“Only reason I fucked with her head was to save her goddamn life. Trust me man, never wanted to let her go. Never!”
The correction officer’s pulled him back, forcing him to release his hold on me.
“You have no idea what you did,” he hissed, fighting against the guards. “Had a fucking doctor come to my house and diagnose my daughter a manic depressive and you go and fuck with her head,” he growled. “This is over! You! You’re done. I’ll be waiting for you on the other side Black… me, the motherfucking Bulldog.”
He always had the last word.
This time his parting words had the ability to wreck me.
Manic depressive.
My Lace.
“I came here, hoping someone, anyone, would see me.”
“I see you.”
“You see what I allow you to. No one sees the real me,”
No.
Why didn’t I pay closer to attention?
I threaded my fingers through my hair, tugging viciously on the ends before slamming my head against the metal table as they buzzed Jack out of the visitor’s room.
I came clean and gave him the truth… my truth, I loved Lace.
And in turn he gave me her truth.
My Lace was battling a disease she had no control over, and all the while she was trying to better me she was suffering in silence. I should’ve been the one helping her, giving her whatever she needed, supporting her the way she tried to support me.
I was always looking to save her.
I never thought she needed to be saved from herself.
I never wanted to inflict that type of pain on her. I wanted to hurt her, yes, make her hate me because hating me kept her away and kept her safe. I never would’ve done it if I knew what my words could do to her.
I’ve seen Jack go over the edge time and time again, sometimes it’s a great big event that pushes him other times it’s nothing. When the maker comes out and play there’s no rhyme or reason.
“Petra, let’s go,” one of the C.O.’s demanded, grabbing my arm and pulling me onto my feet.
She needs me and I’m not there.
She needs me to right everything wrong I put in her head. She needs to know she’s more than what I let her think she was… she was fucking everything. She was my heart.
“Let’s go!” he pulled my arm again, but I kept my feet firmly planted on the ground.
“I want my phone call,” I demanded.
And one more chance.
Chapter Thirty-four
I took three strides, swallowing up the floor space and braced my hands against the cement wall, breathing heavily as I tried not to scream in frustration. The cell door slammed shut behind me, echoing off the bare walls confining me to my memories. I cursed the day my demoralized self, had noticed Lacey as a woman. A goddamn woman with a tiny waist and hips meant to hold onto as I bent her over and appreciated the sweetest ass I ever laid eyes on. Not to mention tits that could make any man lose his mind.
It was so fucking easy to lose my mind and forget my morals.
Morals I still wasn’t sure I had in the first place.
I curse the day she stopped being Jack’s daughter and became the object of my desire and my affection because it was all over from that point forward.
I was too wrapped up in consuming her and feeding off her light to notice she was crying out for help. That night she came to the Dog Pound she wasn’t a girl looking for a man to pay her attention and take her virginity. No, Lacey was looking for someone to help her, someone to share her pain with.
I waited for the C.O.’s to change shifts and then asked to use the phone. Things were different than they used to be, now you used your commissary money to make a call instead of calling collect and hoping it was accepted.
The officer who brought me down to the call room was all right. He wasn’t a ball buster and didn’t give two fucks about anything but punching a clock and bringing home a paycheck. He wasn’t on a power trip, just a guy who worked as a correction officer because the city finally called his ass and offered him a job.
“Take your time,” he said, turning his back and giving me some privacy.
“Thanks, bro,” I called, picking up the phone and leaning my head against the wall trying to debate on what the fuck I would say. I wasn’t even sure I should call her after everything I said and everything I did. Being so close to Jack all these years I knew firsthand how delicate someone’s mind was when they were mentally ill. After a while I learned Jack’s trigger points and could avoid them. Lacey was different, for all I knew I was the trigger point, the thing that set her maker off. I wasn’t sure if calling her would cause her more harm than good.
Then I picked up the phone and dialed the number of one person who could help guide me and wouldn’t turn her back on me. All I had to do was remind her of three words and a promise I made when we were dying.
I waited, listened patiently as the phone rang and then her voice reached me. It was strange how a familiar voice could make you feel the repercussions of your actions and remind you of life on the outside, life beyond the prison cell.