Bent not Broken (344 page)

I knew my mom was going to cry. I dreaded hearing that. I hated being the source of her tears. Just watching her cry those tears after we left visitation with dad was hard enough to handle. Knowing it was because of me that she’d be crying this time almost tore my fucking insides out. But, I couldn’t wait to hear her voice. I knew she’d been looking forward to this day too. I was sure she’d be sitting at the table, sipping her coffee and watching the daily news, anxiously awaiting my phone call.

Now if only I can only make it to 6pm.
That was when I got to call her.

To help pass the time, I took out my journal…the one Mrs. H gave me after my first few sessions with her.

I don’t know what I would have done this time at Fairbanks without Mrs. H. Last time had been so different; there wasn’t a girl involved. This time I couldn’t fucking breathe most days, but Mrs. H had always been there. She had my back.

I’d been working on a song for her.
Maybe I’ll get some more lyrics down today.

****

“Hey, baby,” my mom cooed through the phone.

“Hey, Mom,” I smiled at the sound of her oldies station on the radio in the background. It was a familiar sound that I’d actually started to miss.

“Oh my gosh, we’ve missed you around here, Chris.” Her voice wavered with emotion.

“Thanks, Ma. I’ve missed you guys too. How’s Mitch?” I sure did miss that little spitfire kid brother of mine.

“Mitch is great, honey. He misses you something fierce. The other night I found him asleep in your bed. He must have had a nightmare. You know how he sneaks into your room at night when he has those nightmares.” I could hear the sadness in her voice. I wasn’t there like I should have been. Just like dad wasn’t. I internally beat myself up for that daily.

“Yeah, I know,” I reminisced. I hated when my brother did that. So annoying. But at that moment, I would’ve given anything to give my brother a squeeze. He was a turd sometimes, but he was my brother, and I loved him.

She cleared her throat, changing the subject. “You eatin’ good, honey?”

Leave it to my mom to worry about me and my food intake. I guess that’s just typical though. I switched the receiver from one ear to the other and leaned against the metal frame of the pay phone. “Yeah. They feed us good. How’s dad? Have you heard from him lately?”

“I visited him last weekend. He’s been transferred over to Newcombe Correctional Facility for now because of overcrowding in Jackson County. He said he misses you and loves you very much. He’s proud of you, Chris. He can’t show you right now because of his situation, but I know how proud he is of you. The day you were born he told me that you were the best thing that had ever happened to him. All he ever wanted was to be a good father.”

“Tell dad I miss him and love him too. I know I messed up and landed myself back in here, but I can promise you it was for a good reason, Ma.” My mom knew my charges, but she didn’t really understand
why
I’d kicked the shit out of Trevor. She’d probably be proud of me if she knew.
The fucking rapist that he is got what he deserved.
“I know when I get outta here, Ma, I’m gonna make all this up to you. I’m going all the way. I’m gonna make you all proud.”

She sighed. “Honey, you do make us proud. Just do your time and come home, okay?” I could hear her fighting tears as she spoke. It broke my heart, just like I thought it would.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I said, “Okay, Ma. I love you.”

“Love you too,” she sobbed, unable to restrain the tears anymore. “Here’s Mitch.”

“Okay.” I heard muffled sounds as the phone was being passed to my brother.

“Hey Chris,” Mitch said. His cheerful voice did wonders for the ache in my chest.

“’Sup baby brother?”

“I’m not a baby,” he griped. He hated when I babied him.

“I know,” I laughed, “but you’ll always be my baby brother no matter how old you get. How’s school? Got a girlfriend?”

“Ew, no. Shut up.” His instant, appalled reaction had me chuckling. He was ten. I remembered being ten. Girls were the last thing on my mind, too.

He chattered on. “I got an award in art. The teacher picked my drawing to go to the county art fair.”

“Really? That’s great, Mitch. You have some real talent, bro,” I said, pacing back and forth in the three-foot span of the telephone cord. We both got our artistic side from our dad. Made me proud that we had that connection.

He giggled. “Oh yeah, I saw that girl.”

“What girl?” I asked, stopping dead in my tracks.

Suddenly aware that this was no laughing matter, he said carefully, “That girl that came over right before you left.”

I almost felt my heart rip through my chest. “Kaitlyn? Where? Did you talk to her?”

“Uh…no,” he paused as if he thought he’d made a mistake in telling me.

“And? You gotta give me something, Mitch. Anything.” I demanded, reaching out to the wall for support.

I could feel his hesitation, almost as if it were a living breathing thing traveling through the line, and instantly I wanted to punch something. “Uh…she was with some guy. She was holding his hand. They looked like they were in love.”

In love.
Those two words sucker-punched me. Fuck no. She was not in-fucking-love with someone else. No fucking way.

The moments all came rushing back to me—when I first saw her by the gymnasium, when I sang to her in class, when I danced with her under the moonlight, and when I held my hand to the glass professing my love for her as she drove away.

“Who, Mitch?” I ground out. “Who was she with?” If it was Trevor I’ll fucking kill him.

“I don’t know,” he swore, talking fast to calm me down. “Not that football player though. He was tall. A lot taller. And skinny.”

The realization hit me like a tsunami. A wall of heartbreak slammed into me, knocking the wind out of me, sucking me under. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t move.
Oh god, she moved on. She fucking moved on!

My heart splintered into a million pieces and I fell to my knees, letting go of the receiver. It dangled below the pay phone, spinning and bouncing on its long metal cord.

“Chris? Chris?” I heard my brother calling through the speaker.

I managed to compose myself long enough to tell him I loved him and to say goodbye, but the moment I heard the click, I fucking lost it.

****

SALEM

I was standing at the sink washing dishes when I got the call. Quickly wiping my hands on a dish towel, I grabbed the phone on the third ring.

“Salem?” Officer Blevin’s panic-stricken voice boomed through the phone.

“Yes sir?” I asked, wondering why he would be calling my home so late in the evening.

“Salem, I need you to come quick! Come back to Fairbanks…it’s Chris…we can’t get him to calm down. We have him in segregation. How soon can you be here?”

I was slipping on my shoes that were lying by the back door as he spoke. “Fifteen minutes, Barry. Give me fifteen minutes.” I sure hoped the cops weren’t staked out tonight.

I hung up the phone and raced to the foyer to grab my keys out of the glass bowl on the lamp table. “I’ve gotta go back to work, Graham,” I called into the living room.

Graham looked up from his laptop. Surprised, he asked, “What? Why?”

“One of my cases needs me.” I didn’t have time for explanations.

Grimacing, his annoyance was clear. With furrowed eyebrows, he grumbled, “Whatever. What should I do with Alexis?”

I glared at him. I wanted to scream.
Are you fucking kidding me?
Completely exasperated, I barked, “You’re her father. You figure it out.” Slinging my purse on my shoulder, I snatched my jacket off the hook and opened the door. “I don’t know when I’ll be back,” I snapped.

Rolling his eyes, he huffed, “Try not to be too long.”

I slammed the door behind me, practically sprinting to my car.

****

I could hear the guttural roar of Chris’s voice the moment I stepped into the segregation ward.

“Where is he?” I asked Officer Blevins.

With an expression of relief that I had finally arrived, he stated, “Cell two eighteen.”

I gestured for him to follow me. “Walk with me. Tell me what happened.”

Barry matched me step for step, gesturing frantically with his hands, as we made our way to Chris’s cell. “I don’t know. I was filling out some paperwork right before I was leaving to go home when they radioed me. I got down here and he was just freaking out. He wouldn’t talk. I thought maybe you might know what’s going on with him.”

I thought back to the events of the day. Nothing really sprang to mind. “Hmm, well, he got to make his first phone call home today. Maybe it has something to do with that,” I speculated.

Barry nodded. “Yeah, maybe.”

By that time we had reached Chris’ cell. Barry put his hand on my shoulder. “Sorry I called you at home so late. I just didn’t want to have to call medical.”

Calling medical meant a heavy dose of sedatives would be injected into Chris’s body, and he’d be down for the count. In some cases it was necessary, but we needed to get to the bottom of Chris’s tirade. Knocking him out wouldn’t help him sort out his emotions at all.

Barry put his hand on my shoulder. Encouraging me, he continued, “You’ll get him to calm down. I just know it.”

I nodded with uncertainty. Considering my experience with Malik, my confidence in myself was staggering. “I’ll see what I can do.” I took a deep breath and turned toward the big, metal door that led into Chris’s cell. I slid open tiny metal slot on the door. Peeking through the miniscule door, I meekly called out to him, “Chris?”

He stood in the far corner of the cell, barely responding to the sound of my voice. His face was red with anger, and the tears streaking down his cheeks clenched my heart. I didn’t know what was going on, but I had to help him. He slumped his shoulders, relaxing them the instant he heard my voice. Hopefully my presence alone was calming him. But a moment later, he slammed himself against the concrete wall of his cell with a howling cry.

“Chris, talk to me,” I pleaded, the desperation in my voice unmasked.

“Why?” he howled, his voice gruff with emotion as he punched the wall with his fist. Tiny red droplets were already splattered on the tile beneath him.

I flinched. My heart raced, and I clutched my chest. To see him hurt himself like that scared me. Watching his blood drip from his fingers, I remembered the feeling I had that day in my car when I saw the blood caused by my own hand. Relief from the emotional pain was replaced by physical pain.

His knuckles were bloody, ravaged by the concrete wall. Apparently, he’d already used the wall as his punching bag. Glaring at me, his voice went low. Eerily low. “Why should I? What’s the point?”

I kept my voice soothing and consoling, as I spoke, “I can help you.”

“No!” he barked, his eyes becoming void. “You can’t!” Another guttural growl escaped him as he thrashed back and forth in the tiny cell, pounding his body into the wall again with powerful force.

I had no choice. If I didn’t do something quickly the officers would be forced to call medical and Chris would soon be in a chemically induced slumber with no emotional sorting to show for it.

“I’m coming in,” I warned him firmly.

He threw both hands out as if to stop me, crying, “No! You can’t help me!”

I glanced at Officer Blevins who looked apprehensive because of Chris’s demeanor, but he knew there was no other choice. I had to take my chance. It was this or the sedative.

He nodded once and unlocked the metal door. Taking a deep breath, I took a step inside. Barry stood right behind me, poised to react if I needed him. I couldn’t help but feel a little nervous about how Chris would respond.

Chris’s fists were clenched by his sides, jaw twitching. His anguished, stormy eyes were fixed on mine. Heaving breaths caused his chest to rise and fall quickly. Dripping with sweat, his wet hair was stuck to his forehead. Nostrils flared while the veins in his neck bulged.

I gulped, nervously glancing toward Barry as he locked the door behind us. He nodded, encouraging me. Standing a little straighter, I quickly returned my gaze to Chris and caught his glare. But, it wasn’t a look of anger. It was pain. Those dark, swirling eyes were full of unfathomable pain.

“Chris, please…” I took a step toward him, raising my hands to show my defenselessness as I blatantly ignored the wild, erratic heart thumping in my chest.

“You can’t help me,” he bit out, staring me down as if ready for a fight.

“What happened?” I asked softly, angling my head with deference, hoping he wouldn’t see me as a threat. I took slow, steady breaths, trying to calm my racing pulse.

“What does it matter? You can’t help me,” he repeated, his hardened glare dissipated for a second, but quickly recovered.

I braved another step in his direction. “Try me,” I whispered, my eyes never leaving his.

Chris glanced toward the floor, but swiftly looked back up again. He was losing his resolve. I could feel it. I inched one more tiny step toward him. I knew if I could get to him, a soothing hand on his shoulder or the thought of just knowing that someone was right there by his side would get him to calm down.

He shook his head bitterly, fixing his cold eyes on me again. “No,” he insisted, with a little less certainty than the last time. “You can’t help me.”

I breathed a small sigh of relief that his resolve seemed to be slipping.

“I know I can’t change anything.” I gingerly took another step and reached with an outstretched hand toward him. “I just want to help you calm down.”

He took a step backward, and bumped into the wall behind him. Shifting his eyes from side to side, knowing there was nowhere else to go and no other choice, he broke. His voice cracked, “I called home.”

“I know,” I said softly, nodding. I felt the squeeze on my heart, sensing his pain.

He squeezed his eyes closed as if he were trying to block out a thought. Then with one violent shake of his head, he opened them, revealing the hurt behind them. His voice was barely a whisper, “She moved on.”