I’ll get this job with no problems. That I have absolutely nothing to worry about.”

Flynn frowned. “But you should be worried. I’d be nervous. I can’t tell you not to be. And I don’t know if you’ll get the job. I’m not the one doing the hiring.”

I leaned up on my tiptoes and pressed a kiss on his downturned mouth. “You don’t ever need to tell me anything but the truth,” I assured him.

Flynn wrapped his arms around me, crushing me against his chest and kissed me roughly. I loved it when he took charge like this. And as much as I wanted to fall into him, I had to leave for my interview.

I reluctantly extracted myself from his grasp and squeezed his hands. “I’ll come by the college afterwards. Maybe we can have lunch together,” I suggested.

Flynn started chewing on his lip, a new tell that he was anxious about something. “I only made one chicken salad sandwich. Do you want me to make one for you? If I do, then I won’t be able to take Murphy on his twenty-minute walk. I’ll have to cut it short and then he won’t get his proper exercise.”