Author's Note: Chapter 3! At first I wasn't planning on getting into Healy's head; I was only going to use him to support a story about Red, but this chapter just came to me. I hope I've gotten Healy right; I've spent way less time analyzing him than I have Red (because until he got involved with her, I kind of didn't like the dude; Red definitely makes him more worthwhile). Please give me feedback and let me know what you think!
Breakdown
It was 9 o'clock when Healy finally looked up from the paperwork on his desk. He checked the time on his phone. Jesus, he thought, wondering how in the hell he had gotten so engrossed in his work that he hadn't noticed the end of his shift come and go…three hours ago. Normally, he couldn't wait to leave his depressing and soul-sucking job, even if it meant going home to silence and emptiness. He had especially tried to avoid staying any later than necessary over the past month.
At first, he had refused to accept that Red was avoiding him. He specifically sought her out, trying with all his might to get to her to talk to him about that day in the office. When it had become apparent that she would not engage on that topic, he tried to get her to talk to him about anything at all—her kitchen, her ongoing clandestine dinners, the weather. Always he was met with one-word answers; two words if fortune happened to be smiling upon him at the time. She was still civil; she would greet him if they ran into each other in the halls, she didn't ignore him. But he knew that she was purposely staying away. He didn't understand it, and he had given up on trying to get her to help him understand. He had finally accepting that she wasn't going to explain herself to him.
The rejection hurt. After weeks of turning everything over in his mind, Healy was beginning to feel the old bitterness surfacing, the general disdain for women and their foolishness that always followed a failed relationship or rebuffed romantic advances. Adding to his anger over Red's desertion was the fact that he had begun divorce proceedings in earnest. Katya's attempts to play nicely with him had proven to be short-lived and characteristically motivated by greed; she had wanted him not only to help her and her mother get an apartment but, indeed, to put down the entire down payment and take care of the rent, which he had, of course, refused to do. He had offered to help, not to pay for the entire thing. After that, Katya had finally requested the divorce.
Healy had come to the conclusion that his soon-to-be-ex-wife's behavior and that of his would-be Russian paramour simply proved that all women, no matter what their circumstances, were the same. Irrational. Manipulative. Selfish. Wanting nothing from a man but whatever material gain or sexual satisfaction they could wrench from him before fleeing. He had known this about Katya almost from the moment that she had gotten off the plane and stepped hesitantly into his arms. On some level, even below the deep, deep layers of denial that had formed the bedrock of their marriage, Healy had always known that.
However, he hadn't lied to Red when he'd told her that he thought she was different. He had known the Russian woman for twelve years; he knew that she was sneaky and crafty and would go to almost any lengths to get what she wanted. He resented her for it at first—as soon as she had gotten the hang of prison life, she began arguing and scheming her way into getting all kinds of perks, frequently through duping Healy himself. Constantly being beaten by a woman who was obviously cleverer than him had been a huge drain on his ego, initially. Eventually he had adopted the tactic of treating every interaction with Red as though he was being shaken down for something and knew it.
Paradoxically, this had been what allowed them to become something resembling friends. Of course, it hadn't dampened Red's manipulative nature, but it had, Healy thought, earned him a modicum of her respect. After that, she would stop by his office more frequently, and only occasionally did she come to ask for things. Even when she was demanding a new refrigerator or the removal of someone who had offended her from kitchen crew, it wasn't uncommon for her to spend some extra time simply talking to him.
Then there had been the occasional session with Red acting as translator between himself and Katya. Healy knew that Red hated being dragged into his marriage (and, as he realized now, he had dragged her into it). He knew also that she hated being called upon to perform the dual role of translator/marriage counselor, but he was desperate and she was the only person he knew who both spoke Russian and owed him. On some level, he had also looked upon it as a form of retribution for all the times that she had pulled one over on him. After all, in this situation, he had the power to make demands upon her time, because he was the counsellor and she the inmate. It was a small victory, and Healy knew that she still had the upper hand in their relationship, but he enjoyed the fleeting feeling of power.
This time, though, Red had laid him low. She had taken all of the power away from him and claimed it for her own. Healy didn't know when, exactly, he had begun to think of her romantically. He supposed that it had happened gradually, a glacial drift of emotions bringing them slowly towards one another. All that he knew was that he had been besotted. Oh, hell; who was he kidding? He was still head over heels, despite his anger at her and the certainty that the scene in his office was just a move in one of her elaborate games.
He wasn't sure what she was trying to get out of him this time, but he was sure she had some kind of objective. Although it angered him, he couldn't bring himself to be as outraged about it as he should have been. All he wanted was for Red to take him into her arms and say to him, in that sexy, smoky, accented voice that drove him wild, that she loved him. He would give her anything she wanted then; she could tear the heart out of his chest and consume it in front of him, as long as she showed him a little affection. Healy hated knowing this about himself, and he hated Red for having so much sway over him.
Angrily, Healy ripped off his reading glasses and threw them onto the desk. This, he realized, was why he spent so much of his time holed up in his office, staring at intake, release and request forms until all the words blurred together. If he allowed himself time to think about anything besides work, his thoughts always came back to one of two subjects: his gold-digging wife, or her scheming prison counterpart, which forced him to acknowledge that he had been bested, not by one woman, but by two.
Healy grabbed his briefcase and headed out the door of his office, turning his light off as he went. The hallways were empty, silent. It was after hours; all inmates would be in bed by now. Good, he thought. No chance of running into her if she was in her bunk.
He turned his head briefly to look down the hall to where the cafeteria was. This had become habit over the past few weeks; at first he had done it hopefully, expecting to see her entering or exiting, but now it was more like a compulsion, something he didn't want to do but had to. His heart dropped as he realized that there was the faintest glare of light through the windows on the doors. The lights were still off in the cafeteria; the glow was coming from somewhere beyond that. The kitchen, of course. Healy cursed his luck. He could only think of a handful of people who would have the gall to be roaming around the prison after hours and, of those few inmates, only one would go to the kitchen.
He considering just letting it alone, ignoring the obvious violation of the rules and going home. He took one step towards the exit, and then turned around and walked back towards the cafeteria, cursing under his breath. How would it look if Red were discovered, and then someone found out that he had known there was someone in the kitchen but done nothing about it? He would be accused of not doing his job properly, and would likely be chewed out for showing favoritism or simply for being incompetent, and he had already put his job on the line for her more than once. He wasn't willing to do so again. With a heavy sigh, he prepared himself to confront Red.