I was cowering in a corner of my cell, when I heard the sharp click-clack of high heels on a stone floor. I pictured, with dry humour, a sexy warden wearing high heels and coming to punish the poor prisoner. That was what kept my spirits up in this wretched place; humour and fantasies.
As the person with heels came closer, I was able to glance at her through the small barred hole on the cell door. Even from afar, she seemed like a formidable woman β beautiful face, long black hair, dressed in black from head to toe, and she somehow had this air about her... I can't explain it, except that maybe the best word to describe her presence would be 'charisma'. As she spoke to the jailor, her hands emphasized her words with vivid gestures. The jailor seemed scared, but showed admirable courage in denying the lady what she demanded. I already knew, watching from afar and without being able to make out the words of their conversation, that this woman had the self-confidence of someone who was rarely or never denied. And as it turned out, she wasn't this time either; when the jailor refused to give in, she up and walked away, only to return a few moments later with the poor jailor's superior. And this mysterious lady was granted an access to the prison.
I was curious about this woman, and very much in love, even before I had ever talked to her. As she walked past my cell, I retreated from my watching spot, only to see her come towards my door and ask the jailor to unlock it. I retreated all the way into the corner, suddenly terrified. Even if being alone in my cell meant being lonely, someone coming to my cell usually meant very bad news.
The woman stepped in, and the jailor closed the door behind her. For a while she just stood there, watching me. I avoided her gaze, but stole glances of her hands. Those big, strong, soft hands I suddenly wanted to touch. She didn't come any closer, respecting my personal boundaries; instead, she spoke to me.
"Come here," she said, her voice soft and bereft of all that demanding tone she had used on the jailor. "Don't be afraid," she added when I hesitated.
I took a cautious step closer, but hesitated again. I wanted to ask who she was. And what she was doing here. What she wanted of me? I wanted to believe she didn't mean me any harm, but as long as I wasn't sure I could not be at ease at her presence.
As I stood there, eyeing her β still not her face, only those beautiful hands and the high-heeled shoes she was wearing β she extended her hand to me.
"Come on," she renewed her plea, her voice even softer this time. "I'll take care of you."