It wouldn’t change because I couldn’t change. Even there, I was only a lesser form of myself, a scavenger surviving on the corpse of what I once was.
What if I hadn’t run away after college? What if Max had never met Sophie? What if I had never married Max?
The same useless thoughts rolled over in my head, filling any space that wasn’t preoccupied with survival. I knew I couldn’t expect anything except what I could do for myself.In here or out there, it was only me.
So I watched. I learned. I hung back when I needed to, then stepped up when I knew the pain would be worth it. I earned my badges, my scars of honor. Respect meant domination, and domination meant power. It was all the same, yet entirely different. Goods bartered and sold, a pack of cigarettes here for protection there.
“You haven’t even met the guy in person. You don’t know what his house looks like. You ain’t never even been over there. Kentucky is a big-ass state. You think Paducah is anything like what you’re used to, Trash Princess? Way below your standards, even now.” I frowned. Dana was rude, brusque, judgmental—but truthful.
“Why—what would you suggest I do? Move into some halfway house where I have to share a bedroom and bathroom with how many other bitches? I move from one shit hole with no privacy to another. At least I can get my own bathroom, my own bed. I only have to share with one person. I won’t have to have a house mom checking my times. Plus, who would hire me? A nepo baby ex-con? No skills of any kind? Tell me what options I have. Realistically,” I bit back.
“Alright. Just saying it’s been two years you’ve been talking to this guy? He never managed to visit once? You had how manyguys come by in that time? Why this one?” she asked. I chewed slowly. I was eating mashed potatoes—or was it beans? I couldn't tell anymore.
“Like I said, it looks good for parole. He may not have visited, but he’s sent money every month. He’s looked after me consistently in a way none of the others have. Always takes my calls, writes me more letters than I write him. He has more to lose than me, and that’s a good spot to be in. I don’t see any better options. Parole meeting is next week, and my lawyer said it was looking good. I gotta have something in place,” I told her, and she frowned.
“Seems fishy. Still think you could call your rich daddy and he’d feel bad, throw you some cash to get on your feet. Just your pride keeping you from reaching out. This ain’t no place for that. Think about it. Losing your dignity for the length of a phone call? Or sacrificing a better future because of pride?”
I should have listened. My parents had cut me off as soon as I was arrested. They didn’t attend any of my court dates, they never visited, and they never sent a single letter. I didn’t know if they even knew which prison I was in. I’d been transferred twice since I’d been incarcerated. They were the past, a crutch that did nothing but slow me down. I would be fine without them.
Clint, my fiance, had a good job in Paducah, KY. He had a pension, a house he owned, and a brand-new truck he was coming to pick me up in.
My parole had been granted, and two months later, I was standing in my gray sweatpants, with a garbage bag full of what belongings I had accumulated, waiting for my betrothed.
A shiny red truck pulled in. The rims and wheels were jacked up, and the car glinted in the sun. Clearly, the man took care of his vehicle, took pride in his possessions. That had to be a good sign… Right?
I started walking toward the truck, my steps slow, hoping he would come out and meet me halfway, help me out in this awkward meet up. Shaking that thought off, I pasted a smile on myface.
Not the coy seductress one I used before, theI’m crazy and you’ll love itone I learned in here. The fuck around and find out one. Then I’ll make it worth your while. At least, that’s what I told myself.
Cowboy boots and denim clad legs dropped down, but I couldn’t see the man’s face or shoulders behind the tall door and tinted windows. As I took that final step, he stepped out and came into focus.
He looked like his pictures, and yet nothing like that at all. What I’d thought was a handsome face with an authentic beard and mustache worthy of a cowboy in reality was more of a dusting. He was shorter, his hands and body slimmer than I had imagined.
There was something delicate about him, especially standing next to the monstrous truck he cared so much about. The flags were waving, but it was too late. That was the path I had chosen, and I had to see it through.
“Well, lemme look at you, Natalie. You are even prettier than your pictures,” he said, a hand rubbing his chin as he eyed me like a prized heifer.
“It’s Natalia,” I said, trying to maintain the smile on my face.
“Yeah, Natalie, like I said. Now, get in the truck. It’s gonna be a few hours to get home,” he said, not even bothering to help me with my belongings or assist me in getting into the truck.
The drive was long and painfully silent. Conversation sputtered and stopped throughout the ride until I finally pretended to fall asleep. Eventually, I drifted off for real, waking up with my face pressed against the passenger door, a sweaty hand with dirt encrusted fingernails shaking me awake.
“Natalie, wake up. You’re drooling on the leather. We’re here anyway.” The door slamming punctuated his statement, jolting me awake. I peeked out the window and had to blink.
Again.
And again.
But still, nothing I was looking at made sense.
I opened the door and stepped out, eyeing the broken-down trailer we were parked in front of. It looked like it was one good breeze from falling apart. There were no roads, houses, or anything to speak of for miles. Completely isolated, it was just that cigarette-stained rectangle and… Clint.
“Home sweet home!” he yelled, slamming the door behind him as he tossed my bag out of the car. It came to a rolling stop at the foot of the trailer. Clint pulled the door open then took a step back. Like an old-time gentleman, he waved me into his hovel.
“After you princess,” he said, his smile looking malicious in the dim evening light. Hesitantly, I climbed inside taking a few steps in so I could fully survey the surroundings.
The smell hit me first; musty and sour, like moldy towels and old beer. There was trash littering every surface, the floor covered in mysteriously colored rugs, coated in dust and cigarette ash. The vinyl of the counters was peeling in so many spots that it was hard to tell what color it was meant to be.
