The Wrong Kind of Love

All I am to her is “poor Victoria, so screwed up with Stockholm Syndrome.” “Poor Victoria who should really give up her kidnapper’s baby for adoption. Just the suggestion feels like a betrayal, and I have no one who understands that. I’ve never felt so alone in my life.

I press my hand to my stomach like I can feel bonded to Jude through our child. I haven’t heard from him since his arrest, although I’ve sent letters. Perhaps he’s read them and has chosen not to respond. Maybe I should try and let him go, but how can I?

Perhaps it’s the hormones driving unfailing loyalty to the father of my child, but it feels like Jude is branded on my heart and soul. Pain and suffering and love put him there, and no amount of time can strip that away.

The chime of the doorbell echoes through the house, and I go to answer it. A man in an expensive-looking suit stands on the threshold. "Miss Deveaux?"

"Yes."

"I'm Robert McKinley, Jude Pearson's attorney."

My stomach clenches when he reaches into his suit pocket and brings out an envelope. "Jude asked that I give this to you and that you do exactly as it says."

My fingers shake as I take the envelope. The lawyer wishes me a good day, and I go back inside, fighting back nerves as I take a seat on the couch and rip open the envelope.

Tor,

I love you. Know that above all else. You gave me something I never knew I wanted or needed until you.

I miss you. Fuck do I miss you. I promised you I would protect you, and I always will, no matter where I am. Now though, you have to protect our baby because I can't. That means letting me go.

I'm going to jail for the rest of my life, and nothing you say or do will help me. When they call you as a witness next week, you need to testify against me. Tell them the truth. Do not lie for me.

You were kidnapped.

I held you hostage.

Everything you said, did, or witnessed was against your will.

Most importantly, you do not love me. I raped you, which is why you are pregnant.

Everything you did was to survive. Tor, that is the end of it. Anything else and your sanity will be called into question. This is the only thing I ask of you. I need you to be there for our child because I can't, and he or she will need their mother. I would have given you both the fucking world, and I failed you... I'm sorry. You are my everything. Always and forever, doll.

I love you,

Jude

A drop of moisture marrs the ink on the page, as my chest cracks wide open. There’s no way I can paint him as a monster. I’m not even sure how I'm supposed to find the strength to live without him and raise our child, much less be the very reason that he is taken from me in the first place.

Jude

I've lost count of how long I've been in this fucking cell. Alone. Nothing to do but stare at the damn walls, do push-ups, and think about how fucked up this all is. They won't even give me a goddamn razor to shave my face with. Shit like this is enough to drive someone insane. Why in the hell are they going to put people who are already not fucking right in the head in solitary confinement? Let's just drive them on over the edge into complete psychosis. For fuck's sake. I've started talking to myself. Fucking great.

Robert said he delivered my letter to Tor. I asked how she looked, and he didn't respond, which worries me. Surely there's only so much one person can handle before they break. She needs me, and there's not shit I can do about it.

I hear Marshall banging on his door and howling. He does that every morning. Every single fucking morning. I push up from the ratty cot and take a piss. I turn the water and wash my face off, and then go sit on the edge of the bed and wait. Today is my hearing. I'm not sure how I will handle seeing her. I'm scared as shit she's going to say something I told her not to.

Eventually, I hear footsteps echo down the hallway, and I rise, waiting right in front of the door. The guard's weathered face peers through the window. "Pearson, put your wrists together."

I cross my arms as he opens the door, cuffing me as usual before leading me through the corridors and outside. The sun is beaming and it heats my skin. At one time I enjoyed the way that feels, but not now. I don't enjoy a damn thing anymore.

An officer shoves me into the back of a police car, and we drive off. I watch the farmland roll by and turn into a small city, and we pull up behind a courthouse. There are lines of people out front, along with various media vans. The officer guides me from the back seat, walking me toward the front of the court house.