“I really want to be pissed about it all.”
“I know you do.” I laugh.
“I’m so angry with myself.” He whispers, confiding in me as I sit across from him, stunned. “That last fight him and I had. I never got to tell him I was sorry, that I was wrong.”
“He knew.” I smirk.
“How do you know?”
“‘Cause dad was more observant than most people gave him credit for. He didn’t notice some things because he didn’t care to, not because he just didn’t see them. The things he cared about, he never missed a thing.”
“You guys were so close.”
I can’t help but laugh as I shake my head. “You don’t see it, do you?”
“See what?”
“You two butted heads so much because you are exactly like him.”
“No, we’re no — how?”
“You just are. You both have that slight chip on your shoulder, too.” He glares at me a bit. “It’s true. He always did.”
“Fuck you.” He laughs as it says it, though. “You’re probably right, though. But you’re a lot like him as well.”
“I am.” I nod in agreement. “We argued a lot, as well. Sometimes I hated him. I mean, he could be a real fucking dick sometimes.”
“I don’t remember that.”
“I know you don’t.” I laughed, nodding my head. “Because you didn’t care enough to pay attention to it.”
“I’m a dick.” He shakes his head.
We talk for a few more minutes, finally clearing the air of everything that we’ve needed to over the years. When I’m called back, we both stand, and we hug… for the first time in a decade we hug. I feel him squeeze before we both let go and he nods. “I’m keeping my eyes out for her as well.” For the first time mentioning Tatum, as if that’s why he was here all along. I just nod my head, knowing my brother all too well, and watch as he turns around and walks out of the visitation room.
?
It’s dark in the cell as I hear my cell mate snoring from the opposite side of the room as I just stare up at the ceiling. Images of my entire life flashing through in my mind, growing up, my parents as happy as they could be, yet images of sitting in the same visitation room while my dad was in jail also play in my mind, for the first time remembering them. I see Tatum and our times throughout the years, seeing her standing in front of me, terrified as I held a gun in front of her eyes, her eyes crossing as she looks at the barrel.
The hands on me shock me, somehow not hearing as door unlocked and opened.
I’m being hoisted through the air, feeling the tape covering over my mouth, and a bag coming down over my eyes. Kicking my limbs out as they’re all grabbed, yet I’m still attempting to lash out, hoping to free myself, only to find the more I kick the tighter they grip.
I pay extra attention as I’m being sat down, launching back with my elbow as soon as I can, connecting with something. I hear a crunch as if I caught the bridge of someone’s nose before a scream echoes through the room. I wish they didn’t make this entire fucking building out of concrete so I could figure out where I am.
The punch in the gut takes me by surprise. The pain shoots through me because I wasn’t expecting it and partially from the bruises that are still healing there from when I was arrested. A second fist catches me on the side of the face.
Unlike the pussy who I caught, I don’t scream. I’m used to the fucking pain.
Swinging out, I catch another one and they scream out; I wish I could fucking see at least, but I know if I take the second to pull the bag from my face, I won’t be able to defend myself at all.
My head ping-pongs off of fists as they strike, and I’m still trying to hit any of them, landing a few more blows before one fist lands on my temple. Instantly, my feet fall out from underneath me, slamming onto the ground. It’s the only time I groan out, curling as much as possible into a ball.
I’m not even registering the pain from the feet as they connect with all parts of my body. I only feel the motion that each one jolts me in.
My head swims with images as I force myself out of the moment, forcing myself away from this bullshit that’s happening as a way of self-preservation, knowing the only way I can survive this, is if I check out and stop fighting back.
“Fuck!” I hear whispered. “Go!” It may be a voice I recognize, but I’m not paying enough attention. I feel the bag being pulled off of my head. Attempting to open my eyes to see who the fuck is doing this, who I need to get back at, but the swelling prevents it.
