by Cage, Aria
“You can’t be serious?! No judge here will allow your boyfriend bail. You had a chance at a new life with that doctor, but you couldn’t help the disgusting lust for Shaw. You have no one to blame but yourself.”
“Maybe so, but it is my life!”
Sheriff Noel bangs his cup on the cheap table that stands between us, its contents sloshing over the edge. “Your daddy would roll over in his grave if he could see what you’re doing with your life.”
I thought I hated Noel before, but he just stepped into a new low. He knows my story, he just chooses not to believe it. To then bring it up, like I could give a fuck what my father thinks of my life, is like poking an angry bear. Where the fuck is my lawyer? “Sheriff Noel, I suggest you stop talking to me because I have nothing further to say to you,” I growl, which brings a smirk to his even more ridiculous baby face. I just want to punch it.
“You can go whenever you like, Charlotte. But I will remind you that lying to the police and leaving a false statement is an offence. I would suggest you reconsider your statement.”
“I would suggest you file it and go fuck yourself.” Shit.
“I could arrest you for that.”
I don’t say anything because I have learned a great skill in my life from people like Daddy and Paul. I have learned to read people, and Sheriff Noel is screaming something big my way. The pregnant silence swathes between us like a rolling fog, before he takes his cup again, and I try to hide my smirk, because I just won this battle.
“Charlotte, why does you statement and Shaw’s statement differ from the one of your neighbor across the road, Mrs. Caine?”
What–the–hell?! “How would I know what she witnessed and stated to you? I can only report my version; anything else is hearsay, no?”
His jaw is bunching as he sips his coffee, using the cup as a defence to hide his tells, but he’s only fooling himself. “Do you know Mrs. Caine well?”
“No. I don’t know her at all. I didn’t even know that was her name. I’ve seen her a few times in the yard and waved politely, as you do.”
“So why would she have fabricated a story for you and Shaw if you have no relationship with her?”
I wish I knew. “I don’t know. Like I said, every one’s version of a story will differ in their eyes. What she saw from across the street is what she believes. What we experience is ours. There would only be a problem if her story really differed from ours.” I threw out the line, but will he be dumb enough to hook it?
“He should be ready to meet you outside in ten minutes.”
“What?” Is he for real? Nate isn’t being charged? What did the Caine woman say? I want to ask all those things, but as Sheriff Noel rises and opens the door, waiting for me to follow, I dare not argue. He was releasing Nate, and I won’t have to explain to Nona that once again I have destroyed her family by sending her grandson away again.
I rise quickly and shuffle past Sheriff Noel, making sure I don’t touch him. My heart’s pounding crazily, awaiting the moment he starts laughing and conveys he’s just messing with me, but as I am taken back to the waiting room of the office, I begin to hope it is all true―Nate and I will be free to go home.
I don’t see Sheriff Noel again. A deputy I have never met before soon escorts Nate into the waiting room, and I run into his arms.
He holds me tightly and kisses my temple. “It’s all okay now. Let’s get out of here and go home.”
I nod into his chest, and he escorts me under his arm, out of the front door, into the dimming sky. We head down the steps toward my car. By the sidewalk, against my car, I see Paul waiting for us. His face blotchy and one eye almost swollen closed. Both Nate and I stiffen as soon as we see him. In a spilt second, I’m thrust behind Nate, his thick frame blocking Paul entirely. Well, not entirely. Paul had an aura that is thick and cold; I can feel his penetrating stare and hatred right through the protection of Nate.
“What do you want?” Nate growls. I want to peak, and actually attempt to, but Nate shuffles to keep me hidden like he’d done in high school when I had bitten off more I could chew.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Paul’s tone is taunting. It scares me more than his anger. More so, because he’s baiting Nate. He has the power to ruin Nate’s life because of my diary, and Nate has no idea.
“You can’t have her, so move on.”
Paul chuckles and I can hear his steps. Please, please don’t come near us; Nate won’t be able to hold back. But just as my heart stammers in my throat and I think I cannot stand anymore, I realize his steps are getting distant. Nate then moves to the side a little and takes me back under his arm. I can’t help myself, and watch Paul walk away. Only then does he look over his shoulder, as if sensing my stare. He winks and keeps walking until he reaches his car and slides behind the wheel. He wants us to know that he isn’t finished with us yet. That this is no way the end. He wants me to know I’m not free.
A prime example of why I must set Nate free, even though my heart wants to fight by his side. I would hold his hand and never give up if it were good for him, but I’m not good for him. So I have to stand strong and be there for him in an entirely different way. To be true to the only good left in me, before it’s too late, and everything good in him is taken away.
Standing strong, he looks down into my steady gaze, and I will myself to make him hear what he needs to know to stand alone. “This is it. There’s nothing else but the truth here, and that’s for you to go and live your life, to hold onto what a good life you have made for yourself, girl or no girl.”
I can see the sadness seep through him and his beautiful eyes as my words penetrate. I want to take it all back, but that’s a dream, and I will fight and defend for his freedom.
“What about you? You need me.”
“I will make it through this, just as you will. Nothing ever works out perfectly, Nate, and all we can do is hold onto the strength that we are doing the right thing. This, is me doing the right thing.”
“I don’t think I will make it through,” he whispers, breaking my faulty heart. The tears I try to hold at bay, begin to fall in thick succession. “What can I say to change your mind?”
I won’t give in, not this time. “There’s nothing you can say, but I will always be here for you. We just need a bit of time to make some changes. You have a job, a business, and I need to figure out what’s next.” I swipe at my tears and throw my hands back to my side as I watch tears fall down his cheek. We will make it through this; we just need to stay strong. Whatever is meant to be, will be. If the doors to our life don’t close forever after we have picked up all the pieces, then we know we will make it through everything. For now though, he needs to go. There’s no other way. I need to figure out how to get my diary back before all of my horrifying words make it out for the world to judge.
“I don’t want you to be alone, and I don’t want to leave you unprotected from that asshole.”
“I’m going to go back in there and file a restraining order, and then I’m going to take what possessions I own and go to Grandview for a few days while I figure it all out.”
He reaches for me, and I take a heartbreaking step back. “I just want you to know my love is caged with yours and always will be.”
I swallow the hard lump which feels like a chunk of my heart. “I’m setting you free.” He rubs his cheek with his shoulder, and I can’t help it anymore, I reach up and stroke a stray tear before kissing its remnants. “You are free.”
NONA WANTS ME TO come back home, but I can’t be there; I can’t see that house or be near anyone. I got her to drop me off at my truck and I headed home. I don’t know if it were a good idea, because now I know what it feels like to be truly alone. My heart is captive no matter what she says or does, but the thing about love is, you have to think of the other person. She needs her space; no amount of love can change that. The more I think about it in the darkness that calls to me, the more I realize she needs me to leave the light on to light her wa
y home. She will come back to me, I have no doubt, but I have to stand and wait without fear. I have to allow her to carry herself and her days alone. The only thing I can do is hold back and wait.
I stare at my boots, resting my forehead against my palms, like they hold all the answers. I just want to help, to physically do something for her, and yet, the best thing for her, is to do the absolute fucking opposite. God only knows what is hiding under her torment, but I want to protect her and give her the love she deserves and yet denies.
Behind all our tears is a plan, and for us, all I have to do is stay strong for her and not drag her down.
She thinks I have a job to get back to. I wanted to tell her how much I have achieved, how far I’ve come on my own. She isn’t aware that I own my own construction company, have two efficient teams who do everything from renovations to building houses and more. But I can’t make it better with money or any kind of success; I can only keep going, make a better life for me and my men, and stay afloat.
I still want to drown in her arms, to feel her skin against mine, to hear her call my name and force me to take that breath before I’m gone. She is my oxygen and my sun. I want and need all these things, but I’m so damn tired I can’t think straight. I want to fix her, fix us, and that’s my problem.
I can’t erase that need for her love and touch. I can’t erase the desire to pick up the phone and call her, or erase the picture of her hair flowing in the breeze by our tree. But I can erase the long minutes of her absence in my life, sitting scared of being replaced by another, because I know she loves me, and I will never let her go.
I drag my hands through my hair and take the biggest cleansing breath, grab my cell and call the office. I will replace one need for another to survive. To wake up to a new sunrise and face a day of solitude until she is ready to build our lives from the bottom to the very top, where I will never let her down.
I’m the same as I was before my eyes finally closed, only I feel cold and drawn. My shoulder drills, but I have to go to work, I have to dig deep and mask the loneliness and mess that is our life right now. So I drag my ass out of bed and escape it. I shower, brew dark coffee. I lock up the house, nursing my shoulder from the out-of-norm chill of this five a.m. morning until I jam the heat up in the truck.
By the time I get to the job; my leading hand, Connor, has already set up. This job is our biggest, a new estate. We got the contract, and it wouldn’t at all be possible if I hadn’t taken the leap to go out on my own after getting rejected from every construction company this side of the state. No one wanted to hire an ex-con, and I get that, but I feel for those who aren’t as lucky and successful as I. More than likely, they end up back in the pen because they can’t survive on minimum wage, or can’t get stable employment at all. Now I hold a contract with the state to teach the rehabilitated my line of work and offer them employment. So far it’s a success, despite some local backlash. For the most, folks see the benefits, and it offers a token of my penance by doing something good after everything.
I’m a simple kind of man; I just want to find myself, be proud of what I do, love another, and be loved by her. It can’t be any simpler than that.
I resist the urge to call her for maybe the hundredth time, just to see if she is okay, if she needs anything, and yet I know I can’t. Even if I could, even though I want to, I can’t change her mind or her need to do this on her own. Charlie’s strength is growing, and I won’t get in the way of that.
I would rather die than be the one who thrusts her under the covers and into the darkness again, when she is now seeing a glimmer of light past her secrets. I would rather die a horrible and painful death.
I’m welcomed back with the brunt of many jokes through the day, occasionally giving me a reprieve against the fucked-up call I have for her. I almost send one of the boys out to drive by the Grandview, but I give up on that idea when I think of the betrayal. It’s a constant struggle that I will fight like I fought every other addiction.
For twelve long days, I work until I can barely stand, but sleep doesn’t come easy. Day after day, I drag my ass home, feeling the emptiness of her absence. I wash and vaguely sleep, before having to face another day in a constant fight with my own compulsion, hoping she is winning her own fight. I’ve lost countless hours of sleep, dreaming of what could be, only to wake with a hole deep in me, feeling wrong about the things I’m doing right.
Nona has called a couple of times. I brush her off, which is fucking shit, I know, but I can’t deal with it all right now. I’m numb and flat-out with work and want to ignore everything that involves my heart.
Right now, it’s aching like I just lost her all over again. When I was first arrested I felt this same pang, brutally gutted that I was at risk of losing her. Davey and Nona had each other, but we, Charlie and I, we were facing a loss greater than we had ever experienced.
Still to this day I can’t believe my naivety over my future. I thought I had a chance at a defence with a claim of self-defense against a monster. Though, as I faced that judge and the long line of character witnesses, I became real scared. They vouched for what a wonderful man and father the late Sheriff Barns was before his tragic and brutal death by a deranged young man. I began to see the scary truth of what was to come. Despite the evidence by Nona, Charlie, and myself, the jury and judge believed there was more behind the scenes than any whiteness could see, which gave us hope. Then they went on to say the word, but… when you hear but, everything before it is dissolved.
I was defending our lives right up until I chased him out into the yard and shot him in the back.
Nona screamed against their words, for she knew the truth. She pulled the trigger that fateful day, and yet I was going to pay the price. The guilt was screaming from her soul, and all I wanted to do was hold her. Charlie was nowhere to be seen. They kept her from us because she was a minor. I only saw her during her testimony. She wept so hard as she told her version of what her father did to us and her on that day, never swaying from my gaze. Right before she was to recite her lie, she looked toward Nona and Davey, and did us all proud before they ushered her from the courtroom and my life.
There is a line between self-defense and hunting. I crossed that line and was sentenced accordingly. I faced a small time in detention until I turned of age where they then transferred me to state pen to face five years with parole.
Detention was almost like a heavily guarded school, allowing me to continue schooling and offered counseling. There were some soft kids in there, but most were borderline insane or a member of a gang. My first day I was warned about the gangs. If I wasn’t such a loner, I may have chosen to join them because I understood the power of loneliness. When you’ve been ripped from your family or never had one, it’s very tempting to become a part of something that represents the idea. They were a brotherhood, and they were dangerous. I did my very best to stay out of their way, aware survival was my only friend.
I was completely wrong and almost paid the ultimate price.
The pen was pretty much the same, only more guarded and more types of monsters. I found the first gang I could find and did my best to keep my soul and body intact. It wasn’t until my last two years when I had created my own reputation, and a lot of my “brotherhood” had been killed or released. I had moved up the ranks, not just by force but also by annihilation. It was then I knew I could change a few things fundamental to my everyday life in these thick, cold walls. I could protect the weaker and still remain strong; I could give without losing. These changes were awarded by the wardens and guards with favors and funded schemes like my builders licence and other projects.
All these things changed my life in so many ways, and owned me in so many more. Though, it was her letters that pushed me on, that made me drive for a future and what innocence I had left.
Her words could inspire me; they could bring me hope and at times they were like bullets shredding through my flesh. I deserved every flesh wound and more, for I ne
ver answered a single one of her heart-wrenching, loyal letters. The guys were always intrigued by the way I would get mail, tuck myself to a wall and read every word over and over until it was etched in my mind. I would then take the letter to the closest sink or toilet and tear it into tiny pieces before flushing it or drowning it down the sink. I would never allow another man to read her precious words, her secrets. I wouldn’t allow them to know her tears and sorrows over what she faced in foster care. But I guess one day, after her graduation, she gave up on me. There were no more letters and no word. Every time the mail came and I didn’t get a letter, when for years I was accustomed to it, I would slam my fist into walls and sometimes faces.
I hated myself for that, and at times, I hated her more. But she did what I wanted her to; she grew up, and she moved on from the horror of our past.
Now, though, as I think over all the choices we made in the mind of doing what was right, I realize how wrong we were. Charlie never grew into the free woman I wanted her to be. She never got the fairy tale. She stepped from one house of horrors to another.
Well we both have paid our debts tenfold and lost too much time. She’s not living; she’s on hold in a motel and it has to stop.
Instead of driving straight to the site this morning, I drive slowly past the Grandview, see her car parked in her allotted space and sigh. I don’t know how I can help, but I will figure it out even if I have to become a stalker of sorts. This shit needs to come to an end before it ends us.
I HAVE CRIED RIVERS, oceans even, but not one tear amounts to shit. I thought they would let him out after detention. I thought they wouldn’t send him to where they put murderers and rapists, but they did. I didn’t get to talk to him or see him because my new foster folks say I need to move on. They use words like evil, sins, penance, and God, but they are just that―words. The Smiths, they too, mean nothing; they don’t help me, and they aren’t helping Nate.