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Chapter thirty-two

Nadia

I feel like I am still in the prison, day in and day out. There is no amount of changing my bedding, medication, music, or warm food for my belly that can convince me otherwise. Mentally, I’m still in solitary, my heart splintering for a man I’m sure I’ll never see again.

The red and white flashing lights still filled my peripherals, the sirens echo in my ears, and my knees still feel raw from holding myself up while Nate raped me. I have never been the praying type, and though I didn’t start that day, there is a guilt inside of me that makes me think I should have started a long time ago.

What’s done is done, sadly.

Anytime I try to sleep here at the hospital, I wake up screaming. The nightmares, the pain, the phantom feeling of Nate, and the other two, violating me keeping me awake for days on end. It doesn’t matter when I try to sleep, daylight, under the stairs, I hate closing my eyes and getting sucked back into the memory of Darkwater. Once my eyes pop open and my heart slows down, the panic subsiding, I stew in mounds of worthlessness. About the time I finally make it to the end of my despair, it’s time to sleep again.

A repetitive cycle that is slowly driving me insane.

Under it all, there’s the heartache. It’s been five days since the riot—five days—and I still don’t know where the hell Kace is. Five days and no one has told me if they found a body. Five days and my chest feels like it’s going to cave with each breath.

There are times that I hear him over the terror in my head, telling me how much he loves me; something I know I don’t I deserve anymore. I feel his hands in my hair, holding me steady as I cry into him, but what I see as his strong chest is just my pile of pillows.

Of the people remaining, there were only a handful of guards left on the inside of the prison. The ones that manned the areas beyond the checkpoints maintained their barricades until the Emergency Team arrived and they took down any inmate in their way.

I did this. It’s all my fault. Innocent people lost their lives because I pulled an alarm over one inmate. The one I can’t let go.

Speaking of the prisoners, there are still several of them that survived, even after rescue came through. At the moment, they are being transferred to different prisons throughout the country until Darkwater is cleaned up, the dead laid to rest, and new safety measures can be implemented.

Some of the inmates remain behind, the ones in solitary for example, then a handful of others. Out of the bodies carted from the prison, dead or alive, not a single one belonged to the man I ache for.

Wherever Lucien left him, he’s not leaving there.

“You should eat, Nadia,” my nurse says when she walks in.

She’s a nice girl, around my age. Warm eyes, super curly dark brown hair—you can tell she takes care of it and uses all the products to keep her curls bouncy and full of life.

The way I don’t feel right now.

Half turned in my bed, my IV-line beeping in frustration from the way I held my arms securely around my knees, pressing them protectively to my chest. Looking out of the enormous window to my left, my eyes feel heavy and so swollen from all the tears that continue to fall. The window itself is nearly as big as my patio door at the apartment, which I haven’t been home to since the riot. I probably won’t get to stay another night there, if the authorities have anything to say about it.

I miss my safe place, my belongings, the weird stain on the second-hand couch I got from the consignment store, and my little gimpy spoon I elected to be my designated coffee stirrer. I’m afraid though; even if I were lucky to go home, there won’t be enough noise there to drown out the shit in my head. Everything will clash together, it will keep me awake at night, over thinking the same things I have thought about a million times since the riot.

I’m so tired.

“Not hungry, Julie, thank you though.” I reply noiselessly.

After my discovery, from what I have been told by Detective Whitlock, is that I looked like death warmed over. Something about being covered in blood, and Lucien cackling off behind me when the team showed up. I don’t know what happened after I was knocked out, but from the sounds of it, it was pretty gruesome.

What shocked me is that Nate is dead, and though Whitlock didn’t give me the details surrounding his demise, I could only hope that he got what he deserved.

“You’re hungry, your body is screaming at you. I can hear it all the way from over here,” Julie remarks, standing by her little nurses’ zone, complete with computer and random alcohol pads, gauze, and tape.

I sat mutely, not responding—I didn’t want to argue with her. Maybe I am hungry, but I can’t bring myself to eat. Not when the concept of anything going into me makes me panic, how sad is that? So fucked up in the head that eating makes me feel violated.

Out of everything, starvation is going to be the thing that takes me out. I have control over that.

I know I’m not this girl, I’m strong— at least… I was. It’s hard to move on when it only happened a few days ago. I am going to need years of therapy, and if I have my choice, I’d opt for a lobotomy, but those are no longer performed professionally.

I researched it, following one of my many panic attacks.

Thinking back to the days where I would sit with my therapist, Elaine, I can hear her sweet voice telling me that things are not my fault. Always trying her damnedest to convince young Nadia that the men who do violent things to people under their control are the ones to blame. A vic is never the one liable for such vile behavior. I would tune her out while staring at the stupid stack of books on her coffee table that partitioned us. The irony of the little sheep figurines nestled here and there in her office. Now that I think on it, it almost makes me huff in amusement. If Lucien could see how this little sheep was led so far away from its flock.

“Please Nadia, you have to eat something or the doctor is going to put a feeding tube in you. We don’t want the procedure to add to your trauma. I know you have told me that you just can’t do it, and though I can’t fathom what you must be feeling, your body is going to shut down. That’s not good for either of you.”

Yeah… about that.

I didn’t take him seriously when we were together but I guess Kace was as committed as he could be about getting me pregnant. I just didn’t realize it was going to be this soon. If I heard correctly, I’m already a few months along which means the first time we ever had sex was when… Fuck, I don’t want to think about it.

A fucking baby!

While I’m not mad at Kace about it at all, I… I don’t know, I’m ready, I guess. I am not mother material. Hell, I don’t even have my own around. It’s just a surprise that it happened so soon, I thought he pulled out. No, I know he pulled out but that just makes me fucking stupid, I guess. Thinking withdrawal was an adequate means of birth control. I was single without any partners, there was no reason for me to be on the pill. If I’m going to be honest, when he talked about breeding me, it was so fucking hot that I wasn’t going to argue. I thought he was just talking shit. I was the first girl he had in seven years, so he was lost in the moment too… right?

Maybe I should have argued.

Unfortunately, there’s no way out of this and while I haven’t admitted to any relations with Kace, I know it’s coming. When Whitlock stopped by a couple days ago, he mentioned evidence on a phone they confiscated from Lucien. When reviewing it, there are concerns for misconduct on top of the allegations against me surrounding selling drugs in Darkwater.

I’m screwed, I know I am.

Subconsciously, I may be using my refusal to eat as a means to keep me out of a fucking jumper. They won’t take me to jail if the doctor is worried about the baby. Mother of the year material, using my child as a crutch.

“How is your nausea at least?” Julie asks, trying to probe me, getting me to open up to her more.

I suppose they assigned her to me because I may freak out on the male staff. Apparently, it is protocol for rape victims. I appreciate the attempts at keeping me comfortable, but they can’t stop the terror in my head. Real or not, I still see and feel bodies against mine that never should have touched me.

“It’s good,” I respond.

“Good.”

There it goes, the weight in the room again. Being around people and being alone, are both suffocating. Out of everything, all I long to hear and see is Kace.

“Did you look at the sonogram photos?”

“I did.”

“It’s probably a lot to wrap your head around, but what do you think?”

“About what? The fact that I could have been killed and lost a baby, too? Or that inmates had their hands inside of me playing with my guts? Maybe wrapping my head around the fact that the father of my child is probably chopped up into pieces, and I’m going to have to give our baby up to people I don’t know because I’m likely going to jail? Tell me, what is it you think I can have wrapped my head around five days after being carted out of the bowels of a prison covered in someone else’s blood.”

That was harsh, but I really want her to stop talking to me.

“What do you think about, seeing the best part of you sitting in that little four by six image?”

Will she ever stop? God… how right she is though. The best part of me… and Kace… there my heart goes again. Breaking.

“Julie, why do you have to be this way?”

“What way?”

“Annoying.”

“It’s my job.”

“Get a better one.”

“You first, sis. Now, come on. What do you think?”

With a sigh, I lean my head forward, resting it on my knees as I close my eyes and concentrate on our… baby.

“I’m broken, Julie. That’s what I think about it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you a fucking therapist today?”

“If that’s what you need, yes.”

“What I need is Kace.”

“Talk to me about the baby first, then you can tell me about him.”

This girl is going to be the death of me. By either giving me an aneurysm or making me shatter what’s left just to gain a little bit of gossip.

“I came from a shitty household where my mother abandoned me, and now, I’m about to do the same thing to an innocent kid. The whole ‘history repeats itself’ is eating me alive.”

“You’re not your mom.”

“Tell my baby that.”

I cannot explain the amount of pain that idea makes me feel. In all my twenty-eight years, I’ve never had a bad thing to say about my mom. Hoping she was living the best life she could away from me and my dad. Right now, though? A piece of me hates her. Hates how, in a way, I’m following in her footsteps. There will be a day where my baby starts remembering things and their memories won’t be of me, I’ll be forgotten.

Tears sting my eyes, but I don’t dare look over at Julie. I don’t want anyone else's pity.

“What about Kace? He must be something to snag your attention. You don’t seem like the type of girl that lets men distract her from the things she has going on in her life.”

“He’s… he wasn’t your normal inmate. While, yeah, he did something bad to get put in prison, he didn’t get tangled up with the bullshit gangs inside. He had two friends that had his back while… while I clowned him on the daily. I was terrible to him, but for some reason he still loved me.”

“You talk about him in the past tense.”

“Mhm. I’m sure he’s dead.”

A knock raps on the door protecting me from the rest of the world. The sound makes me jump, whipping my head towards the oversized hunk of wood. Heart racing in my chest, the worst-case scenario runs through my head—Nate is on the other side. Impossible, but that’s what lingers in the back of my mind.

“I’ll answer that, you’re safe, Nadia. Keep that in mind.”

Julie pushes off my bed, unsure when she sat down, and treks her way to the door. Pulling it open, just slightly, to see who was on the other side before she pushes it all the way open. Low and behold, another snake standing on the other side.

“Nadia, may I come in?” Whitlock requests.

I turn away, he knows I don’t want him here, but that folded up piece of paper in his hand let me know that he isn’t going to take no for an answer. Not anymore.

Warrants have that power.

At least he was being respectful, and a gentleman, about things, asking for permission and shit.

Drawing in a breath, I nod. If he didn’t see it, I don’t care.

Casually he rounds the end of my bed and pulls up a chair, keeping distance between us as he folds into it. Wearing a dark green button up shirt and black slacks today—hair slicked back to where you could see the shape of his hairline versus letting it run wild.

Folding one leg over the other, he sits back and withdraws his trusty notepad, then a black phone and places it on the armrest of his chair. Waiting patiently in silence for me to look over at him. Instead I allow my eyes stare off into the distance, beyond the parking lot of the hospital, to the tree tops and the mismatched shingled roofs of the surrounding neighborhoods. Out there, there are families that are whole, who get to go home to each other every day, and watch each other grow old. Not mine though. In a handful of months, my baby will be taken from me and I’ll be alone.

Just like I wanted.

“Go on, Whitlock, I’m dying to know what you have to say today.”

“As much as people prefer for me to talk, it’s you who needs to speak, Nadia. You’re well enough to start the investigation, and the easier you make this, the better.”

His sarcasm is no match for Kace, which does bring me the slightest bit of comfort.

“You want confessions?”

“That’d be the best thing, but I need stories, examples, players, everything.”

“You’re invasive as fuck, Whitlock.”

“Just doing my job. I told you we could do this one way or another. You needed a warrant to speak, well here it is.”

“That was about the fire,” I chide but not loud.

“You know damn well it was about the drugs. Now that the prosecutor has seen the evidence on this phone, you have more to confess. So, out with it.”

“What do I get in exchange?”

“Well, for one, a lawyer. Do you have anyone you want to bring in? I can get a public defender in before we begin, if you want to go that route,” he states.

“Call the defender, you know I can’t afford a good lawyer. While we wait, you can show me what’s on that phone.”

“You and I both know what’s on the phone. We will cover that once you have council.”

He pushes away from his seat and tugs out his personal cell, lifting it to his ear as he strides out of the now open door.

I hate my life.

Whitlock joins me again after his phone call and scrolls through his cell while we wait for the public defender to arrive. It’s like he isn’t letting me slip through his fingers this time, and since he has to wait to collect on his warrant, he is going to babysit me while Julie goes to lunch and makes her rounds.

He feels… safe.

I know he’s going to be the man who tears me the rest of the way down, but there is something calm and soothing about him. Maybe it’s because he’s the only man that hasn’t made crude remarks, threatened to kill someone, or spoke about the slop from the cafeteria. He exists in his own world, his is just overlapping with mine for a very brief amount of time and with the silence, this is the safest I have felt since waking up.

His phone starts ringing and he answers it with a single snap of his last name, only to rise and walk to the door. Yanking it open there stands a much shorter, older, man with a briefcase in his hand. His receding hairline giving me a full glimpse of his dry scalp.

“Nadia Pierce?” he asks.

“That’s me,” I utter.

“I’m Grant Kline, I’m going to be your attorney through this interrogation and moving forward.”

“Sounds good.”

He comes close, but I guess someone filled him in because he didn’t get any nearer than the foot of my bed.

“Do you understand that anything you say, can and will be held against you in a court of law?” Whitlock queries.

“I understand.”

“I will advise whether you should answer questions. Based upon my experience, we may…” Mr. Kline begins.

“Don’t bother, Grant, just have a seat. I’m going to spill everything. There’s no use holding anything back. I’m guilty.”

“Nadia, I don’t think it’s wise to do that.”

“It wouldn’t be wise if I planned on pleading not guilty but I don’t. I survived Darkwater, Bluitt is going to be a cakewalk.”

Seven hours later, we have went through my accounts of everything, every tiny fucking detail. Distribution of a controlled substance within a government facility, arson, and one count of sexual assault of an inmate of the state of Michigan. Those are the charges the state is aiming for, and while I’m not the judge, they may look favorably on me for cooperating.

Hopefully.

“Due to your condition and the inability of the CERT team to get to you, the state is willing to give you time to finish your treatment here at the hospital. You will then be escorted to Darkwater to gather your belongings and turn over all your equipment. Your locker has already been searched, your vehicle towed off the property and confiscated. We ask for your cooperation in searching your apartment after we leave the prison.” Whitlock informs me.

He walks over, standing just a few feet away, thumbs gliding over the screen of the cellphone he brought with him until they stilled, and he held the thing in front of me.

Kace’s warm voice fills the space. My lungs feel like they are going to collapse, my throat tightens as I listen.

“I—I’m sorry. I need you to know that there wasn’t a moment where you were not the center of my whole fucking world. You may have come from a broken family, lost in a way that others may never understand, damaged in the eyes of people you needed, but you must know that you will always be everything to me. My entire night sky. It’s okay, okay to be angry at a world that did you so wrong, to hate the very people who made you who you are, and I will love every broken piece of you with every whole piece of me. While this isn’t what we planned, know that you will be my choice every time. Your love, your pain, your life over mine.”

I couldn’t stop the tears as they roll fat and hot down my cheeks. My shoulders shaking with the sobs that rack me. How much more will I have to endure before I feel what little is left of me fade away? Kace didn’t sound the same, he had a wheeze that I couldn’t ignore, the added sounds of dripping water a simple backdrop. He sounded tired, in pain, and barely hanging in there, but it was Lucien’s comment at the end that answered the silent question between Whitlock and I.

He’s gone.