Chapter 59

The One With Two Very Different Lives

NATE

Life inside prison has changed only slightly since entering and I think it’s because of the sick, fucked up fact that I’m beginning to get used to being in this hellhole. I’m getting used to the schedules, I’m adjusting to the shitty food, having no friends, no mental health assistance, and fucking worst of all, I’m getting used to living without her.

I try not to think about what she’s doing out there but it’s difficult not to. I imagine her racing. I imagine her watching television series that we swore we’d never watch without one another. I think about whether she’s done anything with her hair, gotten anymore tattoos or piercings. I think about her lips and her skin and—

I reminisce about times with her a lot because it’s one of the only things I can do in here.

Other than that, I’ve been spending most of my time working in the art room lately. I clean brushes and sweep floors and it’s basically something that I do just because of the simple fact that it gives me something to do. Otherwise, I’d sit in my cell all damn day, sleeping and staring at the wall in intervals.

I also spend lots of time reading. I head to the library often to take out books. It’s another nice way to pass time.

I’ve considered writing a letter to her—several times. But I’ve stopped myself. That day when I wrote the first one, I promised myself that I wouldn’t give her hope and if I wrote and sent another, that’d get her hopes up.

I also started writing a letter to Chase once or twice but I scrapped them both times. The selfish part of me needs to reach out to him to make sure that she’s doing good but I know Chase well enough to know that he’d never keep our communications a secret. He’s her best friend, her adopted brother—there’s no fucking way he wouldn’t tell her.

The other day I found myself curious if she’s moved on from me. It’s been weeks since I’ve been in here, weeks since I ended things ... has she found a new person to give her what I can’t? I try not to wonder about it, but I do often. I love her and it’s selfish to believe that she should wait for me or shouldn’t move on.

I had to do it. I had to break things off with her. She’s my life preserver and I’m drowning in here, but I can’t fucking use her to save me. If I do, I’ll drown her too.

I just hope she’s not too mad at me and understands in some aspect where I’m coming from.

Actually, I hope she’s fucking pissed at me. It’ll mean she won’t have hope for us and she’ll move on and find happiness with someone that isn’t behind concrete walls for the next seven years. Someone she can hug, kiss, go on dates with, and spend time with who doesn’t wear the same bland-coloured jumpsuit every time.

I drag on my cigarette, watching a few of the inmates play a game of basketball. One of them gets a bit rough and a guard steps in to stop it before it can get anymore serious. I sit at a picnic table by myself, not having made any friends inside here.

It would potentially help if I’d made a mate—because then at least I could get things off my chest, joke around and whatnot—but I seem to be some sort of social pariah in here. Everyone else seems to have already made connections and so I’m just ... here.

I don’t really want to get that close to anyone, but I still want to have somebody, if that makes sense.

I inhale from my cigarette, turning back to my book. As I’m flipping the page, it’s suddenly knocked from my hands. I don’t look up, but I can see the shadow that has formed over the picnic table from the guy and I ignore his presence, leaning over to pick up the book.

As I slam the hardcover on the top of the table, I finally glance up at him. He’s a tall fucker, bald and covered in tattoos. The one I don’t miss is the tear drop inked beneath his right eye.

Without saying anything, he shoves me to the ground—my cigarette flies from my mouth, going God knows where—and his fist immediately connects with my face. Two of his mates rush over and in the commotion, my book falls to the concrete beside me. I reach a desperate hand over and pick up the novel, using it as a weapon. It hits his thick skull with a loud crack! and he groans out in pain.

I try to fight back as he rams his fist into my nose. Blood immediately fills my mouth and so, I spit—satisfied when I see it covering his face. I move to use my reading material again as a weapon but his mates suddenly pin both of my arms against the ground and I’m helpless as I thrash in an attempt to save myself.

The stranger straddling my waist—my original attacker with the tear drop tattoo—smiles wickedly, pulling out a toothbrush that he’s sharpened at the one end. I twist my neck, trying to look for the guard that was here only moments ago but I can’t see anything. I don’t dare yell for him, knowing it’ll only make shit worse.

Although, I’m not entirely sure how this could ever get any worse.

I’m rather aware of the fact that I’m about to know exactly how Derek felt a short time ago.

I know what’s coming before it does. I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to scream in pain as he plunges the shiv into my left shoulder. He watches my expression, pushing hard on the weapon and I swallow with difficulty as it elicits pain like I’ve never experienced. I can feel the blood—warm and wet—as it pools, spreading across my jumpsuit.

He yanks it out of my body with the most menacing grin, extending his arm above his head to do it a second time. My life flashes before my eyes, sure that this could potentially be the end of not only my prison stint, but my life as I’ve known it.

Images of Arielle flash in my brain. Of a life we could’ve had if things would’ve been different.

My ears ring and I fight against the men holding my arms down. I hold the gaze of my attacker, preparing myself for the onslaught about to come.

A R I E L L E

Ten Days Later

Anguilla is a beautiful island.

Yes, you read that right, I’m in fucking Anguilla.

It turns out that Chase planned an entire getaway for me because of how down I’ve been ever since everything happened with Nate. He surprised me when I came home from a race yesterday—one that I won—by leaving a suitcase on my bed filled with a bottle of tequila, a bikini in my size, and a tube of sunscreen. Plus, a plane ticket departing this morning to Anguilla.

I’m a bit ashamed to admit I fucking cried. I can’t explain how excited, happy, loved I felt when I realized how much thought Chase put into everything. He’s so much more than a best friend to me and I just fucking lost it.

But then he started telling me about everyone joining us—which ended up being only Zara and James but I still adore them both—and how we had plans to go hiking, jet skiing, zip lining and tequila tasting and so many other things that made me very excited very fast.