Locked up with the Badboy.

I take a seat on the floor in front of him, "What?"

He combs a hand through his dark hair and sighs, "This is a maximum security prison, the people here have killed babies, shot up schools , killed multiple partners and run crime rings and you, are saying that I'm mean? "


11. Stars.


A/N: Play while reading if you want :)


“Clara, I am so sorry,” he mumbles into my shirt. Not realising with his arms around me I can’t breath. Before I do anything else, with all my strength I push him away. He stumbles back and nods his head like I’ve rejected him and he’s accepting it.

“Can’t breathe – sore ribs.” I manage to wheeze as I clutch my sides.

He gives his sheepish smile, “Sorry.”

After a minute of being a hunched over old lady I get my breath back and stare him in the eyes, “I’m still angry at you though.”

He nods again, this time less remorseful though, “I’m really sorry Clara.”

“Don’t you have even an ounce of control over your little manling?” I say, definitely feeling bolder then when I’m not a cocktail of prescription drugs.

He just looks down, “I guess you weren’t being fun and-“

“What about before?” I interrupt, “You were trying to be such a big man…”

His face gets a little deeper red, I see that I’m making him angry but I don’t care, I saved his damn life. “Clara,” he says, struggling to control himself, “From now on I’m going to be a better man.”

Rolling my eyes and sticking out my tongue, I pace toward the table, “And why exactly would you want to do that, when being an utter prick was working out so well,” the sarcasm in my voice is ah- may- zing.

He shuffles, then swallows his pride. Looking me dead in the eyes with his bright green pools of perfection, “I want to be a better man because you saved me. You saved me even when…” he waves a hand, “I was being an utter prick. You saved me even though I’ve been an utter prick this whole time and I want to show you that I’m worth your kindness.”

The words make me tear up, they honestly do, when he opens his arms to me I forget that he’s a stupid-idiot, and basically the cause of every catastrophe since I’ve been here. I forget about it and focus on the fact that he’s the only one who can make me feel warm like this. The only one since Chris that can make me feel better with just a single hug.


Ben smells great; imagine if you could bottle happy feelings, everything attractive about guys and a spice of danger and you’ll begin to get an understanding of what he smells like. His body is muscled but relaxes under my touch, so when I rest my head against his shoulder I find the perfect nook where I can breathe in his scent, get taken over by the heat radiating between us and feel his muscles rippling between my hands.

He doesn’t squeeze too hard so my ribs don’t get sore and we stand together for a very long time. As we pull apart he looks into my eyes and nods, with a massive smile taking up half his face. “I stole something you might like.”

Reaching under his bunk, he pulls out five canteens of paint; purple, white, blue, red and gold, each of them has LUMENESCENT written in block letters by the bottom. “I’m not sure what they were using them for, but when I came to that hospital room you were lying in these jars were just sitting there so I slid them into my pocket and waited for you to wake up.

I’m partly torn between telling him that stealing is wrong and telling myself to shut up because I’m in prison and there are far worse things to do then lift a few cans of paint.

“What are you using them for?” I ask, tongue in cheek.

He spins around, if someone were to come in here right now they might mistake him for a hippy. “I was thinking that we should paint the ceiling.” Excited, he raises his hands, “When our lights go off it’ll light up and we’ll see the night sky. It’d be sick.”

Ogling my eyes and wondering how anyone could even think something as amazing as that I agree; it would most definitely be sick.


Ben hoists me onto his shoulders, resting his hands just for a few seconds on my butt. I’m not perturbed though, you can take a boy out of the bad, but you can’t take the bad out of a boy. I give him a little pat on the head for being so cute. He just gives a little snarl in reply.

Because Ben didn’t have the foresight to palm a brush as well we use a pair of my overalls to spread blue paint all over our ceiling, I’m so into my painting the I barely notice Ben’s hands on my legs. But they’re still there, holding, reassuring, keeping me safe.

When the ceiling is finished I carefully climb from his back, we open the other four colours and this time using our lunch spoons, flick stars and cosmos and little meteors onto the sky. Ben’s more advanced and creates the milky way. I flick a fat blob of white, that Ben laughs at, “It’s actually an artists impression of an Astonaught,” I tell him which makes him laugh even harder. I place a blob of orange on his cheek and then he colours my arm green.

 Spoons abandoned, we use our hands to paint each other every shade of the universe. Until inevitably we run out of paint.

I stare at him with his orange-green striped face and my blue handprints across his chest, and yes he stares at me, with his yellow stripes all over my… face.

Dinner arrives and we eat in silence, the paint is dry now and getting itchy, but I leave it on. Knowing that in an hours time I’ll look fantasy. Ben pushes our beds off the bunk and onto the floor so that we can lie side by side looking up at the sky.

We wait until a soft click sounds and our room fades into darkness. At first there’s nothing to see, but as our eyes adjust the ceiling lights up and so does a galaxy, there’s whorls and spirals, and shooting stars that appear then vanish, always in my peripheral. Tiny flecks of purple surround my astronaut then fly off into space, while stars appear to orbit one another, swirling before my eyes.

“Clara, you’re shining.”

When I look at Ben, I see what he means, his whole face, body, outline have lit up. It’s beautiful. Moving closer we forget about the sky and just stare at each other. Then tenderly I reach out a hand and touch his face. They both shine together, one of his hands traces under my chin and the other finds the back of my waist. I tell myself to breathe but I can’t I can only stare at him.

We move in together, both of us hoping.

Only inches away from kissing me he hesitates, but I keep moving making up for the distance and sliding my lips against his.

The kiss, as they always are between two people who haven’t kissed before is initially awkward, we touch noses and I giggle, but on our second try we nail it. His lips feel perfect for mine, locked together by passion.

My head explodes and my heart races, we kiss for five minutes and then break apart, both our chests race.

“Damn Clara, Damn,” he says with the hugest grin on his face. 


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