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Dixie's Perspective

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I feel like I'm going to a funeral all dressed in black. From the black Converse to the black leather vest that once was the property of Tim Shepard himself. Under that, I wear a black t-shirt and blue jeans with rips in the knees from falling off one of Steve's motorcycles the last time I was in Tulsa.

I walk down the hall, a guard in front of me. However much I try, I can't read his expression. He leads me into a room full of metal seats with glass windows in front of every station.

Once the guard gestures to an empty chair, I take my seat while he moves to lean against a wall. As I wait, I look around, watching the people who sit separated from their loved ones.

A boy my age sits still, his face white as his father sits across from him, looking distraught. Another woman cries hysterically, her hand pressed against the plexiglass as a boy in his twenties gets ripped away from the window by two guards.

A burly man sits across from a woman with a ring on her finger. She has dark circles under her eyes and tussled hair with a struggling toddler in her arms as well as a child no more than six running around her stool.

I cringe at the sight. God, I hope that isn't me in a few years.

Something moves in my peripheral vision, catching my attention. My eyes snap forward, landing on the boy who takes a seat across from me. He smirks.

Even in prison, Tim's black hair is greased back, his jaw lined with a week's worth of stubble. The signature scar across his face is highlighted by a black and blue bruise and a busted lip. Typical Tim Shepard.

Under normal circumstances, I would laugh at him for being back in this joint, but these aren't normal circumstances.

He smiles at me, sapphire eyes twinkling. "Well, Dixie Lynn Curtis, to what do I owe the pleasure of your presence?"

I roll my eyes. "Hello, Tim," I state blankly, crossing my arms.

"I see you got my letters." He chuckles.

I fight the urge to roll my eyes again. "What letters? You know damn well I'm here on my own accord."

Tim bows his head. All he knows is that he was told he had a visitor and now here I am.

I scoff, shaking my head. "I'm sorry."

"You? Sorry? Never." He snorts. I nip my tongue, biting back a laugh. We both remain quiet, engrossed in thought for a moment before he suddenly speaks. "You know the last time I saw you through a window like this, we were both smoking. Eyes red, laughing our heads off about Mr. Rodeo."

A small smile slips. "You were away for five months and I was about to leave for Texas."

"You still had that dumb haircut and were all hung up that Billy-Joel." He laughs. "Figured you were gonna get him to kiss you before you went."

"Then I wouldn't have to see him for nine months," I add, nodding along. Yeah, I remember the day from two years ago as if it were yesterday.

Tim laughs out loud, crossing his arms over his striped jumpsuit. "I missed you, Dixie Lynn. You have no idea."

My gaze remains pointed downward as I press my tongue to the inside of my cheek. Time for what I came here to do. "Get used to missing me, Tim. I'm heading back to Texas next week. Mama's condition's worsening, I gotta be there for her." I'm lying through my teeth.

His face drops. "How long she got?"

I shake my head. "Does it really matter?"

"No. No, it don't." He says while shaking his head. "Give her my best. Just know you owe me a date whenever you come back here. Cokes on me."

I practically burst out laughing. "I owe you nothing, Timothy Shepard."

He winks. "We'll see about that."

A sigh escapes me. "Goodbye, Tim."

"Dixie." He stops me as I start to stand. I watch him as I slowly sink back into my seat. "When I get out," He starts. "When I get out I'm going to be better, I swear. I'm never coming back here, I promise you that."

I roll my eyes. "We'll see about that."

I stand, watching his eyes flicker up and down my body. He watches me start to walk. Before I can get three feet, however, I hear him behind me.

"Dixie!" Tim calls.

I look over my shoulder. Slowly, Tim stands from the metal seat, pressing his hand against the plexiglass shield.

"Wait for me." He requests. "Promise you'll wait for me, Bonnie."

I chuckle. "Maybe in another life, Clyde."