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I really do feel better knowing they are here, knowing I’m not alone. I should have gone to my mum after that first voice message, but fear and shame controlled me—something I don’t want to bow down to anymore.
My eyes dart around at every person, every car, wondering if Julie is here amongst the crowd forming. I look for her brown eyes, knowing I will recognise them if she’s here. They are closer together than the average person and bulge, too big for the size of her face. I remember thinking she looked like a stunned frog when I was younger.
A message alert pops up on my phone from Officer Zimora.
JZ
Cameras and mics are now live.
Sickening butterflies turn my tummy as reality sets in.
You can do this, Rhys.
The urge to turn and run is overwhelming, just like the first time I came to visit. Unlike the first time, though, I have eyes watching over me. Ears listening. I’m not alone this time. I thought I’d be more mortified about people knowing, but I’m learning if it’s the right people, it can be empowering. Even though my guys aren’t here with me today, it’s settling to know they are together right now, waiting for me to return to them, ready to give me the support I’ll need.
We line up for about five minutes before the visitor’s entrance opens, and the visitors start to move inside. I hold my breath through the scanning process, almost certain the corrections officers will find the button camera I’m wearing. They don’t, though. Everything runs smoothly, and before I know it, I’ve put my bag and phone in the locker, signed the register, and I’m sitting on the hard plastic chairs with my right leg having a seizure again.
“Calm down. You’ll be fine.” Dana’s voice is a whisper as she passes me and sits a few seats down. I don’t look at her, but I’m able to track her in my peripheral, reminding me I’m not alone.
We wait another ten minutes before a guard announces for everyone to line up to enter the visitor’s lounge. Just like last time, I get in line, and just like last time, someone calls out, “Patrice George.”
Stepping out of the line, I run my hands down the thighs of the black jeans I’m wearing and make eye contact with the guard. It’s the same guy from last time, and he gives me a nod, recognising me and waiting for me to approach.
This is the part my mum has the biggest problem with. Knowing I’ll be alone when I go down that hall and into the room. I’m strangely ok with it now that it’s happening. I’m actually eager to see Brian’s face. Knowing I’m gathering evidence against him feels like a big secret fuck you to him, and I’m on board with that.
Following the guard, he leads me down the passage to the same room I was in last time, and I fidget with the frayed denim rip in my jeans at the top of my thigh as I wait for him to unlock the door. His keys clang as he puts them in the lock, and a moment later, he swings the door open, holding it wide.
“No touching, and stay on your side of the line.” The officer repeats the same sentence he said last time, and I nod, making a point to look him in the eye this time. His eyes are dull and lifeless and don’t seem sinister. Either he’s really fucking good at hiding, or he’s not the guy that set up the visit for this room. He’s probably just following orders.
Sucking in a breath, I step inside before the door swings shut, and I face my old foster dad, who looks exactly the same as my last visit.
“Patrice. How lovely to see you again.”
His voice grates on my nerves, and I bite back the shiver of dread that wants to roll up my spine just from hearing his voice.
His hands are in cuffs again, resting in his lap, and just like last time, Brian gestures to the empty chair in front of him. Keeping my face neutral, I move to the seat on shaky legs, easing down as I keep my eyes trained on him, noticing the way his eyes roam over my body.
“I’m disappointed, Patrice. No skirt for me today?”
“Nope. So why am I here? Your bitch of a wife won’t get off my case about coming to visit you.”
He frowns, rolling his tongue before responding. “That’s no way to speak about your foster mum.”
“Notmy foster mum anymore. I have a real mum now. One that loves me the right way. A dad too.”
Brian’s nostrils flare, and his face goes bright red. He didn’t like hearing that.
“I loved you therightway, Patrice. No one has ever treated you as good as I did. Remember how I made you feel? There’s no better feeling than that.”
I want to gag, but I inhale deeply through my nose instead, not wanting him to see my reaction to his vulgar point of view.
“Why did you love me that way, Brian? Everyone tells me that’s not the way a dad should love his child. So why did you do it?”
“Itisthe way a dad loves his child, Patty. It’s the way my father loved me. He always made me feel good, especially when I was down or after I got punished. He only wanted me to feel better, just like I did with you. Those other people have brainwashed you. They are jealous of what we have. Not every parent knows how to be a good one, but I do, and I knew it was right when you loved me back just as fiercely.”
I don’t want to hear this. My blood feels too thick for my veins. Like I’m about to choke from deep inside my skin.
“Where's Julie? She’s been sending me messages and making threats. Blackmailing me into coming here. Why?”
