It feels like some weight has lifted off my chest. I can talk about my mother and she can talk about her family. There is no more hiding between us.   About our relationship, we are taking things slow. She says that she doesn't want me to think that I'm some rebound or anything. I doubt that I'm any of that. Our relationship is built on friendship and trust and even if I were a rebound, we would have had sex till now then.   Kevin has called on Celeste's phone many times. But she switched it off. I'll probably land a lunch on his face if he comes in front of me.   "Can I come inside today?" I ask Celeste, standing outside her house. We've come to take a few things that she'll need. Till her wounds heal, she's staying at my apartment, or even longer if she wants to.

Celeste's POV:   "Kathy, meet Plinio."   Her brows meet in the middle and her brown orbs flutter between me and Plinio. Her small warm hand is holding my hand and she blinks rapidly. I have no idea what is going on in her head.   "She doesn't like me," Plinio states with dread beside us. He heaves a deep sigh and looks around the playground, shaking his left leg like he does when he's anxious.   "Wait for a second, will you?" I crane my neck back at my sister. Though, it feels good to know that he wants my sister to like him.   "What is he to you and why did you not c

Plinio's POV: As I expected, gym Grandé is open, and Logan is sitting in his room. He is looking out the window with his phone pressed to his ear and his back facing me. He is completely unaware of my presence at the threshold of his room. I am making no sound to grab his attention either. His words to the person on the phone somewhat pique my interest.   “Yes, you got that right. That’s exactly why he asked you not to send your son here anymore.” There’s silence, and Logan is nodding with his cheeks raised, giving space to one of his menacing smirks. There’s an unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach, and I choose to ignore it.   “I am sorry for everything that happened,” Logan lies. The Logan I have seen is never sorry. “Of course, I will send the video. Yes, see you soon.”

Plinio's POV:   “Today marks our last therapy session, Mr. Murray,” my prison psychologist, Dr. Sean Evans, says with a hint of honor masked by his usual placid tone.    “And you still can’t call me Plinio or Nio as I have asked you a hundred times already,” I smile, shaking my head.    The first session was in the first week of my three-year sentence. I was handcuffed, and my legs were chained to the hooks on the floor. Two officers were standing outside, and one was behind my psychologist. In this very room, I was asked several questions to be diagnosed with any kind of mental illness. But, I was neither suicidal nor dangerous nor depressed; in fact, I was quite content, I still am. I have had the lowest number of sessions among all the inmates. And, now, no metal is holding me in place, and only one