Red raced down the hall chanting: just make it to the kitchen, just make it to the kitchen. The kitchen would be empty. If she could just get there without stopping she could fall apart or scream into the refrigerator or do whatever she needed to do to release the pain that was blocking up her throat. All she had to focus on now was making it there without drawing attention to herself.

Sam. She'd known he'd been in bad shape but she'd had no idea it was this bad. Walking into the lake? The fact that she'd played any part in his suicidal depression was devastating. The moment she'd realized that he'd attempted to drown himself, she felt like she'd been dunked underwater and held down. As he spoke, her lungs felt compressed and her chest ached as she imagined what would have happened if he had succeeded—if that last, lost day in his office had been goodbye forever. If she had never seen him again. And, then, as if she had been pulled out of the water at the last minute, she gasped in the truth in one hungry, desperate breath.

She loved him.

She loved him, and after the quick shock of the realization sizzled through her she realized it wasn't really a shock at all. On some subconscious, bone-deep level she had known this, and she'd known it for a long time. And she had almost lost him…

In a panic, she had divulged the partial truth about Lolly.

She'd cleaned it up, omitting the fact that Vause, not Lolly had actually finished off the hitman. She didn't want him thinking he'd sent an innocent woman to psych. She didn't care if it wasn't exactly true, and she didn't care if it came back to haunt her. She would say anything, do anything as long as she didn't lose him.

She had been about to confess to everything: that he had been right about what was going on between them, that there was a future after LItchfield…that she did believe in soulmates…

And then he'd interrupted her and told her that he was feeling better, that he had his boundaries in place, that he was going to be more professional with the 'inmates" from now on...and the earth beneath her shifted again and she felt like she'd been tossed back into the waves.

He was right. He would be better without this impossible bond between them. If she confessed her feelings she would put them both at risk of being caught and he had everything to lose. What good would come if he were sent to jail just as she was getting out?

And what if it was true? What if he really had gotten over it—over her—and had moved on and chalked his feelings up to an error of judgment and lack of boundaries?

"Inmate!"

Her spine straightened in spite of the sharp protest of the muscles in her lower back and she froze in her tracks. Goddammit, all she wanted was to get to the kitchen and now she had to deal with satan himself.

She turned slowly. "Yes sir…" she sneered narrowing her eyes as she looked up at Piscatella.

"Where's the fire, Reznikov?" he asked, crossing his arms.

She sighed. "Just heading to my office to inventory bags of slop. I hear we might have company soon. I need to be prepared."

"What you need is to mind your own business and not listen to gossip. If and when we increase the inventory in the kitchen you'll get it as a direct order. Is that clear?"

"Crystal."

"Good. Oh," he squinted at her and stepped closer, invading her space and making her want to recoil, but she held her ground. "What's that on your mouth? That wouldn't be lipstick, would it? Tsk, tsk," he waved a finger under her nose. "i'm going to have to give you shot for that. I already warned you not to smear that disgusting war paint on your face again." He opened his pad and began writing. "Wipe it off." He looked up from his book and glared at her "Now."

Red seethed, but slowly and deliberately brought the back of her wrist to her lips and wiped off the lipstick, then held her stained arm up to his face.

He smiled iciily. "Guess that old saying is true. You put lipstick on a pig, and it's still a pig."

He ripped off the shot and pressed it hard against her shoulder then sauntered off.

She closed her eyes and counted to five. When she opened her eyes, she saw Sam, not ten feet away, and from the look on his face he had heard more than enough of that exchange.

She felt raw and exposed and she absolutely couldn't take another run in with him right now. She turned and headed for the kitchen at double speed.