Free The Bars That Hold Us by Shelly Pratt

that being a stay-at-home , miserable, grieving fiancé would be much better than having this dickhead berate me. I signed up for not dealing with anything. Now I’m dealing with a bullshit assignment all because I couldn’t give two crims the licking they deserved. He’s right, though. Saxon did save my ass. There’s no way I could tell him just how much I appreciated it. To do that would put him on my level – something I can’t afford to do in my position.
    It’s something I don’t want to do either. He’s a criminal. I’ve seen his jacket. Manslaughter . He’s not the kind of guy you take home to mom and dad, if you know what I mean. Speaking of Dad, he’s bound to hear all about this shit through the grapevine.
    ‘Mercy?’
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘Did you hear what I said?’
    ‘Yes. Sorry, Warden, but what else can I say?’
    ‘Not a damn thing. Get your ass up off that chair and let’s go get your prisoner.’
    ‘Fine,’ I grumble, following him out of the office. This little demotion is a kick in the nuts – if I had any. How embarrassing, to be demoted over not being able to handle my shit.
    We make our way to F Block and I have to endure the long walk of shame down the cell block, past all the judging eyes of the other guards and the empty threats and cat-calls of the prisoners. We finally come to a stop outside the bars of Saxon’s cell. He obviously hasn’t been assigned a new cell mate yet because he’s sitting on his bunk, alone in the small, confined space.
    Our arrival disturbs him from the novel he’s reading. He sits up and swings his legs off the bed, landing on the floor of his cell as nimble as a cat. He’s dressed in a white singlet and regulatory green prison garb pants. His temple is covered in sweat, which makes me think he’s recently been exercising. It would be too cold to be without a jumper otherwise.
    He says nothing, waiting expectantly for us to announce why we’ve come to visit him. Most of these guys in here are smart enough to know not to say anything, not to give away anything , unless asked.
    ‘Miles, it’s your lucky day.’
    ‘How’s that?’
    ‘Guard Cole here has requested you for a job within the prison.’ A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips and it’s unavoidable that I look at him as he peers around the warden’s body that’s keeping me from view. He raises one eyebrow in question, not really believing that I have personally requested him. I shake my head, no. He nods imperceptibly, knowing better. I don’t make the decisions around here, only the warden does. His smile increases a little more, I’m sure.
    ‘And how much does this job pay, Warden?’
    ‘I think a dollar an hour sounds more than fair. You can have extra rations at meal times and have the luxury of borrowing books from the library on a daily basis.’
    ‘And if I don’t want the job?’
    ‘There are many other assholes that would be happy to take your place.’
    ‘I see. Okay, when do I start?’
    ‘Now. And if you fuck this up Miles, I’ll see you spend the rest of your days here at Silverwater in solitary confinement, eating that Nutraloaf brick food you guys seem to love so much.’
    Saxon nods, clear on the warning. The warden takes a key out of his pocket and opens his cell, motioning him out before locking it again. We leave the prison block amid the noise and chaos that is jailhouse life.
    The w arden leads the way to where the library is located. We pass through many secure doors, Saxon following with me bringing up the rear. He keeps turning around, questioning eyes trying to summon me to give him answers. I motion for him to face the front, not wanting any more attention brought to myself before the warden. I’ve had enough of him already and it’s not even lunch time yet.
    Once inside the library, the warden turns the switch on for the lights. The place smells like freshly sawn lumber and paint.
    ‘Right, Miles. You’ve got the task of finishing all the