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“He hasn’t done anything to you, has he?” The already raspy sound of her voice, the consequence from so many years of smoking, becomes a pointed nervous squeak. “He hasn’t hurt you, right?”
The reassuring squeeze becomes harder. Each finger digging into my shirt, pressing down into my skin. Pain. I feel pain. It just doesn’t register the way it used to.
I glance up at her, meeting her worrying, tired gray eyes. Quickly, I give a nod of my head. “I’m okay.” His fingers tense again but it’s less forceful now. “He hasn’t hurt me.”
My voice sounds foreign even to my own ears. The loss of the distraction opens the gates of anxiety.
Will my mother be granted any leniency in her trial? Will I see her outside of prison in the future? Will I survive that long? Why does Ronan care about her? About me? Will he lock me away again if his plans don’t seamlessly come together? Will I survive that?
Again.
My gaze passes over my mother, her image a fleeting thought before I’m searching for anything to focus on other than my panicked heartbeat.
The room they lead us into is almost empty. Four large white walls surrounding concrete floors under three tables many feet a part. There’s one window for the evening sun to filter through. I focus on the leaves of the tree outside that sway in the breeze.
“How are you?” Ronan asks stiffly over my shoulder, his eyes looking down on my mother in disapproval.
“I’ve been better.” She holds up her hands with a sassy roll of her eyes.
Clearly, she’s been better.
“I’m curious to know if you have any… unexpected plans for an early release.” Finally his hands lift from my shoulders. I purse my lips to focus more on the calming sound of the wind against the building.
“Ronan,” she begins, her voice shaky. Ronan doesn’t give her time to finish whatever it is she was going to say. Likely some smartass remark that would piss him off.
“I know people. I know people everywhere.” His eyes give a disappointing look at the shabby walls of the room. “Even here in this dingy, shithole of a jail, there are people within my reach, my command. Watch where you sleep at night, Veronica. You’re a small woman. Wouldn’t want anything happening to you.”
His lips slash open in a cruel smile. “We’ll see you at the hearing tomorrow. You take care of yourself and I’ll take care of our pretty girl while you’re gone.” With a snap of his fingers, the guards are walking toward my mother, standing her up, and pulling her away.
“Ronan!” She gurgles out but she’s already being lead to the door on the far side of the room. “Violet!” Her tone becomes more urgent. Desperate. “I love you, Violet. It’s gonna be okay, baby. I promise.” Empty promises from a mother who never bothered to care in the first place.
But I do love her. In the saddest way.
It’s strange how someone can disappoint you over and over and over again. Fuck you over to the point of endangerment...and you still love them.
Even if you hate that you love them.
A brown leaf falls from branches outside. It twirls as it drifts. I follow it until I can’t see it any longer. There’re still enough leaves left. Plenty of beautiful little pieces just waiting to fall.
“That’s enough. We’re leaving.” My father twists on his heels, striding toward the guard who holds the door open for him.
“Have a good day, Mr. Reyes,” the man in the gray uniform says.
I can’t seem to make my limbs move. Don’t know if I care to. For so long my greatest drive was to be everything my mother isn’t. To find a life better than the one she gave me. To stay as far away from a jail cell as possible.
But it’s quiet in here.
I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Alone with my thoughts could get dangerous. But maybe with enough peace I could work through them.
Sure hands find my shoulders but they’re gentler than Ronan’s, more tattooed as well. I hardly remember that Knox even came along. He never spoke a word, only hovered. His warm touch guides me out the door.
Passing sets of guards, we reach the front where we first checked in. Ronan is already out the glass doors and striding through the parking lot with his cell phone in hand. Knox starts collecting our things from the bin. His palms are light when he skims along my hip, sliding my phone into my pocket. He loops my belt in his hand, and with the other interlaces his fingers through mine.
And then he guides me right out of the static sound of the courthouse jail.
It’s so much easier to let him lead me out of this terrible building. Farther away from my mom and the pressure that comes with everything coming up. Her hearing tomorrow.
If it doesn’t get delayed again.
