Page 4 of Reclaim

“Umm,” she purses her lips thoughtfully, before sitting back down. “If I answer your question, you’re going to have to answer one of mine.”

I don’t want to explain to her why I don’t want to leave. She, along with everyone else won’t understand. “It’s all right I probably shouldn’t have asked anyway.”

“Jagger, whether I answer the question or not, you’re getting out of here.”

“I’ve got another three years in here. Fifteen all up. I was at the court case, I heard everything they said.”

“Well you must’ve missed the part where they said you’re eligible for parole at ten years.”

“That was two years ago, why now?”

Flipping through the pile of papers, she pulls one out and turns it to face me. “It says here a Hendrix Michaels applied for you.”

“Fuck,” I mutter. Covering my face with my hands, I try to maintain my composure. “Isn’t there a rule? He can’t do this without my consent.”

“Everyone wants to leave,” she argues. “Your brother wants you out. I’m sure your family misses you.”

“Miss Lane, was it?”

“You can call me Emerson.” Biting the inside of her cheek, she stops a smirk from appearing on her face, but I can see the hint of satisfaction throwing my own words at me gives her.

“Emerson. You don’t know anything about me, or my family.”

Bringing her hand up to her face, she pinches the bridge of her nose and takes a deep, loud breath. “You know what? If that angle isn’t going to work then how about some hard truths, huh?” She’s angry, struggling to come to terms with my admission. The tone of her voice becomes unsympathetic. Apathy clear as day, that wasn't there before. “The government isn’t going to keep you here and house and feed you when you are one hundred percent able to pay taxes.”

“Pay taxes?” I scoff. “Who the fuck is going to hire a criminal? There’s nothing out there for me.”

“I promise you, it’s better than in here. Any bad day out there is a million times better than having your freedom restricted.”

“I deserve to have it taken away from me.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Are you sure? Because the conviction that’s going to follow me around for the rest of my life says otherwise.”

“Jagger,” she sighs. “You’ve accomplished so much in here; you deserve to show that off.” She pauses and purposefully looks me in the eye before pouring salt on all my open wounds. “What about Dakota?”

“Don’t bring her into this.”

“Don’t bring yourdaughterinto this?”

“This isn’t up for discussion Miss Lane,” I spit her name out at her. Any sort of comfort between us is dissipating instantly.

“Don’t you want to be there for her?” She narrows her eyebrows in disbelief. I see her thoughts ticking over, wondering what man doesn’t want to see his own flesh and blood.

“You seem to have done your homework, so you know very well what happened the last time I was fuckingtherefor her.” Resting my elbows on the steel table, I push my hands through my hair, pulling the ends in frustration. “Are we done?”

Ignoring my question, she scribbles something on to a post-it note and slides it across the table, “remember this date, because that’s when you’re getting out of here. You’ll have to spend some time with a parole officer and myself, but together we’ll set up your reintegration plan.”

Skimming the edges of the small piece of paper, I focus on the date.Six weeks. The possibilities of freedom begin to knock on my hardened heart, threatening to push past my fears of failure. “So, I’m really getting out of here, huh?”

“Be happy about it Jagger.” She leans forward, matching my posture. Our hands centimetres from touching, and I’m no longer concentrating on what she’s saying, but rather what it would be like to feel her hand in mine. You don’t realise how much you miss something until it’s right there, being flaunted in front of you. I slide my hands off the table, and clasp them together beneath it, ridding myself of the temptation.

“Hands where I can see them, Michaels.” The guards voice cuts through the illusion, and I’m brought back to the hell hole where I live on someone else’s terms.

“I’m not going to pretend I know what it’s like to be you,” she continues, unaffected by the interruption. “But trust me when I say the system is not setting you up to fail. Conditional release is only given to those who deserve it. By the time you leave, you’ll have a place to live, a parole officer to report to, and as many job opportunities as we can line up for you.”

“You can get me all that?”

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