Lacie begins leading me toward the parking lot. “To your parents’ house?”
“No, my house with Grady.” Except he won’t be there. The bed will be cold. I can’t even picture where he’s resting his head tonight. Pressure threatens to burst my blood vessels. And the tears don’t quit.
The list of things to do begins piling up in my mind. I should call my brother. Probably my parents while I’m at it. But that can wait another moment. For now, I need Grady. I need a hug. I need woodsy pine and campfire and spicy cologne to soothe me. I need the comfort from a very specific pair of bulky arms wrapping around me. Too bad he’s far out of reach until Lord only knows when. The bite of defeat is already nipping at my heels. They might win this round, but the war is just beginning.
I hang my head and continue trekking forward. “Please just take me home.”
28
Grady
Happy something #79: A single wildflower blooming in a graveyard of stone.
The stilted clip of boots on concrete is a solo soundtrack for this edition of hell. Hours of the guards prowling back and forth play on repeat. I try to block out the droning noise, but there’s nothing else beyond cement and manipulation. Not even the drip of a leaky faucet can be heard. This is one more way of slowly steering us toward the breaking point.
I always figured the documentaries were full of shit. This dose of reality is already proving just how wrong I was. They toy with us on purpose. Anything to strip away dignity and humanity. I’m already feeling the spiraling effects, their influence messing with my mind. The footsteps move closer and stop just outside my cell. A knife twists in my gut. Over this past week, I’ve learned these visits are never pleasant.
With a low buzz, the door to my cage opens and a guard appears. “Bowen.”
I raise my head off the moldy pillow to get a better view. He stands in the threshold with his arms folded. I don’t recognize this guy. His face is almost kind, which is some sort of trick. There are no niceties to be found within these four walls. Any semblance of good is a disguise. I’m bound to get the hidden pieces beaten out of me.
My mouth remains sealed. I refuse to give them any ammunition against me.
He rolls his eyes. “Someone’s here to speak with your stubborn ass. Maybe you’ll actually talk to her.”
Her.
The suggestion is enough to get me moving. I heave myself off the lumpy mattress. I’ve been trapped in this box for seven long days. Any excuse to leave, even for a moment, is a blessing I won’t refuse. The possibility of seeing Sutton would almost be too good.
He cuffs my wrists in front of me and motions to the left. “After you, inmate.”
The guard escorts me down a dank hallway that reeks of mildew. The visitation room is straight ahead, a beacon of light in the sea of darkness. Will she be in there? I propel forward at a fast stride. The guard snorts while hustling to catch up. When he unlocks the door, I’m graced by the vision of my single best happy something.
Just the sight of Sutton has my blood pumping hotter. She’s a splash of vibrant color against the dingy gray walls. Having her separated from me by plexiglass should be a crime. But she doesn’t belong here at all. This type of ugly is far worse than anything we came across at the trailer park.
Her smile could flip the blackest of moods. I nearly trip in my haste to reach the sectioned off portion. The plastic chair creaks with my weight. When I pick up the phone, a tremor rattles the receiver.
“Gray.” Her small palm rests on the bulletproof barrier. I lift my hand and align our fingers together.
“Damn, you’re a fine sight.”
“I miss you so much.” Her bottom lip wobbles when she bites the corner. Tears already shine in her eyes.
I almost close mine to absorb her whimsical voice. Pretending we’re secluded in our meadow is far more appealing. But I don’t risk removing my gaze from her. “Don’t cry, baby.”
Sutton sniffs. “How can I not? You’re stuck in here.”
I want to comfort her, spout off half-truths that will provide a false sense of hope. Hell, I need to believe in something to survive this torture. This entire situation has been a cruel awakening. Having her near is already clearing the toxins being forced into me. She purges the venom of their lethal bite.
With a deep inhale, I dream of strawberries and freedom. What I wouldn’t give to devour her fresh scent. All I get is stale smoke and foul sweat and crumbling sanity. My stomach lurches and I gag.
She leans forward. “Are you sick? What’s wrong?”
Everything,I want to admit. What I really say is, “Just doing my best.”
“I can’t even fathom what you’re dealing with. I’m so sorry.”
I jerk backward in my seat. “What’re you apologizing for?”
