Soon, we sink down to the grass. I sit cross-legged while Camila lays on her back, exclaiming each time a cloud passes over the small square of visible sky and trying to make a shape out of each. She explains that she used to do so as a kid, usually on her birthday as her parents were kind on those days, before she turned 13. She doesn't tell me what changed, remaining focused on the clouds overhead. After a while, she shifts to lay her head near my legs, looking up at me. I grin at her upside-down face and she grins back before looking back at the sky as she reaches up and lets her hands hang loosely in my lap, tapping them against my thighs. It's an odd position, but she seems comfortable.

After a moment, she says, "I like it out here. Can we come here more often?"

I nod, looking over each inch of her face. She smiles and rolls over, shifting to hold her head upon her hands, elbows digging into the dirt. I reach out and pull a stray blade of grass from her hair.

"Do you have questions for me today?"

And suddenly I remember that I'm at work, I'm supposed to be treating her, and that she's a prisoner awaiting trial. I look away to collect myself and pull my bag closer to us, reaching inside for—I don't really know, but I pull out her file and set it in my lap.

As I begin to open it, she blurts, "Actually, um, I have something to ask." I give her an interested look, but she seems to fall into insecurity regardless. "You go first."

"No, please," I fold my hands on top of the file, and she sighs and pushes herself up to sitting.

"Um, well... what's it like to be a doctor?"

I send her a pointed look, there's no way that was truly her intended question, but she makes no move to correct herself. I sigh quietly. "Interesting. Difficult, at times. It changes daily, really. I wouldn't change profession though. Why?"

She shrugs, removing one hand from her face to pick at the grass near my knee. "I wanted to be a doctor for a while, but I couldn't, obviously. I watched a show and got obsessed with it for, like, a week. My friends said even if I wasn't a Cabello, I'm too reckless. Plus, I'd probably just take the drugs."

"Too reckless?" I question with a small frown, though noting the fact that she did say she had friends. That's good, at least.

She nods. "Mhmm. Billie said I'd probably mess up just to see what'd happen, y'know? Like, if I was a surgeon or something. That's what I was like when I drove." She sighs dramatically and tosses the grass she collected into the air.

"When you drove?"

"Uh-huh." She looks up at me for a moment and frowns before looking back down. "I taught myself to drift just by swerving."

One of my brows raises and I look over the outstretched girl. I have a hunch... "So you would consider yourself a reckless person? You often do things without thinking about the consequences?"

She nods. "That's my good trait."

I hold back a comment about how, in excess, recklessness isn't really a 'good trait', instead opting to ask, "What would you say is the best example of your recklessness?"

She pauses for a moment, the continues to tear at the grass. "You already know it." Something about her tone is off, cold and dark again, but I try not to let it dampen my spirits.

"Can you clarify for me?"

"I'm a killer," is all she says. I nod slowly, clearing my throat, and she pushes herself up to sit cross-legged, the motion adding a good few feet between us. She continues to pick at the grass, though much more aggressively now, tearing multiple blades up at once and squashing them in her fist each time. "I did what they said. I killed 'em, and other people. They're gone forever. Now, they're gonna kill me."

"They won't," I mutter, but she hears. She squints at me as if trying to figure something out. She must find her answer as she collects a handful of grass and squeezes it so tightly that her knuckles turn white and when she releases it, her palm is stained a yellowish-green.

The loud click of the door opening sends both of our attention turning to it, her head spinning so fast I'm surprised she hasn't given herself whiplash. As soon as she spots the people making their way out into the courtyard, she scrambles to her feet, blocking my view in the process. Her posture quickly collects into all negative body language—her chin juts out, her body visibly tenses, and her fists clench. I slowly push up to standing, watching cautiously as the other inmates, accompanied by three officers, seem to snarl at her in return. I should've known our private moment wouldn't last.

When the group grows closer on their way to the other end of the courtyard, I presume, I try to smile politely at the officers to reassure them, and myself, that I have it under control. Unfortunately, they only glare at my patient, not even glancing at me. When Camila begins to growl, right foot sliding back ever so slightly, I know she's about to pounce.

"Camila," I mutter, hoping she'll turn and I can talk her down. She doesn't respond, so I step around her to her side, a movement that seems to piss her off as she then turns her glare onto me. I keep my voice calm nonetheless. "You don't have to fight them. We're oka—"

"That bitch isn't permitted out here." The voice is unfamiliar, and I quickly look away from Camila to see the third officer at the end of the group jutting her finger out towards us, her top lip curled in the most unattractive of ways.

Camila steps in front of me once more, but I use that as an opportunity to grab her hand in hopes that'll calm her. Instead, she rips it away from me. The officer begins to approach.

She resembles a bird, with beady blue eyes and a hooked nose that seems to have been broken numerous times. Her skin is sun-damaged, and her lips cracked. "Did you hear me?" She snaps, turning to me this time. Then, she frowns, looking me up and down, or as much of me as she can see with Camila standing between us. "Who the fuck even are you?"

"Dr. Jauregui," I oblige, "And, actually, the warden made some changes to her treatment to ensure she's not being subjected to cruel and unusual punishment, consider that is against the law, Officer..." I read her name tag and cringe, "Hartley."

Immediately, my eyes look to her ears, revealing that while one is filled with a hearing aid, the other is missing the entire top half, the cut line jagged and scarred with stitch-marks. I wonder how Camila managed to get ahold of her long enough to do such damage, never mind the strength of jaw it must've taken.

I'm surprised when Camila speaks, her voice as deep and gravelly as her growl. "Leave us alone."

Officer Hartley cackles, crossing her arms across her body. She thinks it makes her seem more confident, I realize, but I can see how she cowers ever so subtly. An unwelcome surge of pride blossoms in my chest, and I squash it down by taking Camila's hand once more. She doesn't relax but lets her fist sit in my palm.

Officer Hartley looks back to me over Camila's shoulder. "She's an animal, a danger to us all. She deserves to be euthanized like the bitch she is."

Camila sniffs sharply as her arm prepares to swing, but I take it in both my hands, actually struggling to keep it in place. Hartley notices and scoffs weakly.

"I suggest you keep your pet on a tight leash." With that, she scurries away, feigning confidence once more as she attempts to saunter but moves all too quickly, turning her insults onto another inmate. Camila keeps watching her until she stops by the vegetable box, when she finally turns to me.

To my surprise, her voice is soft as she asks, "Are you okay?"

I nod, though anger is building in me, too. "She's got no right to talk to you that way. You know that, right?"

She shrugs, looking down. "It's true, though." She takes a deep breath and looks back up at me. "I could've got rid of her on my own, y'know."

"Yeah, and ended up in solitary again."

"I am anyway. The only difference is you." Her fist finally softens in my hand.