Thread: El Cereso Prison (Steel Butterfly & Adam)

Joanne stared at the man, her green eyes studying the almost leathery face of the man intensely. Her breathing was barely audible, having dimmed to a shallow and almost mechanical inhaling of the stale prison air. His sudden smile had caught her off-guard - her brow furrowing in confusion when the man spoke. His croaking, soft voice seemed to match his almost withered appearance and the few yellow teeth which were revealed by his smile only added to his worn and old look. The woman's eyes were still upon his face, disbelief slowly overtaking her previously fearful expression. A slight disgust was still visible around her soft pink lips, subtly curving them downwards with hints of distaste. Slowly, Joanne tried to steady her still painful hands - placing her wet palms onto the stained and cold prison floor so that she might lift herself onto the bed, increasing the distance between the seemingly mad man and her own naked person. However, she was too late. Caution and fear crept back into her eyes when he placed his arms beside her, denying her the space she needed to move herself out of his way. The woman cautiously glanced at his arms, not at all reassured by the fact that they looked quite strong instead of adhering to the rest of his worn and tattered appearance. Instinctively, she raised her hands, crossing her arms in front of her gently heaving chest. The skin of her arms was cold, its moist skin sending a shivering down her spine as she pressed it against the soft skin of her breasts. She inhaled sharply when he suddenly moved towards her face, wincing in anticipation of pain. But the pain did not come and instead, he surprised her with his gentle touch. It was not a pleasant surprise however, the strange and seemingly out of place gestures confusing her just as much as his delirious whispers. It was clear that the man was not talking to her - at least, not to Joanne. The fact that this man seemed to believe that she was one of his victims only served to inspire more caution and tension within the former journalist, her mind feverishly trying to analyze the situation, trying to help her interpret this man. A surprised gasp escaped from Joanne's lips when a sudden cold interrupted her thoughts, the calloused and hard skin of his fingers pressing against her tender and wet skin. She barely dared to breathe as he continued to beg forgiveness from a woman named Julia, most likely one of the twins whose lives he had taken through strangulation. And yet, a part of her felt pity as she regarded the man, leaning her head back in response to his sudden warm breath. Carefully, Joanne lifted her hands, breaking the protective barrier in front of her and instead placing her hands upon his'. Hush, she told him softly, her green eyes anxiously scanning for any hint of danger. She had no desire to die in the same manner as the poor girls. Gently, she folded her fingers around his hands, trying to pry them away from her shoulders as she continued, her voice a soft and reassuring whisper. It is all right. She paused, searching for the strength to steady her trembling voice. Her entire body seemed to echo with the previous pains and indignation she had suffered, various places stinging as if to urge her to be very cautious. I forgive you. The young woman prayed that this would be enough to settle the man's troubled conscience, feeling rather vile for speaking to a killer on behalf of one of his victims. Still, cruel as it might sound, the girl in question was already dead. Joanne was not and had no intention of dying either. Quite the opposite. She managed a careful smile, her fingers continuing their soft prying at his strong hands, tugging them away from her tense shoulders.