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Chapter Four
Evie
The one thing I hate most about this awful place, other than the violent anxiety it riddles you with, is the prison officers never tell you what’s going on. They work on their time, and they sure do take their sweet time. I’m being released today, and I’m on tenterhooks, waiting for my name to be called so I can get out of this hellhole.
With one hand on my bag, I clutch the photograph of Thomas in the other and squeeze my eyes shut. I get to see my son today, and I can’t wait to hold him in my arms and kiss his adorable chubby cheeks, stroke his soft hair, and hear his voice.
“Today’s the day.”
My eyes spring open to find Lexi standing in the doorway. I smile. Two weeks ago, she integrated herself into my life, and I’m still waiting to find out why. However, she’s been so kind, and has gone out of her way to make me feel as comfortable as possible. I’d like to believe she’s a friend now, but that niggling voice in the back of my mind keeps warning me to hold back.
“Bet you’re counting down the seconds till they call your name, huh?”
“I can’t deny I won’t be glad to see the back of this place. Do they always take this long?”
I thought I’d have been out of here hours ago. I wish when they gave me a release date, they gave me a time as well.
“It won’t be long now.” She steps farther into my cell and holds out a scrap of paper. “This is my brother’s number. If you need anything once they finally call you, give him a call.”
Frowning, I struggle to understand why she would ever think I’d use it. There’s no chance I’d call up a stranger and ask for help, no matter the circumstances.
“I won’t—”
She cuts me off with a flick of her hand. “Keep it, use it. Just know, Louis is an acquired taste. He’s a Road Wrecker, but he’ll help you because I can’t if you do need it.”
Everyone knows the Road Wreckers are the town’s motorcycle club, and mostly keep to themselves. For instance, I’ve never crossed paths with them, and I’ve lived in this shitty town all my life. I don’t remember a time they weren’t around, riding their bikes through town, rumours and stories circulating about their activities and lifestyle.
“Can I ask why would you care about helping me?” I blurt out.
Her laughter floats between us, and I wonder if she’ll ever give me a straight answer.
“You’ve seen for yourself that I don’t have many friends. I don’t know, I feel like I’ve clicked with you. Believe it or not, I’m not a complete bitch. I learned pretty quickly that in here, you’re the hunter or the hunted, and I refuse to be the hunted again.”
“I’m sorry. It’s just… no one’s offered to help me in a very long time, and it’s a little strange finding it in this place.”
“I get it. Honestly, I do. Accept you have a friend—”
“Evie Hemingway!”
I jump at my name being called and shoot up to my feet. Shoving my photo and
Lexi’s brother’s number into my bag, I turn, and I’m immediately pulled into Lexi’s arms.
It’s been so long since someone wanted, or needed, to hug me, because they were going to miss me. It’s nice and weird at the same time, and I hug her back.
“Evie Hemingway! Unless you plan on staying, it’s time for you to go,” the officer yells, and Lexi releases me.
“Quick, write down your number.”
Snatching my cell mate’s notepad and pen from the top bunk, she thrusts it at me, and I scribble down my number and tear off the page.
“I’ll speak to you soon.”
And then I’m walking out the door, down the old metal stairwell, toward the prison officer. Being released becomes a blur, and it’s not until I step through the gate and out onto the path, back into society, that I can breathe again. It’s dizzying and freeing, and I don’t look back as I walk down the street to the nearest bus stop.
I’ve been around people for the last eight weeks, heard them talking, seen them eating, even showering. But sitting next to a man on the bus takes a moment to get used to. How can a short amount of time in my life change so much?
After three different bus rides, I walk up my mum’s garden path and knock on her door. Dumping my bag on the doorstep, I wring my hands nervously and laugh. Why am I so nervous to see my own son? It’s ridiculous.
