he's still upset about what America told us, about the secrets, about the murder. Believing for years that your friend was simply killed in a hit and run accident and then finding out he was actually tortured to death with a vehicle is a big difference.
We both go silent for a while. Me, because I'm really fucking uncomfortable with the way the woman across from me is looking at her phone and then up at my face every five seconds. Him … I don't know, but when I look over and see real, true emotion on that son of a bitch's face, I almost kiss him. Almost. I suck in a breath and stare back at the floor.
God only knows how long later, somebody calls us in and I remove my belly button piercing last minute, handing it to Turner and moving away before he can say anything else.
My heart is pounding so hard inside my chest, I feel like Dax must be in there somewhere fucking up his kit. Goddamn it, Katie. If she'd only waited to take her vengeance out on Eric, maybe we could've done something about it. Hidden her away, got her a one way ticket out of the country, I don't know, but the last thing I ever wanted was to see this poor girl get another black mark on the record of her life. Her suffering makes mine seem inconsequential, and if there was anything I could do to save her again, I'd do it, even if it mean putting another pair of scissors in someone's throat.
I make it through the search without an issue – apparently the guy at the metal detector is a huge Amatory Riot fan – and into the waiting room beyond. One of the officers assigns me a table, and then I'm left to sit there alone and wait. I notice that the other prisoners come in first, walking freely and taking their one prison approved hug before sitting down in the chair opposite their visitor. A few minutes later, Katie comes in handcuffed, her blue eyes haunted but beautiful, her mouth slightly parted, and a freaking smile hovering around her lips.
“Naomi,” she says in a soft voice as the guard connects her cuffs to a metal ring on the table. We're not allowed the pathetic single hug that everyone else gets, apparently. So I stay seated and I just stare and wait for the fucking guard to move the hell away from us, so we can talk. “What brings you here?” Katie asks, looking small and sad, drowning in her orange jumpsuit. Her bald head gleams when the light hits it, reflecting off the few, small blonde hairs that protrude from her pale flesh.
“I … ” I sit there like an idiot, staring at my foster sister like I can heal her from the inside out with a simple gaze. She saved me from Eric. If it wasn't for her, a whole hell of a lot worse might've happened to me. And now she's taking the fall? For my crimes? I feel sick again, like I might have to make a run to the fucking nasty ass toilet down the hall. I have a bad feeling though that if I go, I might not come back. “I just wanted to see you.” I feel tears threaten, but I'll be damned if I let them fall. Katie doesn't deserve that selfishness from me. I wonder absently what America's endgame was for having me come here. She wouldn't have suggested it if she didn't expect to get something out of the deal. “And maybe … you wanted to see me?” I ask, thinking about what the woman at the front counter said. Katie approved me as a visitor, that's a good sign, right? I try not to think about the rest of it, the background check and all that. The only person I know who could've arranged that is my deranged psychopathic manager. God, how I despise feeling like a pawn in a game of chess.
Katie doesn't say anything, not right away. Instead, she folds her hands on the tabletop and looks at me from eyes so hollow, they hardly look human anymore. My mind conjures up images of her raising that piece of wood, smashing it down on Eric's skull. The look on her face when she dropped to her knees was … disturbing to say the least. It was like she was having some sort of religious epiphany. I cross my legs
We both go silent for a while. Me, because I'm really fucking uncomfortable with the way the woman across from me is looking at her phone and then up at my face every five seconds. Him … I don't know, but when I look over and see real, true emotion on that son of a bitch's face, I almost kiss him. Almost. I suck in a breath and stare back at the floor.
God only knows how long later, somebody calls us in and I remove my belly button piercing last minute, handing it to Turner and moving away before he can say anything else.
My heart is pounding so hard inside my chest, I feel like Dax must be in there somewhere fucking up his kit. Goddamn it, Katie. If she'd only waited to take her vengeance out on Eric, maybe we could've done something about it. Hidden her away, got her a one way ticket out of the country, I don't know, but the last thing I ever wanted was to see this poor girl get another black mark on the record of her life. Her suffering makes mine seem inconsequential, and if there was anything I could do to save her again, I'd do it, even if it mean putting another pair of scissors in someone's throat.
I make it through the search without an issue – apparently the guy at the metal detector is a huge Amatory Riot fan – and into the waiting room beyond. One of the officers assigns me a table, and then I'm left to sit there alone and wait. I notice that the other prisoners come in first, walking freely and taking their one prison approved hug before sitting down in the chair opposite their visitor. A few minutes later, Katie comes in handcuffed, her blue eyes haunted but beautiful, her mouth slightly parted, and a freaking smile hovering around her lips.
“Naomi,” she says in a soft voice as the guard connects her cuffs to a metal ring on the table. We're not allowed the pathetic single hug that everyone else gets, apparently. So I stay seated and I just stare and wait for the fucking guard to move the hell away from us, so we can talk. “What brings you here?” Katie asks, looking small and sad, drowning in her orange jumpsuit. Her bald head gleams when the light hits it, reflecting off the few, small blonde hairs that protrude from her pale flesh.
“I … ” I sit there like an idiot, staring at my foster sister like I can heal her from the inside out with a simple gaze. She saved me from Eric. If it wasn't for her, a whole hell of a lot worse might've happened to me. And now she's taking the fall? For my crimes? I feel sick again, like I might have to make a run to the fucking nasty ass toilet down the hall. I have a bad feeling though that if I go, I might not come back. “I just wanted to see you.” I feel tears threaten, but I'll be damned if I let them fall. Katie doesn't deserve that selfishness from me. I wonder absently what America's endgame was for having me come here. She wouldn't have suggested it if she didn't expect to get something out of the deal. “And maybe … you wanted to see me?” I ask, thinking about what the woman at the front counter said. Katie approved me as a visitor, that's a good sign, right? I try not to think about the rest of it, the background check and all that. The only person I know who could've arranged that is my deranged psychopathic manager. God, how I despise feeling like a pawn in a game of chess.
Katie doesn't say anything, not right away. Instead, she folds her hands on the tabletop and looks at me from eyes so hollow, they hardly look human anymore. My mind conjures up images of her raising that piece of wood, smashing it down on Eric's skull. The look on her face when she dropped to her knees was … disturbing to say the least. It was like she was having some sort of religious epiphany. I cross my legs
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