The scariest thing was walking down the hallway to the main area, knowing that I’d be seeing the same faces that I saw every day for years.
Not one of them has said a word to me, but the looks are enough to know what they’re thinking. I’ve been keeping to myself, letting my head drop when one of them walks on by, especially Taz, Dee Dee, and Sheila.
I’m biding my time; tomorrow Cal is coming in to talk me through the process of the meeting with the board and give me updates on the case as a whole. I can’t wait to see him: to ask him how Evan is, because that’s all that matters—that he believes that I didn’t do it.
I pick my tray up, getting in line for the food that is being served—at least, they call it food—I’d call it slop. Lifting my head, I make very brief eye contact with the woman behind the counter as I hand over my tray and then take it from her once she’s served me my food.
Her eyes widening at something behind me has me immediately on high alert, but I don’t turn around.
“Deacon.” I shiver at the voice, because it’s not Dee Dee, the woman who is made to look like she’s the top dog: it’s Taz.
I turn around slowly, swallowing the lump that has formed in my throat as I keep my head down, not wanting to offend her in any way.
“I see you’re back.”
“I am,” I whisper, my voice quiet but somehow seeming louder because the room has gone silent as they all watch with rapt attention.
I see her boots move out of the corner of my eye as her stance widens. She whispers something to either Sheila or Dee Dee that I don’t quite catch before people are moving and then I’m being yanked forward by my hair.
My head snaps up, gasping at the scar that runs down her face and over her eye. “You know what happens to snitches?”
“I-I-I.” I can’t get the words out that are lodged in the back of my throat. She’s assuming because I got out of this place that I must have snitched on her: telling everyone what she used to do to me.
She lets go of my hair, pushing me and causing my back to slam into the railings that surround the counter. The breath leaves me in a rush, catching in my throat as pain explodes throughout my back.
“Bitch can’t even talk! Look at you… you’re pathetic.”
I whimper, keeping my mouth shut but feeling the rage bubbling inside me. I can’t do what I used to do: take it without protecting myself. I have a baby to protect now and there’s no way that I’ll be going down without a fight.
My gaze scans the room, not spotting a single officer but every pair of eyes turned this way, watching us with some kind of feral anticipation.
“You think what Dee Dee did was bad? You ain’t seen nothing yet.” She crosses her arms over her chest, the room silent save for the beating of my heart.
There’s a beat before she lunges for me, grabbing the side of my neck and twisting me, hitting my face off the same metal railing that my back hit. Pain explodes throughout my face, wetness traveling from above my eye and nose and down my cheek.
She adjusts her grip on my neck, doing it again and again, my cries of pain echoing off the beige walls of the cafeteria.
My hand flutters toward my stomach, but I stop at the last minute. The last thing they need to know is that I’m pregnant: it’s the first thing that they’ll aim for. Instead, when her grip lets up, I whip my head up, feeling dizzy but knowing that I don’t have time to right myself.
I throw my arm out, my fist catching her in the face before being surrounded by “oohhs” and “aahhs.”
“Bitch is gonna get it now,” she warns, swiping the blood from her lip and signaling Sheila and Dee Dee.
They step forward, holding my arms and hauling me down to the floor as I fight the best I can to no avail. They press my face into the cold surface and I know that there isn’t a thing I can do but curl into a ball and protect my stomach. I don’t care how much I get hurt, all that matters is the baby.
The kicks and punches that they rain down on me blend into one: my arms, legs, back, head, face; nothing's off limits. My body starts to shut down, much like my mind and my screams of pain soon turn into moans and groans.
It’s not until Dee Dee bends down beside me, yanking my arm from around my stomach that I lift my head, blood pooling around my face as I watch like I’m out of my own body. She holds it out beside me, stretching it before someone’s boot slams down on my arm, making me scream in pain as the bone cracks before everything turns black.
“How is she?” I ask, my voice small as I sit at the table in the kitchen at Dad and Pop’s. I hate being at the compound at the moment, and when I am there, I spend all of my time in my safe room, trying to find something… anything to help.
One week. That’s how long it’s been since I saw her face, since I spoke to her, since I held her. I can’t cope with not being able to see her, not knowing how she is.
“I don’t know, I have a visit with her tomorrow,” Pop answers, placing his knife and fork down. My eyes meet his, seeing the worry and concern shining bright.
I nod my head, hating that I don’t know what’s going on. We’ve got every single bit of information that we can, and yet, we can’t work out what happened or how long it will be before she’s back in front of the parole board. Charlie came to help us yesterday: even that says what he thinks of her arrest.
“I need to see her,” I say, my voice small as the lump builds again. “I need to know she’s doing okay—”