Page 57 of The Fire We Make

“Watch your tone. Answer my questions.”

Calmer and with a lot less bass in his voice, Marco went on to recount the events since his arrest. They stopped him doing 85 in a 60 but when they searched his car, they found product and a gun in his car.

“Once they realized who I was, they started asking me questions about my operations,” Marco said.

“What kind of questions?”

“Who supplied me, if I knew who the boss was.”

Joy felt Ace stiffen beside her and watched as he and Marco shared a brief moment of eye contact before Marco continued. “They roughed me up and wouldn’t let me call my lawyer until I gave them something. Said the DA might be lenient on me if I gave them something they could use,” he said. “But I didn’t give them nothing though,” he hastily added.

Joy watched Marco closely. He was shifty and jumpy throughout his retelling of the events, often stuttering and giving information that was inconsistent with what he’d said previously, having to go back and correct himself.

“And I’mma be fucking honest, it’s too much weird shit going on lately to have this bitch with crazy eyes in here staring me down,” Marco exclaimed in this middle of answering one of Ace’s questions, unable to bear the weight of Joy’s intense stare any longer.

Joy’s eyes narrowed on him. “Fuck you just call me?” Her voice dropped and her hands itched to wrap around his neck for the disrespect.

“You fucking heard m⁠—“

She stood abruptly, just enough to reach across the metal table and grab a handful of his shirt. Once she’d snatched him closer, she put her hand on the back of his head, slamming him face first onto the table. When he tried to fight her, she did it again.

Subdued and slightly delirious from the force to his head, Marco did nothing but snarl at Joy brought her face close to his, still keeping a tight grip on his shirt. “I’m here to help you nigga so let’s not name call,” she warned through gritted teeth.

Joy watched blood flow from his nose and she fought tooth and nail against the clouding in her vision and ache in her knuckles to knock his teeth down his throat.

“Rose,” Ace’s calm voice cut through the ringing in her ears and she felt his hand run slowly against her hip, coaxing her out of her angry stupor and urging her to release Marco.

Snapping out of it, she let him go and stood completely, huffing to slow her breathing.

“Go to the car Joy, I’ll be right out,” Ace demanded and his authoritative tone left no room for debate. Picking up her purse, she started for the door.

“Yeah get the fuck on before I fuck you up bitch,” Marco called at her back.

Joy turned and was about to lunge but Ace caught her at her waist.

“You shut the fuck up before I let her go. You. Go,” Ace diffused the situation. Joy stared at Ace but she was looking through him. Her mind was on getting her hands back on Marco but the way he rubbed his hands up and down her arms soothed her.

“I got it, Rose. Just go to the car for me aight?”

Slowly, she came out of her haze. She looked into Ace’s face for signs of disdain or fear and found neither. Once she felt she’d regained control of her mind and body, Joy freed herself from Ace’s grasp and rushed out of the precinct and back to Ray and the awaiting car.

Embarrassment replaced the anger heating her veins as soon as the sun hit her face.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Joy cursed as she speed walked to the car. The post-episode headache was already setting in and so were the self loathing and embarrassment.

She snatched open the car door and slid in. Frustrated tears fell as she chastised herself. The memories of the day of her incident came to her in a flood.

I’m not crazy, she thought. But she felt crazy.

From the moment they put her in the back of the police car at the Chapman’s mansion, she felt crazy. People treated her like she was crazy. Trying to act like she wasn’t angry only made her feel crazier.

“So… What now?” Joy asked, still not looking up from her interlocked fingers on her lap.

Her new, raspier voice felt foreign to her ears. There were still small specks of dried blood and dying skin buried under her nails from her tussle with Jermaine. Byron lifted himself off the wall, hands in his pockets. He dragged the chair that the doctor had just occupied closer to her and took her hands. She looked up at him, the threat of tears stinging her eyes but she wouldn’t dare let them fall. Byron Thibodeaux despised outward expressions of weakness and she couldn’t further disappoint him.

He sighed. “Since your… episode was so public, the DA had no choice but to charge you. Our attorney was able to use your diagnosis to get a deal for an insanity plea.”