I'm going to slap a "Mature-ish" rating on this chapter.

A month flies by, and it's no surprise that my twice a week, 20-minute visitations with Alex aren't enough to satisfy either of us. We talk on the phone every day, but 10 minutes of airtime is also not enough. I want to be with her every fucking day, and I know that won't happen for three excruciatingly long years. If she continues to be on her best behavior, I can only hope for an early release. I never mention that possibility to her, but she's not stupid—she knows it could happen.

"Hi, Ms. Mabel." I haul in two bags filled with groceries. "They were out of green bell peppers if you can believe that, so I bought a red one. I hope that's ok."

"A red bell pepper? Those are double the price of the green ones."

"They were a dollar more." I set the bags down on her kitchen counter. "But I bought it with my own money, knowing you wouldn't want to incur the extra expense."

She gives me a skeptical look. "You did?"

I nod.

"Well, that was awfully nice of you." She begins unloading the groceries, carefully inspecting each item.

Every time I've shopped for her, she's had a comment about something being wrong with her order. I've learned to accept her criticism and move on. After all, she's letting me stay in a two-bedroom duplex for at least $300 less per month than the tiny studio apartments I looked at. She's also just a very particular and somewhat cranky old lady who hates that she can't be as independent as she once was.

"The tomatoes are nice and plump," I comment. "I was thinking of planting some vines in the backyard this spring."

"I'd like that." She places the bananas in a bowl. "You got a green thumb?"

"No," I respond. "Well, I don't know, actually. I've never tried gardening, but I'll do some research to see what grows best in this climate."

"My husband and I used to grow tomatoes, bell peppers and yellow squash in the summer." She looks away nostalgically. "He loved a ripe heirloom tomato. Sometimes he'd eat the whole thing raw with just a sprinkle of salt."

"That must've been nice—to have fresh produce right outside." I smile at her memory. "How long ago did he pass?"

"It'll be eight years in August."

I touch her sleeve. "I'm sorry."

"You can plant a garden, but don't make a mess." And we're back to her salty attitude. "I don't want soil all over the back porch."

"I'll be sure to clean up whatever mess I make." I pull out a box of granola bars. "These were on sale."

"Good. Where's my change." She holds out her hand.

Ms. Mabel only uses cash and said that's how it's always been. She doesn't believe in credit cards and has never been in debt other than having a house payment years ago.

I place the $4.30 in her palm. "Here you go."

She counts the money, then eyes the receipt. "Thank you."

"My pleasure." I head towards the front door. "Let me know if you need anything else this week."

"Would you want to join me for dinner Saturday night, Ms. Chapman?"

I'm positively shocked by her invitation. "I'd love to." At that moment, I don't consider that I'll have to take the night off at Starbucks, something I've yet to do, but it is a consideration I'll have to weigh.

"I'm making Bouillabaisse—my daddy's recipe," she says. "He used to make it with fish carcasses back when I was coming up and we stretched a dollar as far as it could go, but I'm making it with cod…You did remember the cod, right?"

"Yes." I nod. "It's at the bottom of the second bag."

"I got to get that on ice." She makes her way back to the kitchen. "Now, I eat early, so you best be here by five o'clock."

"Yes, ma'am." I exit her house, feeling elated that I got my first dinner invitation.

As I enter my side of the duplex, I pause a moment to take in my humble surroundings. The furniture is shabby to be sure, but at least I didn't have to buy any of it. I purchased a few knick knacks from Marshall's to make it feel more homey, but I stayed within my $20 a week allowance that I give myself to spend on frivolous things.

I pick up a silver frame and stare at the photo of me and Alex from one beach or another, recalling how I insisted upon taking our picture the first day we arrived in any exotic location. That lasted about six months. Eventually Alex was too busy to spend time on the beach or to have meals other than room service.

I don't like dwelling on the bad times—that does me no good—so I think about the good times when she'd devote an entire afternoon to doing whatever I wanted. Those are the memories I'll cherish.

My phone chirps. "Hello?"

An inmate from Marysville Federal Penitentiary is calling. Do you accept the call?

"Yes."

"Hey," she greets me through what I'm sure is a smile. "Did I catch you at a good time?"

Alex and I agreed that she'd do her best to call between 12:30 and 1 p.m. most days, which generally works out for me, but sometimes I work double shifts at Starbucks, and I can't text her to let her know I'm unavailable then. I'm not going to suggest that she try to get a cell phone like she did at the last prison. I don't want her to do anything that would cause her to potentially get caught.

"It's a perfect time," I reply. "I just got back from grocery shopping for me and Ms. Mabel."

"Tell me the most delectable thing you bought."

I set the photo back on the mantle and go to the kitchen. "Let's see…I have these super ripe tomatoes and these gorgeous little kumquats." I pop one into my mouth.

"Sounds dirty."

I know Alex knows what kumquats are—we ate them right off the trees in Sicily. Should I dare venture into the realm of phone sex?

"Kumquats?" I ask in my best sultry voice.

"Are you repeating that word just to turn me on?" she asks.

"Would that be bad?"

"No." I hear her rustling and picture her turning around. "I want you to touch yourself, babe."

"People are listening to this call, you know." I try to back down, but I'm so horny that it comes out as a pathetic excuse.

"So? I'm sure they hear people having phone sex all the time."

I swallow the kumquat and move to my bedroom. "Can you touch yourself?"

"I already am."

I couldn't tell you the last time I had phone sex—it had to be when Alex was traveling early on in our relationship and I was stuck at home. While it's no replacement for actual sex, this will have to suffice for now. Besides, her voice has always been a turn on.

"Rub your clit for me," I demand, hoping to come off sexier than it feels.

She moans. "What are you wearing?"

"I'm taking off my shirt." I rip it over my head. "And now my bra." I unhook it.

"Your perfect little tits," she muses, and I picture her closing her eyes. "Touch your nipple."

I squeeze the hardened nub and imagine Alex sucking it into her mouth.

"Then run your hand down your stomach and remove your pants."

I unzip my jeans, stepping out of them. "I'm standing in my bedroom with nothing on but a thong."

"Is it lacy?"

"Yes. It's dark purple with lace on the edges."

"Touch your pussy," she orders. "Pretend those are my fingers, spreading you, touching your clit, getting ready to put my mouth on you."

I roll my head back and moan as I play with my own sex. "I wish your head was between my legs."

"It is," she says in a deep voice. "And I'm licking you slowly at first, but then when your hips thrust forward, I speed up my tongue as it flicks your clit."

I rub harder. "I want you to fuck me, Alex…so bad."

"I want to fuck you, babe…Run my tongue all over your wet, juicy pussy until you cum against my mouth," she pants, and I have the presence of mind to wonder if she's as close to an orgasm as I am. "I won't pull back until I drink every last drop of you."

"Alex, I'm…Ungh! Fuck!" I buck hard against my hand.

Her breathing picks up and she lets out a mewing sound, and I know she's cumming and trying to keep quiet. We've had to do that on a number of occasions, and I instantly recall the noises she made.

"Come for me, babe," I whisper as I collapse onto my bed.

"Well, then." Her breathing slows and her voice becomes clearer. "I've never had prison phone sex before."

I grin. "You better not have."

You have one minute left on this call.

"Fucking automated operator," she comments. "We didn't even get to talk about your day."

"I'll tell you about it tomorrow when I see you." I stand and head to the bathroom to clean up. "Besides, this was more fun than anything that happened today."

She lightly laughs. "It was definitely more fun than the rest of my day."

"Is everything ok?"

"Yeah, I didn't mean anything by that—it's just sex with you will always be better than anything that happens in prison."

"Even McRib night?"

She laughs again. "Well, that's a toss up."

You have 10 seconds left on this call.

"Thank you for pleasuring me," I say. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow, Pipes."

This day just keeps getting better.

On the days I get to see Piper, I don't even care that my cellmate snores so loudly that it wakes me up in the middle of the night. I don't care that the water pressure sucks or that the oatmeal tastes like snot. I focus on the opportunity to sit with the woman I love for a mere 20 minutes.

I report to the electrical shop right after the slop they call breakfast.

"You're late." Creighton glances at the clock on the wall.

"I'm supposed to be here at 8:30." I gesture to the clock. "It's exactly 8:30 a.m."

"See that red hand moving? It's technically after 8:30."

I want so badly to tell him to go fuck himself, but I bite the inside of my cheek and refrain. "What's so important that you need me here on time?"

"The breaker on the exterior of the South wall is stuck," he begins. "I need you to fix it."

"Can't we just trip it or something?"

"No, smart ass. If it were that easy, I would've done it myself." He walks over with a map. "We're here. The breaker is over there. Walk along the perimeter of the property until you reach it."

"Fine." I step back. "Will I need a ladder?"

"You're so fucking tall, probably not."

I contain an eye roll. "How high is it?"

"I don't know—six, seven feet."

I use a chit to get my usual tools. "I'll bring one just in case."

"That breaker controls the stoves in unit 3B," he says. "The inmates can't eat any hot food until it's fixed."

I keep my mouth shut and hope I run into one of my former Litchfield pals.

I walk along the perimeter as I'm told, but it's too early for any of the inmates to have yard time. Damn, it would've been nice to talk to Yoga or Boo even for a minute.

I arrive at the South wall and glance up. There's no way I could've reached the big, red lever without a ladder. I set it up, then climb to the second rung. I undo the four screws holding the metal base in place and slowly pull it off.

Immediately, I notice that the thick black wire is fried. "No fucking way am I trying to fix this."

Then I stop and think. If I attempt to repair it, I could get shocked. This could be my way out. I ponder the situation for a moment, then come up with a plan.

I march back to the electrical shop. "One of the wires is fried. I can't fix it without possibly getting electrocuted."

"You want me to do it?" He laughs. "No, thanks."

"Write me up, I don't care." I shrug. "I'm not risking my life to repair something I have no training to fix."

"Then that's exactly what I'm going to do—write you up for a Shot." He sits at his desk and enters something in the computer.

I wait two minutes until he's finished. "Did you put my badge number on it and list the reason you wrote me up?"

"You think I'm stupid?" he chortles. "Of course I did."

Perfect.

"You think you're getting off the hook that easily?" Creighton asks.

I glance around the room, keeping my eyes off Destiny who is fixing a lamp. "What else do you need me to work on around here?"

He makes his way toward me, and I can smell his vile Taki breath. "You're going to fix that breaker."

"You just wrote me up for defying that order." I fold my arms. "Make one of the other inmates do it."

"Now it's a matter of principle, Vause."

I smirk. "Oh, so you do know my name."

"Get back out there and fix the damn thing," he repeats slowly as if I don't understand his directive.

"Fine." I hold my hands up and walk towards the door. "Excuse me, officer?"

One of the guards points to his chest. "Me?"

"Yeah, can you come in here?"

The officer enters the shop. "What's going on."

I explain what just transpired, including the Shot that Officer Creighton gave me. "Just so we're clear, if I get electrocuted, I want you to be a witness to what Officer Creighton is making me do."

"I'll do you one better," the guard states with his thumbs hooked in his belt loop. "I'll escort you out there and hope I get to watch an inmate fry."

Creighton gives him a high five as they both snicker. I swallow the bile in my throat at his sick comment, but I don't offer a comeback. I grab the ladder and the tool sack again, then walk with Officer Suggs around the perimeter of the jail.

With any luck, the shock will be similar to ones I get regularly that sting for a matter of seconds. I can almost hear Piper telling me not to do this, but Creighton has given me no choice. There's a chance I won't electrocute myself, but this is my way out. I've waited for a moment precisely like this, and I refuse to pass it up.

I pull the pliers out of the bag and snip off the dead wire, watching as it falls to the ground.

"You're still alive," Suggs comments.

"That was the dead wire," I explain. "Now it's a matter of attaching the new one to the live one."

I twist a new, black wire onto the metal filaments and get ready to align it with the red one. Here goes nothing.

Zaaaaap