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Chapter thirty-five

Nadia

Four months later

C ourt is boring.

With my cooperation, the proceedings moved rather quickly. I spent the last four months in jail, as unappealing as it sounds, but it was quiet. Strange if you ask me, but things were smooth sailing, even my visits with my public defender who remains angry at me to this day.

He wanted to fight for my rights and paint me as the victim, working with men who take advantage of women and coerce them into doing things with the promise of love. Wanting to paint Kace as the perpetrator and not me.

How fucking barbaric, I was never that desperate.

He went on to explain that I was victimized sexually by Nathan and two others before he met his own demise, which I found out was Lucien’s doing. The drugs were minuscule charges to the judge, he gave me one year for that charge, one for the arson, thirteen for my relations with Kace, and two years for shooting Lucien.

The look on the judge's face when the prosecutor mentioned that additional charge almost left me in hysterics. I’ve been doing that a lot lately, ever since shooting the fucker. The judge, however, didn’t see it as funny as I did and wanted to make sure I received some sort of punishment for the assault—even if they would rather see Lucien hanging from the end of a rope.

In the end, I acquired seventeen years of prison time before I can apply for any sort of parole. As for the arson, due to the nature of the homeowner’s insurance, I get nothing and cannot return to the property even though my dad died a month ago. Come to find out, he stopped going to his appointments because the oncologist let him know that he had met stage four and wouldn’t survive—no matter how much chemo and radiation he took.

A small part of me feels sorry for him, he died alone and was cremated without anyone to attend his funeral. I guess, when you spend the better part of your life being an insufferable human being, other people are less likely to have anything to do with you. So, what is left of his estate is left up to his remaining family—me. I signed ownership over a week after his death and put the money in an account for when I get out of prison.

Then there are my friends, none of which have anything to do with me anymore. Ivy’s dad, who turned out to be Kace’s cellmate, was finally awarded release. His many years of reading Batman comics and keeping his head down paid off. Wren and Riley moved away and cut all contact with me; they feared for their safety just in case their parents connected them to me. Oliver's parents finally divorced, and he lives with his mom now. She’s been watching my entire televised court case—why she is that interested, I don’t know.

The media dubs me as the Darkwater Scorpion—apparently female scorpions eat their mates but that couldn’t be further from the truth for me. The public doesn’t see it like that. Either way, it has been sensationalized across several platforms. Some Warren Faust YouTube star has made it his life’s mission to find every little detail about my case that he can and to turn me into as many true crime episodes as possible.

It’s not every day you see a female correctional officer facing charges, let alone the plethora of convictions I now face.

Nonetheless, I didn’t fight anything. I answered everything truthfully and let the whole ordeal run its course. There will be a day where I’m just a name on a piece of paper and the population will have forgotten about me.

Sitting here in court, as I have said, is boring. The judge is going over last-minute things while I sit leaning back in my chair. My hands resting along the top of my swollen stomach. I am now seven months, give or take a week or so. Once I found an OB/GYN, I has to visit regularly due to living in jail. She didn’t want anything happening to the baby while I am incarcerated since the baby will be adopted out. The expecting parents expect a whole child, and not one who may become injured by other inmates.

No one wants a broken kid.

I still remember the day she asked me if I wanted to know the sex of the baby. While I was thankful for her asking, I spent half an hour sobbing when she told me I was having a girl. I relived even more guilt at that point. Elaine, my therapist from when I was younger, stepped back into the picture and would come visit me too, wanting to help me get to a better head space after being raped, knowing the trauma that I suffered through when I was a teenager.

She helped me find just enough strength to move through each day without being in constant hysterics. The tough topic that we are on now revolves around my mom and what happened to her, why my dad tried to convince me that she left him behind because of me.

While that may hold some level of truth, in most cases, that’s not what happens. Elaine showed me the statistics, women typically abandon abusive relationships, not their children. She may have felt it was better that I remained with him because he had the shelter and necessities I needed to survive as a baby. Leaving me with someone who would have at least made sure I stayed alive was better than losing me to Child Protective Services and the foster system.

Which brings me back to my daughter, Sadie.

I hope her adoptive parents choose to keep her name.

I remember looking at a magazine before I was called back to see my OB/GYN, thinking it sounded pretty—different. Apparently, it means ‘princess’ and I hope to God that the people who are going to adopt her give her all the princess treatment. She deserves that much after being given up by her convicted mother.

It’s not that I don’t want her, because do. I’d do anything to look at her every day, hoping to see her father looking back at me. She deserves better, more than what I have to give her. I am doing this for our little girl. I want her to have a full family, two parents instead of one. A mother who is present in her life, can take her shopping, educate her, teach her about boys, cute little mani-pedi and coffee dates. Then a father who didn’t neglect her, who didn’t blame her for the broken home he caused, one that would protect her from the ugliness of the world.

Grazing my fingers along the top of my belly, I can feel her wiggling and kicking around. My attention more on her than the judge. I don’t think I’ve ever loved anyone, or anything, as much as I love her. It’s like I was channeling every feeling I’ve ever had for Kace and placed the burden of a broken heart on her.

Another reason she’s going to live with better people, she should be loved unconditionally and not because I will search for Kace in her every day.

“Nadia Pierce, do you understand the charges and sentencing issued to you through the state of Michigan?” the judge asks, breaking me out of the tiny world I keep shoving myself into.

“Yes, your Honor, I understand.”

“Very well. Court is adjourned.”

It’s over.

“Welcome to Bluitt Women’s Prison. You arrived today to fulfill the sentencing you have been awarded through the state of Michigan. You have been assigned a bunk along with a cellmate, and will be transported through the gates of the prison to the first set of checkpoints. At this location, you will be stripped, searched for contraband, and redressed into Bluitt appropriate uniforms.”

“Before you are moved to the next checkpoint, you will be handed your in-prison belongings and your identification. Hold on to these items and replenish them as necessary through commissary. Loss of items will require you to purchase replacements, and if you do not have family to put money on your books, you may end up going without. If you happen to lose your identification, you will face punishment.”

“As a Michigan state ward, you will spend your sentencing working within the prison under the supervision of Warden Hayes. You will be allotted weekly visits, but may lose your right to those visits if you fail to cooperate and follow the rules of the penitentiary; other consequences expand to solitary confinement. During your stay, you will remain under constant correctional officer supervision, as well as audio and video surveillance.”

I couldn’t help my small huff, warranting me a glare from the officer as he stood at the front of our transport vehicle. The driver speaking with the officers outside as they walk K-9s along the perimeter of the bus, trying to sniff out anything that may pose a problem for the remainder of our trip and a successful drop off.

“Something funny, inmate?”

“Not at all officer, my apologies.”

Welcome home, Nadia.