These PTSD attacks happened far too often for it to be normal. Not like anyone actually cared. They just left her to deal with it completely alone, which was a terrible idea. She just wanted to know someone was on her side, someone was there to listen. Not like that would ever happen.
“Shh,” he said quietly. “You’re okay. You’re going to be fine. Just breathe.”
Draven has no idea what he was doing. He was talking to a complete stranger, whose name he didn’t know, trying to reassure her.
She picked her face up slightly from it's place buried in her knees to look at him. Her eyes were watery and broken, looking for an escape. Her gaze locked onto his, using him as her focus.
Staring into her eyes, he tried to relay calm. “You’re safe,” he said, not breaking eye contact.
It took a couple minutes but she eventually calmed, wiping her tears off on her knees. "Sorry, I hate when this happens."
“I get it,” Draven said quietly. “Things like that used to happen to me a lot.” He hesitantly held out his hand for her to take.
She glanced at his hand and then up at him. Her mouth twitched up into a small smile before she burst into giggles. Not the psychotic ones like earlier, just genuine laughter. "Buddy, look at me. I'm in a straightjacket! I can't use my hands!"
Draven grinned slightly, and twisted his hand through the bars. He managed to get it off her, and smirked slightly. “No you aren’t.”
She slipped it off quietly, stretching her unused muscles luxuriously. "Oh my God, when was the last time I had use of my hands?"
Draven watched her, amused. He leaned back against the wall of his cell and grinned.
She glanced over at him, smirking slightly. "See something you like?"
“Nah,” he said, shrugging. “You just amuse me.”
"I get that a lot." She watched him for a couple of seconds, just looking at him. "So, I never caught your name, cutie."
“I prefer hottie or Pretty Boy,” Draven said with a smirk, “But my name’s Draven.”
"Can't say either of those are wrong." She licked her lips slowly. "I'm Ivy. But most people here call me Poison."
“Nice,” Draven said. “And what gave you that nickname?”
"I once poisoned a doctor's coffee because he kept flirting with me and it pissed me off. Word got around and I got locked in maximum security for a week."
Dray laughed. “Nice. But next time, you should blame it on someone else. Like, lay some clues around that point to a different person entirely.”
"Tried that. Didn't work. These people know me too well. Or maybe I'm just that predictable. Who knows."
“I bet you’re just predictable.” Draven stood and stretched, joints popping like fireworks.
"Yeah probably." She laughed. She just watched him, her eyes tracing over what little of his figure she could see. It's been way too long since I've had company. Much less male company.
He noticed the attention and smirked inwardly, but pretended not to. “So,” he said. “Is poisoning him the only reason why you’re here?”
"Oh no! I'm in here for the brutal murder and dismemberment of 6 people. To be fair, they all deserved it."
"Only six?" Draven raised an eyebrow.
"All exes of mine. I was a little bit of a flirt before I got thrown in here." She chuckled.