“Where’d the black eye come from?”
“I fell.”
“Sam.”
He says it like my father used to say it. Those times when I stayed out way past my curfew and tried to play off some stupid excuse that I was at a friends house studying, and we lost track of time.
I know he doesn’t believe me.
But that doesn’t mean I’m going to snitch on Gren. I know better.
“I did. I fell.”
“Maybe you should tell me why you wrote that letter, then. I’m no expert on psychology, but falling down usually isn’t cause for suicide.”
I remain silent, staring down at my handcuffs like I’ve done so many times before in his presence.
“I can’t help you unless you help me, Sam.”
I wish I could tell him. I wish I could tell him how I get slapped around by Gren’s girls when I break their rules. I wish I could tell him that ever since she was moved into my cell I’ve been forced to have sex with her every night. I wish I could tell him that, but if I do, she’ll find a way to kill me. I can’t let her. I was trying formulate my own plan. I almost had it down too. I collected enough scraps of fabric to start making a homemade noose. I tied each piece together as I collected them, and hid them in a hole in my mattress when nobody was paying attention. I almost had enough too. A few more days and I would have reached my goal...hung myself...
Gotten the hell out of here.
“I don’t know why I wrote it. I just did.”
“If it were anybody else sitting here, I’d buy that.” I hear him lean forward, and I glance up slightly. “But we’ve been honest with each other, for the most part, from the beginning, haven’t we?”
I whimper slightly and reach up with my cuffed hands to wipe the tear that has rolled down my face. “We have.”
“Do you have feelings for him?”
I hang my head low. I can’t answer him, because I don’t know what the right answer is. Do I feel a certain way about Justin? Of course I do, but I don’t know how deep it runs inside of me, if it’s genuine or just some stupid pipe dream I keep dwelling on so I won’t go fucking crazy while I’m locked up in this place.
“No.”
Bill sighs heavily in frustration. “Whatever the case may be, I can’t have you writing him letters. It’s just not healthy for him. He’s made some progress, but he’s still recovering from all of this. I don’t want to file a restraining order, but I will if I have to, and that could potentially hurt you when parole time comes around.”
I just nod. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
I was yanked out of my bed in the middle of the night, about a week after I wrote that letter. At first I screamed, because I thought it was Gren trying to kill me, but when I saw the uniformed officers in front of me, I was able to calm down...but only for a moment.
“What’s going on?”
“You’re on suicide watch.”
“What...wait...”
“Got it,” one of the officers smiled as she reached into the hole in my mattress and pulled out the nearly completed noose I’d constructed.
Then they cuffed my hands behind me, and I was lead out onto the cell block floor before I could protest any further. The other inmates had woken up, and were cheering me on as I was lead down the corridor. Gren had been asleep when I was removed from the cell, but I was sure she had woken up by that time, and was probably infuriated that I’d managed to escape our cell-o-love for the time being. I was slightly thankful, but knew when I was brought back, there would be hell to pay.
I had to strip naked when we reached the suicide floor, and was given a flimsy paper gown to wear. It was deathly quiet, which was to be expected. The cells were sealed off by heavy steel doors, and the walls inside of them were so thick, I knew no sound could leak out. It freaked me out that I was going to be thrown in there, and it was only then that I knew...I just knew Justin read my letter.
It was that realization alone I think, that got me through those next forty eight hours I was locked in that cell, alone, my only other human contact being the guard that came to check on me every hour.
It meant he said something.
When Bill arrived here this morning, I knew it meant Justin cared about me and didn’t want me to die.
I didn’t know what to think about that, and I still don’t.
“I’ll talk to the Warden. We may be able to get you moved to another prison. Perhaps a medium security or less,” Bill offers next. “I know you’re not going to tell me what the problem is, but I’ve been in law enforcement too long not to know when a prisoner is being threatened by a fellow inmate.”
“Why...why would you do that?”
He laughs a little bit. “Because Justin promised to stop calling my house if I work something out for you.”
“He was calling your house?”
“After the fifth time he called my office and I hung up on him, yes.”
I shake my head in disbelief. I just don’t understand why he would go through so much trouble for me. I mean, it’s my fault that he had to be tortured. It’s my fault that he got shot, because I could have stopped everything from happening before we even set foot in that nightclub. Why he cares is beyond me, and I know...Bill is right. I can’t write him again, because he was probably confused before I wrote to him, and now he’s probably an even bigger mess.
“I’ve been debating whether I should give this to you or not,” he says next, as he reaches inside his blazer and pulls a white envelope out of it. “Naturally, Justin demanded that I give it to you, but I didn’t make him any promises.”
He wrote me back.
All I can do is stare at the letter in Bill’s hand and say: “You shouldn’t give it to me then.”
I don’t mean it though.
I’m dying to know what it says, how his life has been since he went back home, if he’s doing okay. That type of reassurance might actually keep me going, might actually give me some peace.
“I don’t see the harm in letting you read it.” He tears the envelope open, before sliding it across the table to me. “I didn’t read it, but my best guess is, he probably included a phone number in the letter, so you could contact him. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what a bad idea that would be, Sam. I’m trusting you to make the right decision.”
I just nod, clutch the letter in my hand, but I don’t read it. No, it’s mine. Mine for later, when I’m alone. When I can deal with my feelings for Justin in private. “Thank you,” I rasp.
He nods, as he motions the guards to come take me away. “I’ll be in touch. Just...take care of yourself, Samantha. I’ll do what I can.”
He gets up to leave.
I know once he walks through that door...my life will go back to the way it’s been since the the second week I was here. I’ll go back to Gren, back to hell, back to torture night after night, back to constant thoughts of suicide...
There’s a way out of this though, an escape from her, right now...today.
And I’m letting him walk away because I’m fucking scared.
What would Justin want me to do? I mean, he got me this help. He went out of his way, called Bill countless times, pressured him, demanded that he come see me...help me. After the things he went through, I fully expected him to toss my letter in the trash and never look back.
But he didn’t do that.
Now I’m just...wasting his time, and for what? So Gren can keep torturing me? Torture other girls that come into this place?
I have to say something. Even if...if it will get me killed in the end.
At least she won’t be able to hurt anybody else.
“Bill.”
He turns, as the guards lift me out of the chair and start pushing me towards the opposite door. “Samantha?”
I press my lips together, start to tremble slightly, and the guards allow me to sit back down in the chair again. “Maybe we...maybe we can talk.”
He stares at me for a few moments, before slowly walking back over to the table and taking a seat again. “Give us a minute,” he tells the guards.
They retreat from the room silently, leaving us in complete privacy.
“Well?” A sly smile creeps across his face as he leans back in his chair. “I’m all ears.”
“They call her Grenade. She’s my cellmate.” I say it so quietly, afraid that she might hear me if I talk loud enough. “She...she owns me.”
A look of understanding takes over his face almost immediately. “Is she touching you?”
I look up at him quickly, not believing he could figure it out so fast, but so thankful that he did at the same time. The less I have to say, the better, because right now I know I’m on the verge of a complete meltdown. “Every night.”
I start sobbing. I realize it’s the first time I’ve allowed myself to cry about what she’s been doing to me. I’ve sort of held it back, held my emotions captive, because I didn’t want to feel how intense the pain would be. Now I know how it feels and...and it’s the worst I’ve felt since the kidnapping.
“I’ll get you into protective custody, then transferred out as fast as I can.”
His hand is on my shoulder and I open my eyes. “She’ll get to me before you can.”
He shakes his head slowly, with a reassuring look of confidence in his eyes. “She won’t get to you. You have my word.”
“She has...she has girls working for her...”
“Who will be dealt with.”
“I don’t deserve any of this...”
“You’re not a bad person, Sam,” he says quickly. “You’ve made some bad choices, and you’re paying for them...but you don’t deserve to live like this. Not at all.”
I just cry. I can’t comprehend how everything he’s telling me can be possible, because it’s seemed so impossible for the longest time, and....and I don’t deserve compassion. I don’t deserve to be protected, because I’ve done something so horrible...
It’s like someone is on my side, and I have no idea why.
I start to think of him. It makes me smile, makes stop crying a little bit.
Maybe that person is him. Maybe it’s always been him, right from the beginning.
Maybe all of this happened so he could save me...so I could have a second chance because my life was meant to be better than Charlie, Cocaine, and crime.
But then...why would fate want Justin to be terrified, tortured, and brought within an inch of his life simply so mine could be better?
Hell, maybe I’m not supposed to understand why.
Not yet.
*************
Once I regained my composure, Bill took me to see the warden. I never trusted her, didn’t want to talk to her, but Bill told me the only way I was going to be able to get help, was if I told her exactly what was going on so a case could be compiled against Gren. He sat by my side the whole time, hand on my shoulder, rubbing it consolingly. I’ve never told him, but I needed that. I needed somebody that cared by my side that day, and even though he’s the reason I was captured...I don’t know, it’s like he’s the closest thing I’ve had to a father in years. I almost consider him family now and that’s so fucking crazy. I think he knows that, but since it’s his job to be professional, I know he’ll never tell me if he cares about me or not.
He must though. He wouldn’t have jumped through all those hoops for me otherwise.
I’ve been in the safe house ever since that day. The Warden took my case more seriously than I thought she would, told me she would do everything she could to protect me and I wouldn’t have to be afraid anymore. It made me trust her just a little bit. I even went on a limb and asked about being able to see my brother, and after glancing at Bill for a few moments, she actually caved in and told me she could probably work something out.
I don’t think I had ever been so happy in prison.
Bill gave me a call last week. Told me Gren got promoted to super lock down because of my confession. It means she’s in solitary on the high security level of the prison, and he also told me if he has anything to do with it, she won’t have a chance of going back into general population for at least ten years. He’s been questioning other inmates, and some of them have started to talk about the things Gren has been doing to them.
She won’t be able to fuck with anybody else for a really long time.
I hope she rots in hell.
I’m considered a high protection risk, which means I have to be kept in the solitary block of the safe house while Bill works out a transfer for me, but...it’s not so bad. I’m making the best of it, because I’d rather be isolated than get raped by Gren every night of the week. I find things to do to keep my mind busy. They bring by books from the library a couple of times a week, give me some sheets of paper and a couple of pencils so can I continue to write my poetry, and write my brother letters. I get two showers a week, and they let me out of my cell for an hour a day to get some fresh air. Even though I’m caged up during my yard time...I make the best of it, cherish it, because it’s the only time I’m allowed to feel somewhat free. I try to look up at the sky, Try to ignore the bars overhead and dream about freedom, what it’s going to be like for me in thirty years when I finally get out of prison.
I make lists of all the things I’d like to do. I know I’ll be nearly sixty, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy my life, and I plan to.
A life without Charlie.
I never imagined it could happen to me. I thought I’d be dead by the time I was thirty, that he would finally get so fed up with me that he would strangle me and toss my body into a ravine without a second thought.
He never got that chance, though, and I guess that’s partially thanks to Justin for fucking up his plans every way he could.
I still have the letter he wrote me. It’s taped above the tiny desk in my cell.
I still haven’t read it. I guess I’m afraid. Afraid of what it will say, afraid of what my reaction will be.
Afraid...that he’ll want me to contact him and I won’t be able to resist temptation.
I know what that would do to his family. I mean, if they found out I was making contact with Justin, I’m sure they wouldn’t hesitate to file harassment charges against me. I’m not so concerned about what that would to do me, but what it would do to Justin’s relationship with them. I know how important his family and friends are to him, and by this time, I don’t doubt that they’ve sacrificed a lot so he could get back on his feet...get over what happened.
One phone call could change all of that.
But I guess it’s my curiosity and the memories I have of him, that finally makes me snatch the letter off the wall and rip the paper out of the envelope. For a few minutes I just stare at my name that he’s written out...Sam, and smile. I think you can tell a lot about a person by their handwriting. Mine is large, even flowing, and curvy. His is bold, he writes in all caps, scribbles out his errors and keeps going while I usually scrap my letters and start over again if I make a mistake.
My smile only grows wider as I read the first sentence, and I know...I know it’s bad, but I can’t stop myself now.
It’s too late.
Sam,
If I figured out anything while I was chained up in that trailer, it was that you were never to blame for any of this. It was never your fault, and from the very beginning, one of the only things I wanted was to get you away from Charlie and his fucking drugs.
Now that you are...now that you’re safe, I can’t go through life knowing that you’re giving up. You can’t give up, and I’m going to do whatever I need to, to make sure you’re going to be okay.
I’m getting better every day. It’s been a slow progression, my friends and family were frustrated with me for a long time, but I finally decided to get myself some good help, and I’m better because of it. I want you to know that I’ve gotten back to my life...back to work, for the most part. Things with my family and friends are probably better now than they’ve ever been before, and I know I’m going to be just fine.
But there’s a void, and it’s because you’re locked up in that place. In my heart, I know you don’t belong in prison. You belong out here, hell, maybe even with me...living a good life, with good people in it.
Hell, I’m crazy. I’ve always known that, but I really don’t care. I can’t help how I feel, and I know...I want us to be friends, if nothing else.
So call me, because I know I can’t call you, and if you don’t...I can understand why. Just make sure it’s because you don’t want us to talk, and not because Bill told you it was a bad idea.
323-874-9327
All my love,
Justin
I drop the letter down onto the desk, and wipe away my tears. It happened just like Bill said it would. But of course Justin would want to talk to me. Letters can be so impersonal, and they take forever to get through the prison mail system.
I get one phone call a week, and today is the day. Craig is expecting me, as always. I know it’s the highlight of his week, talking to me. Last week the warden told me I could have a visit next month, and I’ve been waiting anxiously for my chance to tell him.
But now I’m debating whether I should call him, or call Justin. I know I can only pick one. There’s only twenty five minutes allowed for solitary inmate phone calls, and I need every second of that time.
“Albertson.”
I stand up, and see the officer through the tiny window. He motions me forward and opens the tiny slot in the door so he can cuff me. I know it’s phone time, and my stomach drops as I yank the letter from my desk and shove it into the pocket of my jumpsuit.
Fuck am I really about to blow off my brother for Justin?
Yes.
And I just don’t understand why.
All I know, is that he might love me...
And I might love him too.
Story Tags: love celebrityj breakupj justin
