Roar (17 page)

I was completely wrong and almost paid the ultimate price.

The pen was pretty much the same, only more guarded and more types of monsters. I found the first gang I could find and did my best to keep my soul and body intact. It wasn’t until my last two years when I had created my own reputation, and a lot of my “brotherhood” had been killed or released. I had moved up the ranks, not just by force but also by annihilation. It was then I knew I could change a few things fundamental to my everyday life in these thick, cold walls. I could protect the weaker and still remain strong; I could give without losing. These changes were awarded by the wardens and guards with favors and funded schemes like my builders licence and other projects.

All these things changed my life in so many ways, and owned me in so many more. Though, it was her letters that pushed me on, that made me drive for a future and what innocence I had left.

Her words could inspire me; they could bring me hope and at times they were like bullets shredding through my flesh. I deserved every flesh wound and more, for I never answered a single one of her heart-wrenching, loyal letters. The guys were always intrigued by the way I would get mail, tuck myself to a wall and read every word over and over until it was etched in my mind. I would then take the letter to the closest sink or toilet and tear it into tiny pieces before flushing it or drowning it down the sink. I would never allow another man to read her precious words, her secrets. I wouldn’t allow them to know her tears and sorrows over what she faced in foster care. But I guess one day, after her graduation, she gave up on me. There were no more letters and no word. Every time the mail came and I didn’t get a letter, when for years I was accustomed to it, I would slam my fist into walls and sometimes faces.

I hated myself for that, and at times, I hated her more. But she did what I wanted her to; she grew up, and she moved on from the horror of our past.

Now, though, as I think over all the choices we made in the mind of doing what was right, I realize how wrong we were. Charlie never grew into the free woman I wanted her to be. She never got the fairy tale. She stepped from one house of horrors to another.

Well we both have paid our debts tenfold and lost too much time. She’s not living; she’s on hold in a motel and it has to stop.

Instead of driving straight to the site this morning, I drive slowly past the Grandview, see her car parked in her allotted space and sigh. I don’t know how I can help, but I will figure it out even if I have to become a stalker of sorts. This shit needs to come to an end before it ends us.

I HAVE CRIED RIVERS,
oceans even, but not one tear amounts to shit. I thought they would let him out after detention. I thought they wouldn’t send him to where they put murderers and rapists, but they did. I didn’t get to talk to him or see him because my new foster folks say I need to move on. They use words like evil, sins, penance, and God, but they are just that―words. The Smiths, they too, mean nothing; they don’t help me, and they aren’t helping Nate.

I feel the pain in my chest at the loss of him. He has been my rock since I can remember, and now I have nothing but doubt. Doubt is a brutal sensitivity; it puts everything you trusted into the ground, burying it so deep, you wonder if any of it was true to begin with. It’s been twelve months and not one letter from Nate, not a message or a phone call.

I thought he loved me, but that was all bullshit. That was the past. I just wish my need for his touch would agree.

It’s deep in the darkness when I feel the agony of solace. I don’t do alone well, and I want him back. I want his bed that has been my safety net for years, but have been deprived from for so long I can’t remember the smell anymore.

Nona and Davey don’t call either, and they changed their phone number. I could get it again, but why bother when they obviously don’t want my call, and really, why the hell would they? I am the reason Nate is now in jail and their family in tatters. I ruined them all because I was too fucking scared to stand up to Daddy, because I was stupid enough to think he would let me leave, because I liked every touch Nate caressed me with… because I’m a fucking dirty coward. Charlie is a cute name for what I am; it in no way does the truth justice.

This is my third foster home and probably not my last, because I refuse their God and the forgiveness he wants to gift me. It’s not God who needs to forgive me. My last home lasted too long; I told his wife about his touches and brushes. She called me a fucking liar and sent me packing the next day. By far, though, my first home was the worst because it was all so fresh. I don’t know if I had a chance at happiness in the Jennings home; I didn’t think I would ever find happiness without Nate, so I didn’t even try.

I still can’t find happiness without him.

So, now I sit at the bus stop, waiting for the Greyhound that will take me to see him. I need to see the boy I love or the man he has become; either one I will love to the end of my days and it will be the one thing that will keep me going.

The bus pulls in, the exhaust tickling my nose. It’s almost bare, and I feel the eyes on me as I watch my feet take me a quarter of the way up the isle before I swing into a seat and look out the window at nothing in particular. I do this the whole ride before the driver alerts me that it’s my stop. A fresh load of eyes fall upon me as I rush to the front, smile at the driver and disembark before he can say what it looked like he wanted to say.

I have lost everything and nothing is going to stop me from seeing him today. I want him to know I’m waiting for his release. I want to see him, so I know everything was real for the both of us. Maybe we could get married like on those shows and I can visit him all the time… and maybe unicorns will grant me three wishes.

It turns out; all I need is one wish. I’m underage, and without adult supervision, I cannot visit inmates. It was all for nothing, well, almost. After one solitary tear the guard said he could give Nate a letter as long as I was happy that staff would read it first as per policy. I don’t hesitate to agree to his terms; anything for Nate to know where I am and that I’m waiting for him. If he has my address, he can write me.

My hand shakes so badly my handwriting is a mess, though I really think he won’t care about such things. I scribe so fast, in case the guard changes his mind, and when I finish I bring the letter toward my lips before the guard scares me, almost making me drop it.

“No. You can’t leave lipstick, gloss, or scent on the letter. Sorry.”

He did appear apologetic, and I smile my thanks as I fold the letter in two and await him to read it, but he doesn’t. I look at him, then hand him my letter, willing him to do it now, before I head home. But he slides it into an envelope and stays at his post, killing a little piece of hope with ever delayed second.

He notes my hesitation to leave and smiles wryly. “It takes about a week to get processed before he will get it, so waiting is no use.”

“Oh.” I needed two wishes. “Thanks.” Deflated and empty, I turn and head back to my bus stop where I have no idea if there is a bus that can take me back before the four o’clock bus I planned to catch.

I sit, more tears sliding down my face in silence for hours before the next bus could take me back. When I walk through those white doors of my God loving foster parents home, I know I’m on my way to a new residence. If Nate were to get my letter in a few days, or even tomorrow, it would be too late for me to get a reply. Mark and Beverly Smith would not forward mail stamped from a government penitentiary, and I will never get that letter. Nonetheless, it will not stop me from writing another, and another, and another.

Nate needs to know my love is stronger than bars and bricks.

HE THINKS I DON’T
see him cowering behind the aisles, pretending to do his groceries. I’ve started to make a game of it to teach the douche-canoe a lesson. Just when he thinks it’s safe to follow me down the aisle, I turn, and he has to quickly grab an item from the shelf or pretend to study a sale. So I head for the toiletries and make sure he is right by the tampons when I look back, sending him into a spin. For a second he doesn’t realize what’s in front of him, his faux inspection is about to embarrass him, and I can’t help the giggle when those sexy, dark brows furrow once he does.

I steer my cart round the corner, truly smiling from the inside for the first time in a long time. He always was my reason for smiling and I miss him deeply.

A pack of tampons drops into my cart making me jump, even though I know who threw them there.

“I figured you must have needed these,” he says as he drives his cart beside mine.

I don’t look at him as I try to hide my grin. “Ah, I wasn’t the one who stopped to inspect them.”

He chuckles, and I can’t hold back, either.

“How’ve you been?” he asks like we are old friends who haven’t seen each other in a while… wait. Well, that’s exactly what we are. But I mustn’t kid myself. We were always more than that, and definitely always will be, despite the restrictions we place on ourselves.

“You would know,” I say with a grin, and he shies into his chest, all adorable.

“Sorry.”

I start to move my cart on, and he follows suit in silence. I guess there’s no reason in hiding anymore.

“Are you seriously eating frozen corndogs?” I inspect the contents in his steel cart of garbage food and shake my head.

“They’re good for something quick. Don’t judge.”

“Oh, I’m judging. Do you actually eat all that crap?”

He looks at the contents and laughs. “Some I threw in there when I was trying to throw you off my stalking scent.”

“Uh-huh. So, the ready-made burger patties aren’t part of your usual shopping list?”

“Yeah, they are. The dog food, no; I don’t have a dog.”

I laugh and come to a stop at the end of the aisle. “When did you last have a proper meal?” His brows rise, and I mimic. “Well?”

“Before the accident, I would try to get Nona’s for a meal once a week. Normally I’m too busy.”

“It’s been weeks since your accident.”

“Yeah well, it’s been a tough few weeks.”

I nod knowing exactly what he is saying. It’s been tough all round. I look around for a shop assistant and see a young boy in his Piggly Wiggly uniform, filling the shelves. I take Nate’s cart from him, ignoring his protests as I leave it with the boy explaining Nate needed some tips on shopping. At first the young man appears annoyed that he would have to put the small amount of groceries away, but then he smiles and takes the cart.

I turn back to Nate and my awaiting cart, half filled with fresh produce
. I
ignore his incredulous expression and smile smugly. “I’ll cook you some dinner. It’s the least I can do.”

It’s probably wrong and stupid, but it feels good to be looking after him for a change.

I grab at the cart, but he nudges me aside. “I’m pushing.”

I put my palms up and snicker. “Okay, but remember there’s now tampons in there.”

Nate laughs, out and out laughs, and it sounds so good to hear him it. Instantly his eyes and skin light up, and I know I’m doing the right thing.

We walk the aisles in silence for a couple of minutes, me grabbing for items from the shelf, Nate taking them from me and popping them in the cart until we reach the end and swing back to the registers, where again, I’m nudged out of the way. He smirks as he piles items up for the cashier to scan. I could get used to this. It felt good and natural. He didn’t let me pay, and for the first time, it occurs to me that I don’t know what Nate does for a living other than construction.

I follow him as he pushes the cart to my car and holds his hand out for me to pass him my keys so he can load the groceries. I watch as he favors his right shoulder and loads my trunk. “Still in a bit of pain?”

“Some, nothing major or to worry about.” He rolls his shoulder to prove a point, not succeeding.

“Would you like to come over now, or meet me back at the motel around six?” I ask, cursing the nervousness in my own voice. I wasn’t asking him to date me, marry me, fuck me. No, we were having dinner like friendly adults do. That is all.